Page 36 of Playing Rucking Hard

Chapter 13

Offer and Acceptance

Dylan

Ilove pre-game day training. It’s the last chance to blow out the cobwebs and get our minds into the game.

I hate pre-game training—the risk of injuries, players’ superstitions, and how a dropped ball or missed tackle can be the only thing you remember going into the game.

Today’s pre-game day training is more than another day at the office for me. It’s the last chance I can work through the kinksbefore playing in front of my girl.My girl.Two words I never thought would come out of my mouth.

The guys are already milling around, stretching and loosening up when I arrive. Cooper’s in the middle of the group, gesturing wildly as he tells a story I can hear from halfway across the field.

“…and then he says, ‘Mate, if you think that’s a good idea, you’ve clearly never seen a kangaroo in real life!’” His punchline is met with a mix of groans and laughter.

“Still workshopping your stand-up routine, Coop?” I call as I jog past, grabbing a ball from the rack.

“Better than your act, Fleski,” he fires back, tossing me a grin. “What’s the theme this week? Strong, silent type? Mysterious brooder?”

“Reliable fullback,” I serve back with cocky attitude, spinning the ball in my hands. Who am I gonna ask to send up bombs? I want them high and spiraling, using the wind to carry.Train like you’re gonna play and play like it’s your last.Not all of my old man’s advice was bullshit.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shouts back. “Save it for the reporters.”

Coach’s whistle cuts through the chatter. “Ladies who want to gossip, take an early shower. If you’re here to play, bring it the fuck in so you can get to work!”

We jog into a loose huddle, and Loki gives me an evil grin. “Want me to give you a free nose job, Fleski?” he jokes.

“Did you say ‘blow job’, because I’ll have to pass.” I throw back casually, “I know where your lips have been and they’ve been attached to Bodhi’s ass all season.”

“You fucker …” he starts before Coach silences us with a glare. Yeah, we know Bronx used to throw down with any other player back in the day. Now, he pulls down a Coach’s salary and uses silence as effectively as raising his voice or fists.

“Sorry, Coach,” I mutter, turning my back on Loki.

Coach Bronx ignores me, looking down at his clipboard. “Walkthrough first. I want precision today—know your spots, your assignments. None of that loose crap we saw at the end of last week’s game. After that, drills by position. Keep it light, but keep it sharp. Perfect in practice, perfection on the field. Let’s build that lazy muscle memory until you’re dreaming about it in your sleep.”

“Could have done without knowing you want me to dream of you,” Bodhi blows a fake kiss, earning half a chuckle as we fall into formation for the warm-up. Think of it as a cross between a beep test and a long run. We line up across the field, in playing formation, and slowly jog up the eighty-meter field, and back eighty meters, forward seventy meters, back seventy meters, and so on. We keep going, until our lungs burn. Coach has us on a timer, and if we are slower than last week, there will be hell to pay. If we don’t jog to the pace of the slowest guy, there will be hell to pay. It’s about working as a team, and either winning as a team or losing as a team.

It’s unconventional, but that’s the Mavericks. We are unconventional. Lloyd McMillan pulled the team together out of his ass when a new franchise handed back its license without playing a game. Some called us a team of losers, others called us a team of misfits. But after last year when Cooper almost fucking died, and Dawson stepped out of his x-rated reputation to wear the captain’s armband, everyone knows we are here and here to play.

Warm up over, the forwards line up in their pods, the halves barking instructions, and the backs, including me, spread out across the field. The first few new plays are sluggish, as our bodies catch up with our brains. But by the third or fourth set, we’re moving with purpose.

I hang back, watching it all unfold. Being a fullback isn’t just about running the ball or making tackles; it’s about seeing thewhole picture. When the halves send up a bomb, I track it like a hawk, positioning myself perfectly under its arc. The ball lands cleanly in my hands, and I send it back with a measured kick.

“Safe as houses,” Cooper calls out from the wing. “No wonder Coach loves you.”

I roll my eyes, but can’t help the small smile that sneaks out. “Don’t forget about the ladies. They all want a piece of me.”

“And trust in Fleski to never let a woman go hungry,” Loki banters back. Asshole. But, I did ask for it, and it feels wrong … bantering about women when there’s only one woman I want.But keeping our secret keeps Emma’s job safe.

With the first drills over, Coach splits us into positional groups. The forwards trudge off to work on their scrums and hit-ups, while the backs gather near the sideline for passing drills. Dawson, our center, claps me on the back as we jog over.

“They’re gonna target you tomorrow, try and get a reaction about being a pretty boy bachelor,” he says, grinning. “You ready to keep a calm head and steady hands?”

“Always,” I reply, smirking.

Damien Harkness, our halfback and otherwise known as “Hark the Demon Angels Sing”, takes charge of the first drill, firing sharp passes to each of us in turn. “Hands up, quick release,” he orders. “No lazy catches, Nate.”

Out on the right wing, Dawson fumbles the first pass, earning a chorus of jeers. Something’s going on with his woman, but none of us are brave or stupid enough to get up in his shit. He’s played first grade for a decade, and we’ve gotta trust that he’ll pull it together for the game.

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