Page 2 of The Wing
It’s short-lived, and she pushes me away with a scrunched nose. “You’re all sweaty.”
“The smell of winners.”
“More like stench, but whatever. Am I dropping you home?”
“Yes, please.”
“Okay, boys, time to cool down and jump in the ice baths,” George, the strength and conditioning coach, yells.
Charlie stares at him and turns to me. “Does his face always go that red?”
“Nah, that’s him cooled down.” His suntanned skin and deep forehead lines do nothing to disguise the angry red he turns when we’re not doing everything to his standard. “You should see him when we’re having a bad training day. He goes purple.”
“Right. I guess I’ll wait around here for you to finish.”
“I shouldn’t be too long.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll find something to do.” She scans the room and disappears with a wave.
After I’ve finished for the night, I meet Charlie at the front entrance of the stadium and hope there aren’t any stragglers waiting around for players. I’m too stressed about my shoulder to make it worth their while meeting me. Thankfully, it’s deserted when I see her.
My gear hangs from my shoulder and bashes into my thigh. “You couldn’t have told me you parked in the public area? Thought that fancy box you use has parking.”
Charlie crosses the street when I meet her. “Hah, hah. I’m their personal assistant, not the owner, so I don’t get parking rights. We’re a few streets away.”
I decide not to pick a fight about her parking so far away and wasting time in the changing sheds with the other players, instead of bringing the car around so I don’t have to walk as far. That would sound ungrateful, and I’m not. I’m happy she’s here, just tired from the game, and walking through the streets of Mt Eden, in the dark, is not high on my list of things I want to do after a game.
“Find anything to do while you were waiting?” I ask and shove my hands deep into my pockets to avoid the brisk wind.
“I spoke to Alex.”
I stumble on a rock, drop my gear, and catch myself on a hedge. “You what?”
Charlie pauses and scrunches her nose at me clinging to someone’s hedge. “I spoke to Alex.”
“Alex as in my head coach?”
“Yes? What’s the big deal? He looked lonely standing by himself, so I went and spoke to him.”
I gape at her. “He looked lonely? Alex? Lonely? Tall fella with weirdly pale skin and a beard? That Alex?”
“Yes, that Alex. I know who he is, Hemi. I don’t watch your games just for you.” She turns and starts walking, leaving me staring after her, slightly offended. I jog to catch up.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I watch the game because I like rugby. That means all the interviews, which means I know who he is.” Charlie tilts her head. “He did look oddly lonely surrounded by everyone.”
“I think you’re confusing loneliness with anger. Pretty sure he’s pissed at us.”
“Why? You won the game.”
I scoff and cross my arms, knowing exactly what Alex will say at the weekly team meeting. “Yeah, through luck. Not through skill or executing the plays correctly.”
“Oh. I suppose it was a messy game.”
“Yep,” I agree, “and that’s not something Alex likes.”
Charlie shrugs. “Well, he was nice.”
