Page 13 of Unwritten Rules
I didn’t resent him for leaving Mum and I alone for weeks at a time, only visiting home on the weekend when his team had a bye week. At the time, I was grateful he took time out of his busy schedule to visit, but looking back, I wish he had stayed longer. I wish he had visited more because maybe then he would’ve seen the signs in Mum’s deterioration sooner than I did.
And now here I am, back living with my father in North Sydney and working for him. If I told younger me that this is what our life would look like, I would’ve laughed in her face. I never thought I would ever leave Barrenridge for good because I had Noah and Nathan, and now here I am, doing just that.
I exhale a long breath and pick my head up. Tired light green eyes stare back at me through the mirror. Dad said I don’t have to wear a uniform, but I figured it wouldn’t be professional to turn up to my first day on the job wearing skinny jeans and a baggy T-shirt. Instead, I opted for a black, short sleeved button-up shirt and long black dress pants.
Pushing off the vanity, I smooth a hand down the front of my shirt and inhale a deep breath.
You’ve got this, Tate. You know what you’re doing.
With my shoulders pushed back and my spine straight, I leave the ensuite and collect my handbag from the foot of my queen bed. Waking up just after six in the morning means I had time to make, and re-make, the bed before I forced myself out of the house for a walk, watching the sunrise. I had hoped it would clear the nervous energy racing through my bones, but it didn’t work as I hoped. Instead, it gave me more time alone with my thoughts, and I was left in a spiral ofCan I do this?Am I cut out for this job?
Dad is waiting for me by the front door with his head in his phone.
“All right, let’s go,” I say when I reach the bottom of the stairs.
He looks up and slips his phone in the back pocket of his black jeans. “Let’s hit the road then. Traffic can be a pain getting down to the Shire at this time of the afternoon.”
I follow Dad to his sleek black Mercedes in the driveway and slip into the passenger seat. It’s a nice car, one that costs a pretty penny given the detailed leather interior and tinted windows. I’m sure it didn’t make much of a dent in the salary my father receives.
“I need to get a new car,” I tell my dad, turning my head to glance at him.
“Why?” Dad flicks his eyes from the road to me and back again. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“No, Dad, the 2007 Jeep Wrangler you bought me for my sixteenth birthday still runs like a gem.” The sarcasm in my voice doesn’t go unnoticed by him because he shoots me a pointed look. “All I’m saying is that it might be time I upgrade to something new, especially if I’m going to be living in the city.”
Dad hums. “I suppose maybe you’re right. Driving in the city is difficult enough, and I would hate to get a call from you because your car broke down on the side of the road.”
“My point exactly,” I say with a victorious smile. Getting a new car wasn’t on my list of priorities, but after her performance on the highway last week, I was convinced it was time for an upgrade. “Let me shop around first, and then we can discuss options.”
The tidy suburban streets of Mosman trail behind us as the daunting road over the Harbour Bridge looms ahead. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how fast-paced and large Sydney is, especially after growing up in a town like Barrenridge. It’ll take some time adjusting to for sure, but even I can’t deny how beautiful the core of the city is. The water in the harbour glistens with the sun slowly setting behind the Opera House, and people walk the length of Circular Quay, dipping into bars for an afternoon drink or simply enjoying the magnificent views.
Even as we get further away from the heart of Sydney, I take in every inch of the streets and the people rushing by. I haven’t been to Cronulla before, so tonight being my first shift with the North Sydney Wolves at an away game is a treat. The beaches are stunning and the houses expensive; I thought where my dad lives was boujee, but the Shire is a whole other level.
Dad pulls into the staff parking at the stadium and kills the engine. He turns in his seat, lips thinned in a tight-lipped smile. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? I know I talked you intotaking this job, but you don’t have to do this because I asked you to.”
“I’ll be fine.” I swallow the lump in my throat and force a smile, despite the nervous energy consuming every inch of me.
“Okay,” he murmurs, nodding slowly. “If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to come to me, okay? The guys on the team are great, and so is the rest of the staff. You’ll feel right at home, Tate.”
Home. I don’t know where that is anymore. But now isn’t the time to have a crisis.
“I promise, Dad.”
He smiles and gets out of the car. My eyes drift toward the large bus parked across the lot with the North Sydney Wolves club logo etched into the side. I wonder if Dad usually takes the team bus with everyone else, or if he decided not to so we could drive together.
I slide out of the car and trail behind Dad as we enter the back of the stadium, heading straight for the locker room. My heart races as we pass by people with clipboards and headsets hanging around their necks. Women with heavy makeup, carrying pom poms and duffle bags, pass by in a burst of laughter and smiles.
Everyone feels important, despite not knowing what they do or why they’re here—I don’t know much about the NRL world and who the top stars are. My dad may be the head coach for one of the teams, but I didn’t grow up watching much because he wasn’t home to teach me about the sport. Mum wasn’t overly interested in rugby—she only cared about it to support Dad. That has left me with not much experience or knowledge, but I’m looking forward to learning.
“This way, Tate.”
Dad gestures for me to follow him into the locker room. In the car, Dad informed me that this room is typically referred toas the ‘team sheds’. It was his way of educating me on the lingo, or because he knew I’m walking into the job blind with little to no knowledge. Either way, I appreciate the short lesson because I’m clueless as hell about what I’m getting myself in to.
When I step into the room, my eyes round at the edges. There are alotof shirtless men milling about in front of the open alcoves in the wall I can only assume are built in locker spaces. Black, red and white jerseys hang on small hooks within the rectangle space, and random items spill out of duffle bags. Everywhere I look, a new man appears wearing nothing but black footy shorts and long black socks pushed down to their ankles.
What the hell have I just walked in on?
“All right, listen up!” Dad calls out, his deep voice commanding attention.
