Page 4 of The Wing
I scowl at her. “You better not be setting this up because his name is your favourite prince from when you were four.”
“I’m not…mostly.” Charlie laughs. “I promise you have hobbies in common even if rugby isn’t one of them.”
“I don’t need someone I’m dating to think they know rugby because they played in school and give me tips after a game.” I only made that mistake once.
“Good. I’ll set it up in a few months. Good luck with Daisy.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean over to give her a quick hug. “Thanks for dropping me off and watching.”
“Always.”
“See you later.” I wave at her as I haul my gear into the lobby of my apartment building and watch her drive away, taking the calm with her. Without Charlie to distract me, all the anxiety comes back and churns in my stomach. I ignore my trembling hand as I punch the button for floor eight. It’s going to be okay.
Everything is fine. I’m not injured, and I’ll be able to play in South Africa.
The reassurance doesn’t last long, and despite playing most of the game and exhaustion rippling through my body, it takes a long time to fall asleep.
CHAPTER TWO
Hemi
“Hemi, what’s with the wide passes? Again!” Coach yells with a thunderous frown.
How Charlie thinks that translates to loneliness, I’ll never know.
I throw the ball to Nick, Jamie’s sub, and the sports tape strapped to my body pulls at my shoulder. I saw Daisy this morning, and apparently there’s nothing wrong with me and everything’s in my head. Like I thought. Which helps nothing at all because if there’s nothing wrong with my shoulder, then how am I supposed to fix it?
“Hemi! For fuck’s sake, stop throwing wide.”
I grit my teeth and glare at Alex. If I could stop throwing wide, I wouldn’t fucking be throwing wide. There’s nothing wrong with me, so why am I throwing wide all of a sudden? Why do I fumble the ball when I catch it?
Daisy said I’m in my head, and she’s right. I’m overthinking everything. In a way, being physically injured would be easier.At least then I’d know how to fix it and work towards healing. But mentally? How am I supposed to fix that? And quickly.
Because otherwise I’ll be on the bench as one of the eight subs instead of the starting fifteen. Or worse, left in New Zealand to train with the rejected twelve players who weren’t chosen as one of the twenty-three men to make up the match day squad. I’d be on the national team, but it’s not my dream to warm the bench or train in New Zealand while everyone else is on the international field.
Being left behind and training, hoping I’ll get a chance to prove myself, well, I already did that and I’m not going back. Not when I’ve been starting fifteen for two years.
I’ll book an appointment with the team psychologist or something. Ask Google how to fix myself, maybe.
Daisy wants to see me for extra sessions on the off-chance it turns into an injury, and at this rate, I’ll probably manifest it since I can’t remember how to catch a ball properly, or throw it, so it can’t hurt having her strap my shoulder before training and games. If I’m allowed to play at all.
There isn’t a place for someone who drops the ball in front of thousands of spectators in the middle of the championship.
I breathe deeply and shake my arms out, bouncing on my toes. I roll my neck until it cracks and nod to Nick. We go again.
“Better. Watch your arm, Hemi, as you follow through.”
I wipe sweat out of my eyes and nod at Alex. He doesn’t look as angry now, which is a relief. His pale skin is stark against the black staff uniform, but at least his frown has lessened and you can see his lips again. When he’s displeased, he purses them and they disappear under his beard and his Irish accent comes out. I try to avoid him when that happens. I do not enjoy it when it’s aimed at me. It makes me feel like I’m sixteen again when I forgot to write an English essay. The teacher had the same expression, and the tedious detention of writing lines over andover again made me fear that expression. It’s worse now that it’s linked to my job, but I must have done something right since Alex is currently striding away to squint at Johnny, whose white skin has gone bright red from training. Better him than me.
“What’s up with you?” Nick asks now that Alex isn’t scrutinising us. His olive skin has lost its tan over the winter, and his brown eyes are a little too knowing for my liking.
I snort. Great, other people are noticing besides the coaches and physio team. “Hell if I know. My body’s decided to forget how to play rugby, which is amazing, you know, considering it’s my job to play rugby,” I say sarcastically with a bitter edge to it.
Nick’s eyes widen. “Fuck.”
“Yup.”
“Fucking nightmare during the championship. Like anyone needs extra stress now.” Nick scrubs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair and shakes his head. “Sure it isn’t an injury, or leading towards that?” he finishes with a whisper, as if just mentioning an injury makes it infectious.
