Page 46 of The Wing
I yank the door open and enter the hall, jogging to where I think the sheds are. “I’m not entirely sure. It was the closest room I could find that was empty.” I round a corner I don’t remember passing and find people in black tracksuits, one of which is Daisy.
“Where the hell have you been?” she asks, storming towards me, but worry tinges her voice, masking the underlying anger.
“Sorry, I had a bit of an issue, but I’m good now.” I shift my gaze from a frowning Daisy to Liam’s frown on the camera. “I’m fine, promise. I’ll call you later, yeah?”
His frown eases. “Yeah. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” I hang up and turn to Daisy.
“Was that Liam?” Her hands settle on her hips in the universal sign of anger, which reminds me too much of my mother, and I take a step back. “Are you telling me you disappeared for a half hour to talk to Liam? Hemi, what the fuck,” she hisses. “You need to put your boots on because Alex is ready to drag you over hot coals.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I panicked and couldn’t breathe properly.”
Her tone shifts instantly. Her hands fall to her sides, and her eyes soften. “Oh. Are you okay? Do we need to put Peter on?If you’re not ready, that’s okay. Alex won’t want you pushing yourself, despite the perpetual glare on his face,” Daisy mutters with a glance behind her to make sure Alex isn’t there.
I shake my head and bounce on my toes. Sitting on the ground for thirty minutes when I should be warming up does not bode well, but I’m feeling good. “I’m fine. Liam helped. I need to do this. To at least try. And if I keep having issues?” I shrug and sigh. “I guess we’ll need to figure out a plan, but for now, I’m ready. Don’t fucking put Peter on.” I point at her, and when she raises her eyebrows, I tack on a, “Please,” and soften my tone. “I have to do this.”
She narrows her eyes at me and scans my body, eyes lingering on my shoulder. “Fine, but you better get your ass in the shed and kick some serious ass on the field. I won’t mention anything about this”—she nods down the hall—“but you know Alex won’t hesitate to sub you if it looks like we’re losing, and I’ll have to tell the others you need more support.”
“I know. I just want to play.”Please don’t tell Alex I had a breakdown in a supply closet. He won’t let me play, and I’m feeling good. Surprisingly.I beg Daisy with my eyes to let me at least try to play, and she sighs heavily.
“Okay.”
I grin. “That’s why you’re my favourite physio.”
“There are only two of us,” she says flatly.
“Still counts.” I head for the door, but her hand on my arm stops me.
“Is Liam all good? You’re both fine?”
“He’s fine. He’s sitting all adorable on his couch with the game on.”
Daisy nods and releases me. “Good.”
I dart into the room and find my cubby and lace my boots quickly, avoiding the glares of multiple coaches and a few of the boys.
Johnny sidles up to me. “You good?” he asks.
“I’m good.” I slap my hand into his palm, and he hauls me upright. “Let’s go kick some ass.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Liam
“Hemi Carter has caught the ball from Johnny O’Malley and is making a run for it,” the commentator yells in an excited voice. I lean forward. “He’s going for it, folks! Will he make it? There’s only ten seconds on the clock, but if he makes it then New Zealand wins the Freedom Cup!”
Hemi pushes a green jersey out of his way and sprints with three players on his heels.
I launch to my feet. “Come on, Hemi, come on.”
An opposing player clutches Hemi’s jersey, but Hemi manages to shake him off and dives over the white try line. I grin and whoop into the dark lounge. On the screen, Hemi stands with a wide grin on his face, and he laughs as his team jumps on him, causing them to fall in a pile.
“He’s done it, folks, Hemi has scored the winning try and New Zealand has won the Freedom Cup! After a messy game last week and Hemi off with an injured shoulder, he’s back better than before and won the game,” the commentator says in his annoyingly loud voice. I mute the TV and focus on Hemi’sexcitement emanating through the screen. My cheeks hurt from smiling. He did it. He’s the reason the team won the game.
He started a bit unsteady and had a few shaky moments and missed opportunities, but he pulled through.
I snag my phone off the couch to text him even though I know he won’t see the message for a few hours. They have the interviews to get through—and everyone will want to talk to Hemi about the winning try and his time off—and then the ceremony to present the cup, and if I know anything about Kiwis, they’ll be off to the nearest bar to drink their weight in beer to celebrate. But that doesn’t stop me from texting:
