Page 5 of Big Rucking Disaster
“I hope so.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.” With that, he sauntered to the changing room.
I went in search of an ice pack.
Chapter Two
Johnnie
Louella, the phys-ed teacher, was an absolutely affable woman. Her wedding ring put me at ease in a way few things did these days. I wasn’t as interested in playing the field as I had been not so long ago. After all, I had a gorgeous girlfriend, adoring fans, and plenty of adulation.
“We’re so appreciative that you’re willing to speak to our grade-twelve students.” The petite woman hustled me down the hall, through the crowds of students.
I was taller than most of them—which wasn’t a surprise. I was a bit leaner than most hookers in the league, but my strength was legendary. If one wanted to win a scrum, they needed me on their team. “It’s my pleasure. Isaiah, my teammate, teaches high school. He’s been telling me I need to get out into the community more.” His exact words had been something likeyou need to give back, and sitting around all day on your ass isn’t doing that. Or something to that effect.
“The kids are so excited. Coach Morrison says two have real potential.”
“Coach Morrison?”
“Our other physical-education teacher. He’s got the mixed grade-twelve class this afternoon. They’re a rowdy bunch, but with good hearts.”
Some kids who took physical education all the way through school did so because they wanted an adjacent career. Others took it because, generally, the class was easier than some academics.Yeah, that was me. I’d excelled at most sports and had loved my gym class. Now, I regretted not having tried harder in my academic classes. Thirty-one, and I worked a courier gig when I wasn’t playing. Compared to Isaiah’s teaching, I lacked…gravitas.
“In here.” Louella led me into the school’s gymnasium.
Ah, high school. Nothing quite smelled like it. I’d graced locker rooms for almost twenty years, and secondary schools just had a distinct odor.
A circle of chairs around center court caught my attention as I followed Louella to the group.
“Mr. Leclerc, this is our grade-twelve class. And this is the teacher, Mr. Morrison.”
Mr. Morrison stood.Okay, perhaps not what I was expecting. Except, who was I expecting? My gym teacher had topped six-four and carried a significant amount of weight around his midsection. Former defensive liner for the BC Lions—Vancouver’s football team.
In contrast, Mr. Morrison was…short. Barely over five-seven, if I had to guess. Whippet-lean. Yet clearly some muscles under his T-shirt. His dark-brown eyes assessed me.
I tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. The man was…hot. All dark skin, shaved head, and something indefinable. I wasn’t into guys, but I suspected Isaiah would find him attractive. This teacher had a similar build to my teammate’s fiancé, Travis. I extended my hand. “Johnnie Leclerc.”
Something flickered in his eyes as he extended his hand. “Coach Morrison. These are my students. Why don’t you have a seat, and we can get started?” He pointed to a seat across the circle from him.
So he can keep an eye on me?I offered a wide grin. “Sounds great.” I dropped my bag to the ground and sat. I wore my team jersey with a pair of khakis in deference to the Vancouver rainy, cold, miserable day. On the field, I wouldn’t have hesitated to wear my shorts. Nothing deterred me from playing hard and fast. “So, before we start, maybe we can go around the circle, and each student can tell me something about themself.” I had a great memory and would be able to remember all the names and whatever each student said.
“Oh.” Coach Morrison frowned. “That’s not really why…” He trailed off. “Sure, okay.” He glanced at the kids. “Maybe something that’s not too personal.”
I’d never considered the students might reveal some deep, dark secret. I just wanted to get a sense of the kids and their aspirations.
Madison went first. She spoke about wanting to be a trainer for a pro team and how cool it was that Francine was the trainer for the Orcas.
I was damn impressed.
The kids who followed showed varying levels of interest in rugby. Some not at all—George spoke of hockey with reverence. Some with a great deal—Kenji enthused about wanting to make the Orcas team when he graduated high school. Greta was already playing for a local women’s team, and she certainly had the build and attitude to be a great 15s player.
I loved my 15s.
Once we’d gone around the circle, Coach Morrison met my gaze. “Perhaps you can share the good and the bad of being a professional athlete?”
“Sure. The good? I love rugby more than life itself, and I get to play and get paid. The bad? Professional athletes don’t get paid nearly as much money as you might think. Sure, pro baseball, hockey, and football players do well—on teams that are associated with the NHL, Major League Baseball, and the NFL. Some soccer teams as well. Most of the rest of us? Well, I’ve got a part-time job so I can pay the rent.”
“What do you do?” Greta leaned in.
