Page 6 of Sweet Rucking Temptation
As we line up for the next drill, I take a deep breath. The familiar scent of grass and sweat grounds me, reminding me why I'm here.
'You're Elliott bloody Snow,' Oscar's words echo in my head. 'If anyone can come back from this, it's you.'
I nod to myself. Time to prove him right.
The evening air is cool against my skin as I trudge off the field, my muscles aching in that satisfying way that comes after a good workout.
"Nice one out there, Snow," Coach Finnegan says, clapping me on my good shoulder.
I nod, allowing myself a small smile. "Thanks, Coach."
As I head towards the locker room, I overhear a couple of rookies chatting.
"Did you see Snow today? Man's a machine."
"Yeah, but for how long? That injury's gotta be weighing on him."
I clench my jaw, picking up my pace. Their words sting, but I refuse to let them get to me. They don't know what I'm capable of.
In the shower, the hot water soothes my tired muscles, and I think back to the field. Sure, there were moments of doubt, flashes of pain. But there were also moments of pure, unadulterated joy. The feel of the ball in my hands, the rush of a perfect pass.
As I dress, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. The determination in my eyes surprises even me.
"You've got this, mate," I mutter to myself, channeling my inner Oscar. "One day at a time."
Stepping out into the cool Auckland night, I take a deep breath. The road ahead won't be easy, but I'm ready for the challenge. Top player or not, I'm still Elliott Snow. And that's enough.
3
ELLIOTT
The thrum of bass and chatter hits me like a wave as Oscar and I step into The Social Bar. The local is packed, bodies swaying to the beat, faces illuminated by the warm glow of large bulbs dangling from exposed beams. I inhale deeply, savoring the mingled scents of craft beer and wood polish.
"Look alive, Iceman," Oscar says, clapping me on the back. "Time to defrost that victory smile of yours."
I roll my eyes, but can't help grinning. "You know I hate that nickname."
"Which is exactly why I use it," he quips, steering me towards the bar. "Come on, let's get you a celebratory drink. Maybe it'll melt that frosty exterior of yours."
As we weave through the crowd, I notice several heads turn our way. A few people nod in recognition, and I return the gesture, feeling a mix of pride and self-consciousness. The win against the Auckland team is still fresh, adrenaline humming beneath my skin.
Oscar, ever the social butterfly, is already waving to familiar faces. "Kia ora, Tom! Hey there, Sarah!" he calls out, his easy charm on full display.
I shake my head, amused. "How do you know everyone?"
He winks. "It's a gift, little bro. Some of us play rugbyandgo out and about."
We reach the bar, and Oscar flags down the bartender with practiced ease. "Two IPAs, thanks mate." He turns to me with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, Elliott, ready to show these city slickers how we farm boys celebrate?"
I laugh, despite myself. "I think your idea of celebration and mine might differ slightly."
"Oh, come on," he nudges me playfully. "Live a little! You're allowed to enjoy yourself off the field, you know."
I sip my beer, savoring the crisp taste. "I am enjoying myself." A mild protest.
Oscar raises an eyebrow. "Right, because nothing says 'party animal' like nursing a single beer in the corner."
I'm about to retort when a group of guys recognize me and approach with excited grins. Oscar smoothly steps aside, giving me space to chat with the fans. As I sign a napkin and pose for a quick photo, I catch my brother's proud smile.
