Page 88 of Just Come Over
She’d stopped crying, at least. “You would?”
“Course I would. Just like the Runaway Bunny story says. Because you are my little bunny.” It was easier to say in the dark.
“Except you always say monkey.”
“You’re both. Bunny and monkey. Depending.”
She had both hands wrapped around his arm, like she needed to feel its strength. He might not remember to buy tissues, but strength was one thing he did have on offer. She said, “And you have a tattoo like Maui, and a fish hook like Maui, so maybe you could come.”
“I could definitely come. And I would. Plus, there’s you. You could fight the wolf.”
“I can’t fight awolf.I’m akid.”
“My daughter, though, aren’t you? Casey Moana. Fierce and strong. Yeh, that’s it.” He sighed. “I’m afraid that wolf’s going to be wolf meat. He’ll be lucky if you don’t eat him for dinner.”
She giggled, which was much better. “I don’t think wolves taste good.”
“How do you know? Have you ever tasted one?”
She was the one sighing now. “That’s silly. And I don’t think that’s the right way to say it, when you have a bad dream. You’re s’posed to hug me and say that there are no bad wolves, and it won’t get me, and go to sleep now. That’s what my mommy would say.”
“I call that unfair. Here I am, hugging for all I’m worth, giving you a better alternative, and this is what I cop?” He gave her hair a stroke and pulled her in a little tighter. “You’re missing your mum, maybe.”
“She used to smell very nice.” Casey might sound a wee bit drowsy, which meant he was doing it right. “Like flowers. Zora smells kind of like my mommy, and she’s got a nice voice like my mommy, too. You have a big voice, like Maui, and you aren’t soft like Zora, but you’re kind of like my mommy anyway.”
“That’s because I’m your dad.” He kissed the top of her head. “Dads don’t smell as nice, maybe, but we have our good points. I can teach you how to fight the wolf, for one. Could teach you to use the taiaha, when you’re a bit older. That’s a fighting staff. Maori are fierce warriors, you know. That was the first thing I thought when I saw you in Chicago, sitting on that lady’s couch. Thought you were fierce, and you were strong.”
“You did? I was scared, though, because I didn’t know who you were, and I missed my mommy very much.”
“That’s when you need to be fierce most, is when you’re scared. You can run away, or you can fight back. You and I fight back, and we don’t give up. That’s how I recognized you, even though I’d never met you before. It’s how I know you’ll be eating wolf meat, too. I’ll get there, riding on the wind, and you’ll have dealt to him already and won’t have left anything for me to do. Won’t I be disappointed then.”
She snuggled in closer. “You aren’t really like a mom,” she said, “but you’re kind of like a dad, I guess.”
“I’m exactly like a dad. Because I am one.”
Ten hours later, and he was stuck into his work again, watching the training, going down his checklist from the Tokyo game.
“Hugh,” he said, pulling the captain aside after one of the endless series of drills that were the reason New Zealand played the best rugby on the planet. “You got beat three times on Saturday getting to the breakdown, which is why their No. 8 could get in under you and snaffle the ball. What I’m seeing is you hanging in there at the last one a second too long. If the ball isn’t there, let it go. Focus on getting in and out.”
Hugh nodded, his dark, bearded face intense, and said, “Right,” and Rhys flipped a page on his clipboard and headed over to where the tight forwards were working on their tackling, each man holding up a pad for his mate, who hit it hard, over and over again.
Tom Koru-Mansworth, the young lock who’d come off the bench in Tokyo and earned a yellow card in the seventy-first minute for a high tackle, was going at ittoohard, he thought. Not methodical. Nearly frantic.
It mattered too much, maybe.
You can’t coach hunger,he’d told Finn, but what he was seeingwashunger. It was more than that. It was desperation.
His push on the kid had hurt as much as it had helped, surely. He didn’t usually stuff up with his players. Why had he done it this time? Because Kors was good-looking, Maori, and quick with a laugh? Reminding Rhys of Dylan, possibly, and frustrating him into too-hasty judgment?
What was it Casey had said?I think it’s very hard when you can’t yell at people, so maybe you should just say, ‘Good job,’ or something. Or give them a sticker.
He headed over and pulled Kors aside. The kid looked nothing but apprehensive. Rhys said, “Your first yellow card, eh.”
“Yeh,” Kors said, and looked even more nervous. Which wasn’t how anybody learned, was it? It was good to care. It was bad to obsess. The line was fine.
“High tackle,” Rhys said. “How long ago did you finish growing?”
“About a year,” Kors said. He was all arms and legs, the way young locks tended to be. Six foot six could take you by surprise, and so could that extra fifteen Kg’s of muscle you’d put on. Power and height and athleticism were all well and good, but judgment took time and focus.
