Page 22 of Unwritten Rules
No. “Yeah, yeah, I’m all good, man. Nothing I can’t handle, right?”
He doesn’t look convinced, the crease in his brows say so. And honestly, neither am I.
“Well, rest up, okay? Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
Jace moves past me, walking out of the room. I exhale and run my hands through my hair; my earlier pacing resumes. I shouldn’t be putting this much pressure on my leg, but I need to do something to keep the adrenaline pouring through my veins from exploding.
When Khai finally joins me, Coach Phil and Tatum are walking in our direction. I silently curse Khai for taking his sweet ass time, because now I have to face the one person I can’t seem to forget.
“Great job tonight, Khai,” Coach says with a warm smile, clapping his five-eighth on the back. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
“See you then, Coach.” Khai returns the gesture with a smile of his own.
Coach turns his attention to me. “Take it easy, Sin. Okay?”
“Yes, sir,” I murmur, shoving my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie.
He nods. “I’ll also see you on Monday. The team wants to go over your recovery schedule to make sure you’re on track. And, of course, Tate will look over your records before Monday so she has an idea of what is going on.”
“Yes, of course.” I meet Tatum’s eyes. She stands beside her father, peering up at me through thick lashes. Electricity crackles between us, embedding itself into my skin and heatingmy veins. My body aches to feel her again, to touch her skin and feel her warmth. But I can’t. Not now that I know who she is. The best thing for both of us is if I keep my distance from her.
“Good night, then,” Coach says, directing it at both of us. “Get home safely.”
Tatum tears her eyes from me as she follows her father out of the room, disappearing from sight. My focus stays trained on the door long after she leaves. It isn’t until Khai’s deep laughter sounds in my ears do I crash back to reality.
Khai claps my shoulder as he slips past to leave. “Oh, dude. You’re so fucked.”
I exhale a breath and follow him.
Yeah, in more ways than one.
Chapter Seven
TATUM
If I were part of the Wolves and my father spoke the way he is right now, I would’ve burst into tears. Not because he’s yelling or belittling anyone, but he’s making it perfectly clear to the team that they still have room for improvement after the game on Saturday night.
My gaze sweeps across the room with five rows of plush chairs, kind of like a movie theatre but instead it’s a small room in the training facility. Each of the thirty players in the team, dressed in their black and red training sleeveless jerseys and black shorts, listen intently to each word that falls from Dad’s mouth.
No one seems upset by his constructive feedback about the game on Saturday night. If anything, they nod along and ask questions when needed.
Maybe I’m the snowflake who wouldn’t be able to handle such intense feedback, and I’m reading this interaction all wrong.
I feel Sinnett’s eyes on the side of my face from where he sits in the front row. His messy hair falls effortlessly over his forehead, shielding intense blue eyes that pierce through my soul. Today, he’s dressed the same as everyone else—a changefrom his usual hoodie—leaving his toned muscles on display. Each ridge and rivet is masked by black ink embedded into the tanned skin. The different designs paint a picture of what I’m sure Sin holds no personal connection to, likely having gotten them in the spur of the moment. Either way, they add to his already intimidating frame. Even the gap in material under his arm reveals swirls of ink hidden beneath the shirt, just another mystery attached to Sinnett.
What else is this man hiding from the world?
My gaze lingers on the sports tape wrapped across his right quad—a reminder of the injury he’s dealing with, and my ‘top priority’ as my father put it after the game. On the drive home, he had reiterated that it’s important Sinnett stays on track with the recovery schedule and doesn’t push himself too hard. Dad provided me with the X-ray of his leg, and there didn’t seem to be any broken bones, so my guess is that it’s purely a muscle issue. I told Dad I would look Sinnett over after the briefing, and that moment is fast approaching.
Nervous energy races through my veins, my knee bouncing mindlessly as I force my gaze to my dad. He’s still going over the analytics from the previous game, and I can’t help but admire the passion seeping into every word he says. It’s obvious how much he loves the sport, considering the many years he put his body on the line to further his career. I’m sure it’s not every day someone like him, with a passion and drive for rugby, comes around to coach a team to greatness.
Once Dad wraps up the session, he instructs the team to hit the gym on the opposite side of the building with a focus on weightlifting. I rush to his side before someone from the staffing team has a chance to swoop in and nab his attention.
“That was truly inspiring,” I tell him, clasping my hands behind my back. “It’s great seeing you in your natural habitat.”
Dad pulls a cap over his head, smiling. “Thank you, Tate. Maybe you should tell the team that so they’ll listen.” There’s no malice in his words; instead he framed them with a slight chuckle.
