Page 126 of Just Come Over
When the first player came through, raising his arms above his head in triumph, there was nearly a sob from the room, and then the doors were being rushed.
“They let us go first,” Zora heard from somewhere. From Koti James, that was, who had a kid in each arm and was still, somehow, managing to kiss his wife. “Everyone had their passport, and the coaches could vouch for us. Still processing the rest.” He raised his voice so the words reverberated off the walls. “Everybody’s off. Everybody got off.”
And then, to his wife, Kate, as his face sobered, “The plane exploded. That was too close.”
Zora wasn’t listening, not really. One after another, the men came through the door. Twenty of them. Thirty. And after them, the training staff, the team manager, the equipment manager.
Finn, ducking his head out of reflex, his eyes scanning the crowd, his body absorbing the impact of two bodies hurtling themselves against his legs, and another one following after. Lily, not as fast as her brother and sister.
And, finally, the last one out. Rhys. Limping, his hair soaked, dried blood on his neck and shirt and a line of white covering his cheekbone, his eyes scanning the crowd. Looking for them. Looking forher.
The room was full of knots of people. Crying. Hugging. Men lifting babies, kissing toddlers, kissing wives, laughing, talking. And that last man in the door, the one who’d waited to make sure everybody else was in first. The one who always would.
Casey, running toward him, her arms stretched wide, saying the word for the very first time.
“Dadddyyyyy.”
Rhys was picking her up, cuddling her close, kissing her cheek, but his eyes were sweeping the whole time. Looking for Isaiah. Looking for her.
The man you’d want with you at the very worst moments, because he’d do anything to haul you to safe ground, even if it took his last breath.
Full of mana.
Rhys.
It was funny, Rhys thought nearly two weeks later, how much difference a day could make. Winning a game was good. Helping with an evacuation was better, even if it had been nothing more than anybody would have done. The team had been in the right place at the right time, that was all.
He’d said that, but other people had said something else. He suspected that Hugh had had a hand in starting that, because when they’d held a press conference the day after their exciting landing, Hugh had said, “Wasn’t us, really. It was Drago setting out our roles, making a plan, and communicating it, all in about two minutes. We executed, that was all.” To Rhys’s considerable embarrassment, Finn and the other players had all echoed that line of thought. Hugh had decided that Rhys needed the good PR, he guessed, and he’d made it happen. Hugh was going to end up as a coach one of these days, if he didn’t watch out.
It was better for Zora and the kids, though, for Rhys to be a hero instead of the villain of the piece, so he was going to take advantage of his moment. The team had won their first game back on home soil, and after tomorrow night, they had a much-needed bye, during which Rhys was taking Zora and the kids to Nelson to visit the whanau. Past time to introduce Casey, to let the kids spend time with their cousins and to go out on the fishing boat, and to let everybody see him and Zora together. Heni Johnson, though, who’d been the personactuallycarrying on an affair under everybody’s noses, would be making herself scarce. He’d see to that.
Just now, it was Friday afternoon, and he was at the park near his house, practicing kicking with Isaiah, having some one-on-one time while Casey was at her friend Esme’s house. Zora, he very much hoped, was having a long, luxurious bath in front of the windows and painting her toenails on his bed. Her parents were minding the kids tonight, in another first, so he could take her out. His elevated status was working a treat for Zora’s mum, even if her dad still wasn’t sold.
Too bad. Her dad would come around, or he wouldn’t. If he wanted to throw away his daughter and his mokopuna, it was his loss.
He collected Isaiah’s latest kick, jogged over to him, and said, “Better, mate. Same technique every time, that’s the idea. Have you thought about playing at fullback? You’ve got the steadiness for it, and the vision.”
“I do?” Isaiah asked.
“From what I’ve seen? Yeh. A fullback has to have a cool head, and you’ve got that.”
“You can’t just change where you play, though,” Isaiah said.
“You’re right. You can tell the coach you’re interested in giving it a go, though, and you can work on your running and your fitness and your kicking and passing with me. And for the rest? There’s no secret to it, and no magic. Mostly, it’s a bit of aptitude, and then heaps of hard work and discipline and paying attention. Being humble, eh. Being willing to listen.”
Isaiah looked at him, then looked away. “You had spectacular on-field vision, though. That’s what this one person said. I don’t think I have spectacular on-field vision.”
“Aw, mate,” Rhys said, letting his hand rest on Isaiah’s head, “people say all sorts of rubbish. I paid attention, that’s all, and I wanted it more. You can pay attention too. Nobody better at that, I’d say. But I’ve got something to talk to you about. Something I need your help with. Let’s sit, and I’ll explain.”
On Saturday night, Zora sat, rugged up with the kids in coats and boots against the autumn chill, and watched the Blues play. They’d moved steadily up the table these past four weeks, and were now lying second amongst the New Zealand teams, which had Auckland very much more excited about Rhys. Fickle bastards.
Right now, she watched the ball go from hand to hand, the forwards setting up a rock-solid platform for the backs to work their magic, and wondered what an experience like the one on the plane would do for a team.
The players hadn’t talked about it much, and neither had the coaches, shrugging the incident off with the humility expected of them. The passengers, though, hadn’t been so reticent. Stories of players carrying wheelchair-bound passengers in their arms, of Kevin McNicholl cradling a toddler, Nic Wilkinson holding a teenage girl’s hand, Koti James charming a scared twelve-year-old flying alone... well, they warmedherheart, and she was used to it. It wasn’t just a winning moment for the team with the public, though. Surely, coming together like that would strengthen the ties that bound the group.
Your teammates were your brothers, Dylan had always said, and that was what she was seeing on the field now. Will Tawera chipping a little grubber kick through, reading the bounce, reacting faster than you’d think possible, and picking it up himself, then pitching it back to Koti James without looking, five meters out, because he knew he’d be there, and because it wasn’t about who scored the try, it was about the team. Koti stepping, fooling one South African, then going straight through another one, dotting down with a smile on his face and springing up again with his hands crossed over his heart as the crowd rose and cheered the effort.
That gesture would be for his wife. There was something else that kind of experience did, too. It let a man know exactly how much he wanted to go home to his family. And for his partner? It let her know how much she needed to see that one special person come through the door. The one who’d been made just for her.
