Chapter 15 #2
“Your sister needs to press charges,” Luke says, his fist clenching on the back of the seat.
Wyatt’s knuckles are white on the wheel of his truck. “You should have killed him.”
“I wanted to.” I swallow the knot in my throat, not realizing how intense this has all felt for me. I couldn’t even bring
myself to tell my sister what her ex even said. Though I expect she already knew. She knew about the video. She knew it was
passed around to teammates. I begged her to report him to the police, the university, anyone. But she refused. Said she consented
to the video and deserved what she got.
I hate that a world exists where she thinks she deserves that kind of treatment.
“I’ve struggled with my temper on the pitch ever since my last year in secondary school. I’m working on it.”
“So are we,” Calder says with a laugh. “Some problems are just easier solved with a little violence, if you ask me.”
The corner of my mouth tips up at that response. It’s unexpected. I’ve gotten used to feeling like a thug the last several
years. No one has ever made me feel . . . understood.
Until now.
We pull up to the bus stop, and I slide out of the truck, my rugby bag on my shoulder, my head hanging low.
“Someone will be here at six to pick you up,” Wyatt says from his open window.
“Thanks for the ride . . . and for . . . not judging me too harshly.”
Wyatt nods. “If fighting for your sister is the worst you got, you’re alright by me, Reilly.” He taps the side of his truck
and then pulls away, leaving me winded and morbidly curious if what I did to his niece would be considered worse.
“I’m going to fucking die,” I groan as I drop myself into an ice bath in the recovery room after training. “This is the end.”
Laughter echoes from the tub beside me. “You need more than a week to get your lungs straight, Wolf,” a Scottish voice utters.
I glance over at Jacob Fergus Maclay, aka Fergie as the team calls him. He’s a few years older than me and just finished as
a star player for the Grizzlies on their debut season this past year. He transferred from a team in London that he played
for previously, and as a couple of the only internationals here, we connected relatively easily today out on the pitch.
When I wasn’t fighting for my life, that is.
“I’ve been doing runs on the mountain I’m living at to prep, but this was next-level.”
“Coach Harper had it out for you, I suspect,” Fergie chortles with a laugh.
“Reilly,” a gruff voice yells, and I stand up in the ice bath, my body shivering in my compression shorts as my new coach
comes stomping into the room to face me.
He’s a short, stocky guy with frown lines that have frown lines. “Have you started work at that rescue center yet?”
“Yes, Coach, I started last week.”
“Confirm your hours with administration. You have to log twenty every week to be eligible to train with us.”
“Yes, sir. I remember.” I shiver, my abs clenching in the cold as I look down at him.
“And stop in my office after you’re done here for your youth team information as well, okay? Season starts in a month.”
“Y-y-yes, sir,” I stammer as ice-cold water sluices down my body.
He slides a grumpy gaze over to Fergie, who smiles like a cat that got the cream. “He’s with you on your team, Fergie, so
keep him in line, or it’s your ass.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Fergie salutes cheerily, and Coach glares at him before turning to walk away.
I drop back into the ice water, the frigid temp sweltering compared to the icy, militant communication style from my new coach. “He fucking hates me.”
“He hates everyone,” Fergie says with a laugh as he hops out of his tub and begins toweling off. “You just have to prove yourself
to him.”
“Throwing up in the bin today probably wasn’t a good first impression.”
“Aye, you may have screwed the pooch on that one, lad.” He laughs and wipes down his chest. “But everyone is shite on their
first day. Just stay the course.”
I nod and offer him a grateful look. “Thanks for having my back today.”
“No problem,” he says, bunching his towel. “As long as you have mine with this youth team. These kids are rough, lad.”
I frown and shrug dismissively. “I coached a lot of youth teams back in my neighborhood. It’s no bother.”
He huffs out a disbelieving sound and changes the subject when he asks, “So what mountain are you staying at?”
“It’s a private residence outside a small village called Jamestown.”
“That’s near Boulder, aye?”
“Aye, there’s a rescue center up there that I’m working at, and I’m living in the apartment above the barn.”
“How did you score that setup?”
“My sister’s roommate at Trinity is from there. She hooked me up.”
“I’d say,” Fergie says, his lips turning down. “So, is this friend of your sister’s hooking you up in other ways as well?”
He waggles his brows at me and jumps back when I lurch out of the tub and take a large step closer to him. “Don’t speak about
her like that,” I growl as water drips down on the floor around me.
His eyes widen as he holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, lad, okay. No harm meant. Just trying to get to know your situation a bit.”
“What’s your situation?” I jut my chin up defiantly as I reach for a towel to dry off. I know I’m the new kid on the team,
but that doesn’t mean I’m just here for his amusement. “Wanna share your life story?”
Fergie laughs and hoists himself up onto a stretching bench, kicking his feet casually. “Aye, sure. I’m an open book, pal.
My dad was a pro footballer in the UK for years. Maclay Logan, if you follow European football, not the American shite. Anyways,
I broke his bloody heart the day I fell in love with rugby, but he’s gotten over it for the most part because he and my mum
show up to as many matches as they can. Or they did until I came over here.” He winces and shakes his head as he looks down
at the long scar on his knee. “I was in my prime until I buggered my knee up a couple years ago and can’t seem to get my speed
back, no matter how hard I try. So here I am . . . in Colorado, bottom-barrel feeding for a shite team just like you. So don’t
get defensive, lad. You and me . . . we’re in the same boat.”
I nod and exhale heavily, my eyes doing a sweep of the guy who has been nothing but kind to me since I arrived at camp early
this morning. I push my damp hair off my face and grip my towel around my neck. “I’m sorry, mate. I’m still just . . . adjusting
to all of this. It’s been a stressful few months.”
And I only made things more stressful when I decided to lock lips with my sister’s best friend.
Fucking hell, what was I thinking? And the fact that Everly hasn’t spoken to me since is not a good sign. Not a good sign
at all.
“Let’s go grab a pint, aye? I can prepare you for the little monsters we have to coach on Thursday after training. Then I can drop you to your bus stop if you like.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, mate.” And I head to the showers to clean myself up and work on pushing down my wall so I can help build
up a new team.