Chapter 7
Antonio
“Fast feet. Sink those hips!”
Coach Titan’s whistle is an alarm to my muscles, which are gasping for energy. My arms strain to push off the turf that’s clawing at my knees.
I suck in a breath and speed through the agility ladder.
The quick shuffle of my cleats digs through the field’s synthetic fibers.
Kendrick passes me the ball, and I cradle it before propelling into Shins and Nacho’s pads.
Sweat from my forehead spatters the reinforced vinyl shields the lock and loosehead prop use to prevent a line break.
I drop my height, anchor the ball against my forearm, and drive with small, explosive steps to wedge between my teammates.
As a flanker, my position is a link between the forwards and the backs. It involves me in the offense and the defense. Making key tackles and dismantling our opponents’ play requires me to stay sharp with an awareness for opportunities.
“Way to power through, Knight!” our strength and conditioning coach shouts from the sideline. He blows his whistle again, signaling the end of the drill. Each gulp of air burns my lungs.
Fuck, I hate Wednesdays.
Preseason training requires an endurance we build through intense conditioning, weightlifting, field running, and game play.
All four converge on any given day, forcing us to leave it all on the field.
Today started with an early gym session, followed by speed exposure and ground contact strength work.
It’s a high-intensity day, one that ends in hand-to-hand combat for first dibs on the ice bath at Steel House.
“Good work out there.” Shins tosses me my water bottle and joins me on the turf next to our gear.
The only time I welcome fake grass under dome lights is during a Buffalo winter. I always played rugby outside in DC, rain, shine, or otherwise.
I suck down half of the room temperature water in one go and swipe at the sweat dripping down my face with my jersey. It’s another teen-degree day, but you’d never know it inside the indoor practice field.
“You and Nacho almost had me.” I smirk at him sprawled out. He gives me the finger with the arm that shields his eyes from the lights beaming above us.
Shayne, called “Shins” for his leg power to drive scrums, is tall as hell. As a lock, he’s a specialist at disrupting rucks and securing possessions for a lineout. He’d give me more problems if I didn’t know the side he favors with his tackles for an opening to break the line.
Our positions are adjacent to each other on the field, which makes one-upping each other during practice difficult.
“How was home?” I ask about his weekend back in Glendale, Colorado.
Shins pulls off his scrum cap, doused in sweat, and tosses it. “Good,” he says. “Daisy is staying in state for college.”
“She playing?” It’s a dumb question, and he confirms it with a sidelong glance. Everyone in the Brown family plays rugby except for the dog.
He hesitates but says, “Flanker,” and mushes me at my laughter.
“Tell Daisy I got her if she wants tips.” At five ten, his little sister is short for their family, but with more time in the gym, she’ll be a wrecking ball in my position.
I block the roll of tape Shins chucks at my head with my water bottle. “Stay away from her,” he snaps, tugging at the tape that secures the lifting block he uses to practice lineouts from one of his thighs. “That’s my baby sister.”
“The fact that you think I’d go after an eighteen-year-old is insulting. Give me some credit for my virtue.”
One, I prefer my women older. I’m attracted to the ones my age, but there’s something about a woman in her thirties or forties.
Two, Shins and Daisy share their father’s face. Pass.
All three resemble the Black duke from Bridgerton.
Dude isn’t unattractive, but he annoyed me during the first season, which my mother forced me to watch last Christmas.
He and Shins have the same thick brows, brown eyes, and scowl.
Shins isn’t into tailcoats and cravats, but he dons a stick up his ass.
“There are certain lines I won’t cross,” I emphasize.
Married.
Under twenty-five.
Orders sparkling water at restaurants.
He deadpans, “Are you not the only motherfucker on this field?”
I rub my beard. “Not sure. Bread helped Coach Titan get on one of those dating apps.”
“Who’s a motherfucker?” Quincy, our scrum-half, walks up with Kendrick.
The “backs,” or backline, had a primer training session while we forwards focused on system offense. We get thirty minutes before we switch. I was hoping for a quick nap, but I see now that’s not happening.
“This one.” Shins points at me.
I smack away his finger. “You need to get out more.”
Quincy squeezes between us with a grin. “Did you forget about Miami?”
“How was I supposed to know an opposing player’s mom was scouting for dick at the bar?” Did she get what she was looking for? Hell yeah. “And that was one time,” I say in my defense and kick Quincy’s cleat. “Respect your elders.”
The little prick is the size of a Fiat and can’t grow more than two strands of chin hair. At twenty-two, he’s the youngest person in Steel House, and he gets stuffed in the trash bin at least once a week for not knowing when to knock it off.
“What about the woman in Chicago, our first season?” Shins asks.
“We got stuck in a snowstorm. I was trapped in her house.” My frown deepens at their laughter.
Quincy’s mini ’fro scratches against the turf as he clutches the sides of his Tonka Truck muscles. Even Kendrick is hunched over, hollering like our flights didn’t get canceled that game.
Phyllis had the body of Taraji with a bob to match.
We met the night before my game at an upscale bar across from my hotel.
I popped in for a nightcap after practice and came out with her number.
We celebrated the Steel’s win at her house, and I couldn’t find a ride back to my room because of the road conditions.
So I used the extra time at her place eating the snacks she kept for her granddaughter and homecooked meals.
I even had a bath with those fancy salts my mom bought out of Avon catalogs when I was younger.
Phyllis was forty-six and expected nothing but my stamina, a willing tongue, and me not to use her decorative towels.
I left the Windy City with hickeys, mild carpet burn, and a to-go plate.
“Is it wrong to enjoy women and not discriminate based on age?” They make it sound like I bruised granny’s esophagus with no aftercare.
I’m not reckless with my dick or selfish by only seeking pleasure for myself. I take pride in my stroke game and aim to leave every woman I’m with happier than she was before she came.
Except for one.
Miriam is the only woman I have never satisfied. It wasn’t from a lack of trying, but it’s hard to reset the mood after a broken nose and hours in the ER. Not that I would try now that we’re friends.
My question falls on deaf ears from all of the cackling. “I’m switching teams.” I grab my bag and stand in a huff.
“Bro, chill.” Kendrick blows out a long breath through chipmunk cheeks. He swipes a braid out of his face. “We all know you ain’t moving now that Miriam’s here.”
Shins’s brows drop. “Who is Miriam?”
“Is that why you ditched the party, being all antisocial?” Quincy presses a fist to his mouth at Kendrick’s nod and squeals. “I knew it!” His cocoa complexion reddens as he punches the air like he won the lottery. He’s the clown on the team, who looks like Marlon Wayans’s love child.
“Someone want to clue me in?” Shins asks.
Kendrick waves him off. “I told you not to let Rachel talk you into moving to Clarence. Now you’re stuck out there with cozy racism and farmers’ markets. Cap’s girl moved to Buffalo.”
“She’s not my girl,” I sigh.
Shins’s eyes light up with the possibility of apple-picking double dates. “You’re finally settling down,” he grins. “You should bring her over for dinner. We’d love to have you.”
“So Rachel can torture him with seasonless chicken?” Quincy’s face twists at the memory. “Save your stomach, Cap.”
“Y’all need to stop talking about my girl. She’s trying,” Shins snaps.
“To kill us,” Quincy adds, causing everyone but Shins to snicker. “Should’ve left her in college, but no. You don’t find it funny she picked a house in the middle of nowhere that looks like the one from Get Out?” He whistles.
“Shut up before I fling your little ass!” Shins shouts. Quincy is five seven to Shins’s six three and remains unbothered. Shins, on the other hand, is ready to pop a blood vessel.
The team knows Shins’s relationship with Rachel is a sore spot. He comes from money and has dated the daughter of his parents’ best friends since high school. It’s an arrangement he doesn’t seem to mind. Couldn’t be me.
“Chill, Quincy.” I tap him and the smug grin he’s wearing to fall back. Shins might come from the suburbs, but he will lay Quincy’s ass out if agitated. “I’m not bringing my girl over to dinner because I don’t have one.”
That, and I don’t want that bland-ass chicken. When we say we let our ancestors guide our cooking, that doesn’t apply to everybody.
Kendrick eyes me with suspicion. “Miriam hasn’t been here a week, and she already has your nose wide open.”
“Bullshit,” I toss. Now he’s telling stories.
“Really? Explain why you stayed in your unit the entire night.” Quincy smirks. “Lala came by looking for you. Says you never answered your door.”
They wait for an explanation.
I shrug. “I was tired.”
“Bullshit!” They yell.
“Why y’all so obsessed with this? I wasn’t interested, okay?”
The excessive parties at Steel House was me years ago.
I did all of that ten times over, and I only entertain them now as something to pass the time.
I’m not a prude like Shins, who only comes out when his girl allows it.
I want something else, something other than a splitting headache the next morning and a woman whose name I forgot.
I call up Jalisa or Lala if I need to get off, but I didn’t want the company on Monday.
Wonder why.
“Miriam moving to Buffalo has nothing to do with it. I skipped one party—one—and people want to act like I’m committing to a life with a white picket fence and babies,” I say. I’ll commit myself to an asylum before that happens.
I’ll admit that having her here comes with a certain level of excitement. I look forward to learning more about her, just like I’ve been counting down the days until I see her on Friday.
We’ve barely texted since running into each other at the MLK event two days ago.
I didn’t want to bombard her. I’m giving her the space to sort out her life, which is packed in boxes, and answer the million-dollar career question that’s been following her since college.
Outside of a text to check in and confirm we’re still good for Friday, all communication is silent.
It’s hard not speaking to Miriam, but I’m not confessing a damn thing to my nosy teammates, who are still staring at me.
Since they want to be in my business…
“Remember when you told me to stay away from your sister?” I remind Shins.
“Yeah?”
“Daisy is safe with me, but this one fell in love when he saw her during her summer visit.” I crack up at Quincy’s glower before the shock that I outed his secret registers.
“Not funny!” Quincy sprints away from Shins, who catches him by the back of his jersey collar. Their eight-inch height difference has his feet dangling off the ground.
Shins does not play about his baby sister.
“Cap!” Quincy screeches in a high pitch for help. He wiggles out of his jersey but gets stuck in his compression shirt underneath. “Don’t leave me hanging!”
“Too late,” I laugh.
Kendrick is cracking up like he didn’t try to make me a hot topic.
“Aye, Shins! Kendrick said he wanted to motorboat your mama’s booty.” I back away from the grenade I launched and smirk at Kendrick. His eyes are wide, and his jaw is on the turf.
Teammates and staff gather around the commotion. Shins is a raging bull caught between Quincy and Kendrick. The furious lock tosses Quincy into a trash bin before sprinting after Kendrick.
“Give me those fast feet every game!” Coach Titan nods at Kendrick’s Olympic run down the pitch.
“Cap!” Kendrick wheezes. “You ain’t—”
Shins tackles him at full speed.
“Shit…” he groans.