Chapter 82
THEO
We won that game, but what the hell kind of cost might it have had?
Next week is the grand final at home. We’re through the toughest of the playoff matchups, but now I feel like I’m stuck in a tailspin.
Wren is secluded in privacy in my office, talking to her sister on the phone in an effort to keep calm, while I do my best to sort out the messy aftermath of that game.
Ace is going to face disciplinary action for that card.
Even though he did nothing wrong, it still takes a whole panel and a judicial process to go through.
The most likely outcome I’m hoping for is that he might have to pay a fine—which is complete bullshit, considering his tackle was legal—but my bigger fear is that there might be someone on the panel who will be vindictive enough to throw the book at him.
In that case? He might lose the opportunity to play in the final. He might even miss out on a place on the international roster this season. Depending on how many matches he is stood down for, it might cost him his spot on the national team if those games stretch across multiple Team USA fixtures.
As my footsteps pound the concrete hall leading to the media pit for tonight, I see the faces I knew were going to be hanging around like flies.
Scouts from multiple international squads, all of whom have been watching various Wolves players.
And among them I spy the different individuals who have been keeping a close eye on both Connor and Ace for weeks now.
I did my bit to help boost Connor’s chances.
I know he’s already a certainty for Scotland this season, but there hasn’t been any confirmation yet with Ace’s agent.
I’ve been checking quietly, asking around, and calling in favors where possible to see how the USA selections might be positioned for the season.
But they’ve been keeping their ranks closed and lips sealed.
One of the scouts notices me approaching and steps in front of me with a palm outstretched. I give him a hearty handshake in return and flash the type of smile belonging to a team owner, not a stressed Alpha with a pack to take care of.
“Theo Brennan himself, in the flesh. What a privilege. You know I watched you lift the cup god knows how many times. They don’t make players like you anymore.
..” The guy dressed casually in a black button-down and jeans, pockets his phone.
“Other than your midfielders, of course. No wonder they’re putting up such impressive stats under your watch.
I was wondering if I might be able to grab one of your players for a quick conversation.
Just a casual chat, y’know.” He winks at me.
“Of course.” I incline my head with a knowing look. “Anyone in particular?” This game is a familiar one. I pretend not to know. He acts like I don’t know. And the dance of securing players waltzes on.
He scrubs his jaw, pretending to think it over. “Well, if Atlas Palamo was to stroll out here, I’d be mighty appreciative of a minute of his time. I was hoping the kid would be in the thick of the media scrum tonight, especially since he had a few fireworks attached to his name.”
I rearrange my lanyard, smoothing it over the front of my shirt, putting on a forced smile that hopefully conveys a level of confidence in the situation, not that I’m worried as shit about my packmate.
“Tell you what, I’ll go get his ass out of the shower and see if he’s available.
He’ll smell a lot better by that stage, too. ”
The scout gives me a thumbs up and steps away to discreetly rejoin the lineup of media and other scouts.
Well, shit. I guess it’s gonna be now or never for Ace.
I can only pray that his chances haven’t been ruined thanks to that asshole on the opposition.
I’ve lingered in the background, watching anxiously from the back of the room as Connor breezes through the onslaught of questions in front of the camera with both Coach and Captain at his side, and his requisite Renfro charm offensive running red hot.
He has the room eating out of the palm of his hand, with that Scottish humor of his doing the heavy lifting.
Out of the corner of my eye, I’ve also kept watch on Ace, who has stood with hands shoved deep in his pockets while the scout talks at him. I don’t think I’ve seen the guy say more than two words, but he absorbs everything that the man has to say.
As the last of the reporter’s questions is handled, and our team’s PR manager calls out thank yous to the gathered reporters and journalists, I wave at Coach to catch his attention. He nods and gestures for me to follow after him.
Ace meets my eyes as he quickly shakes hands with the scout, and his body language is impossible to read.
I can’t tell how that conversation went, and my heart lurches knowing what it was like to be in his exact position.
I’m back to being the player with sweaty palms waiting on a call-up myself, agonizing over the whims of selectors and coaching staff.
This game gives so much to us, but it can be so brutal at the same time in return.
God, I hope he’s done enough to make the team.
He deserves to own that jersey. I might be biased, but he’s the best player for the position in the country, standing head and shoulders above anyone else in my book.
We catch up to Coach, Connor, and Murphy. As we get nearer, I give Connor a look in silent question and he subtly shakes his head. He doesn’t know what to say right now, or how this next step is going to go, and I don’t blame him.
None of us could have anticipated how tonight would pan out.
I’m sure Connor is just as flipped upside down. The guy will be exhausted and bruised as shit. His body was put through hell and back tonight.
“Murphy, you’re all done here. Great job tonight.” Coach clears his throat. “Renfro, Palamo, I need to see you both in my office.”
“Sure thing.” Murphy eyes us all while lingering in the hallway. “I’ll text you later, bro.” He shoulder-slaps Ace and Connor before giving me a nod, then turning on his heel to head for the locker room to collect his things.
“You too, Brennan.” Coach speaks through a clenched jaw. He looks like he’s been chewing rocks, and I don’t need to ask too many questions to know why he’s showing all the signs of having an embolism.
We start walking in the direction of the coaching team’s base in the stadium, and before we travel too far, he falls into step beside me. I glance his way, and he scrubs a heavy palm over his stubble, while keeping one hand tucked in his pocket.
“Everything good?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“Not out here,” he grunts. “This needs to wait until there are no other ears around.”
We reach his office, and as he swipes his lanyard to unlock the door, I immediately know why the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.
That wonderful, soul-nourishing peach scent hits my nostrils before I see her.
Wren jumps to her feet from the chair she had been perched on, blue eyes hanging out of her head as we all file into the room. She wrings her hands together, clearly not sure what to do, mirroring our same level of hesitation.
I’ve been in this office what feels like a thousand times, we’ve celebrated wins together, commiserated losses, and negotiated contracts on this very spot.
Coach Robinson and I have spent late nights and early mornings in here focused on every aspect of the Wolves team, yet right at this second, it feels more like the size of a matchbox now that we’re all inside.
Coach locks the door at our back, rather ominously.
He rubs his temples and goes across to his desk, resting his ass on the edge, but before any of us can speak he jumps straight to the point.
“Tell me what I need to know here.” His eyes land on each of us in turn.
With a cough into my fist to clear my throat, I gesture for Wren to come be at my side.
I can feel how nervous she is down the bond, and as soon as I wrap my arm around her waist, that trembling anxiety soothes a little.
“Well… I don’t know how Wren ended up in here specifically, when the last I knew she was minding her business in my office, but I mean, you already know about… ”
Coach shakes his head to cut me off. “Theo, cut the bullshit. You were honest with me about your bond with Wren, and I appreciate that, I really do. But you really didn’t think to clue me in on the rest?”
We all exchange sideways glances. Connor and Ace look physically pained that they can’t immediately reach for Wren to hold her close like they want to.
“Jesus,” Coach huffs. “Alright, since you’re all gonna stand there like a set of tackle bags. It took me a minute to piece it together. Though once I saw it clearly, I have to admit, I doubted it could be true.”
“Charlie... look, it’s not like that… ” I try to explain, but he holds up a palm to stop me.
“I’ve got a PR disaster waiting to erupt because my star center is getting himself thrown out of the game.
My fullback, who is on track for World Cup honors, seems to be a target for every asshole in the league to break his neck.
I’ve got scouts trying to hunt both your asses down, and yet you’re disappearing like smoke when your rugby careers are on the line.
To top it all off, we’ve got … this mess… ” He gestures between Wren and me.
My heart jumps into my throat as the room goes silent enough to hear a pin drop.
Coach narrows his eyes on me with a flinty gaze.
Oh, fuck.