Chapter 17
Colin
COLD WATER SLUICES down my body as I attempt, once again, to force thoughts of Sam out of my head. I’m fucking freezing.
It doesn’t work. Teeth chattering, I shut off the shower and step out to dry off.
This can’t continue. The incessant thoughts, the way I can’t think about anything but her.
I need to focus on the team. Focus on the strategy that my assistant coaches and I have come up with for the season opener in just under two months.
Hell, I’ll take being distracted by the panic of not knowing what to get my mom for Christmas over the hamster wheel currently in my mind.
I dress on autopilot, trying – and utterly failing – to wonder what Sam’s reaction would be if she saw my wardrobe. If we were a regular couple. She’d probably laugh, a twinkle of affection in her eyes that she’d try to hide even as she was giving me shit about it.
“You are the worst dresser in the world,” she’d say. And then she’d let me pull her into my arms for a kiss, and one thing would turn into another, until I had her legs spread and my face between them.
Fuck.
Outside, the weather is finally acting like winter. Nothing like the New England winters I’m used to, of course, but the morning temps have finally dipped into the thirties. Still not worth a heavy coat, but enough to make sure I walk quickly between the car and the coffee shop when I get there.
Chris, the barista from my first visit here, offers me a friendly grin as he turns to pour the regular black coffee I order like clockwork. Even if the line is long, like it is today, I never have to wait for my order once I’ve paid. I shove a five into the tip jar as he rings me up.
“Ready for Christmas, Coach?”
I shake my head. “Not even a little. You?”
He chuckles. “Of course. My boyfriend wouldn’t have it any other way. The man is a Christmas elf at heart and swears I’m the Grinch.” His grin widens. “But really, I just like making him mad. Makes him get all hot and bothered, and it’s adorable, you know?”
I laugh. “I know exactly what you mean, actually.”
His eyes light up. “Yeah? You got someone you’re irritating on the regular?”
I sigh. “Something like that.” I’m not getting into my love life, or severe lack thereof, with my neighborhood barista. Although he might know me better than anyone else in this town.
Wow, that’s depressing.
I raise the cup in salute. “See you tomorrow.”
I dodge a Nissan Altima in the parking lot, nearly getting clipped by the oblivious driver as they look down at their phone. I reach for my lucky quarter out of habit, even if it seems to be as far from lucky as possible.
Today’s going to be a good day, I tell myself as I pull into the parking lot and jog inside. The sun is shining; I have a plan for incorporating the new strategy I spent last night coming up with; and everything is under control.
Exactly how I like it.
Lucky quarter or not, I’ve got this.
I trip over the last stair as I hit the top, but I shake it off. It’s a universal truth that the top stair is always higher than the rest.
I find my assistant coaches in my office, precisely where I asked them to be. With a grin, I explain my idea.
Ryan’s dubious smile morphs into excitement as I reach the end. “That’s…fucking brilliant.”
I beam. “Right? It plays on our backs’ strengths –”
“But gives them an edge that no other team will expect,” finishes Elliott.
“Exactly,” I snap and point at him as he completes the thought. “So. Let’s go down there and get started.”
Half an hour later, we’ve read in Ansel as the head captain, Woods as the forwards captain and Carter as the backs captain on the updated strategy, and all three men are ready to help run the plays.
I blow the whistle. “Bring it in!” The men stop stretching and jog toward where we stand on the edge of the pitch.
Once they’ve all gathered, their breath misting in the cool morning air while the sun glints on the grass behind them, I finally feel the relief I’ve sought for months.
The realization that I’ve been doing it right.
That I know this team now. I’ve learned their strengths and their blind spots.
I know which players need to change positions, even though it’s going to blow their minds. I know how to win.
“I’ve spent the past two months watching all of you,” I tell them. “And I know I’ve not acted like any coach you’ve had before.”
“You’re not the mean mom, you’re the cool mom!” Lennox hollers from the back.
“Fuck off, Lennox,” I shoot back. I’ve never joked in front of them, but now? After the last twenty-four hours? I’m confident enough to do it. My control is back. My creativity is back. All I had to do is focus. Nearly fucking killed me, but I did it.
“I know how we’re gonna win the championship,” I declare. The men go quiet, and that’s how I know I have their attention. I hold my clipboard up. “Xavier, you’re playing inside center. River, you’re moving to openside flanker. And Ollie? You’re going to scrum-half.”
The pitch explodes into chatter. I let them go for fifteen seconds before I raise the clipboard again.
“I didn’t say this was optional, guys. I’d tell you to trust me, but I haven’t done anything to earn that trust yet.
So I’m asking you to give me two weeks to prove it.
Two weeks to run the new plays. Two weeks to show you that I fucking know what I’m doing. ”
“We’re in,” Ansel says, glaring out at the players with a look that seems to beg someone to say one wrong word.
“Hell yeah,” Jake says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s do this!”
I nod to the captains. “Make it happen.” Then I look at the three players whose world I just flipped. Xavier seems pretty good with it, River seems dubious but ready to do what he’s told, and Ollie looks terrified. All three reactions are exactly what I anticipated. I gesture to them.
They crowd around me as Ansel helps Woods and Carter pull the rest onto opposite ends of the pitch.
“This is a good change, guys. I promise.” I meet each player’s eyes as I speak.
“Xavier, your speed on the pitch is incredible. And we’re not taking advantage of that.
Someone as huge as you, with that kind of speed?
Come on. You’ve been criminally under-utilized. ”
Xavier’s jaw twitches, and I know I’ve hit my mark. That’s exactly the way he’s always felt; I’d bet anything. “Thanks, Coach.”
I nod, then turn to River. “Now, you. You’re a bruiser, tanking anyone who gets in your way.
You carry the ball like it’s your goddamn job, but your feet aren’t fast enough to pivot around when you get surrounded.
I need you working to protect Ollie and Ansel instead, because when they get the ball, they’re going to fucking explode down the pitch.
And you? You’re going to flatten any asshole who so much as looks at them. Got it?”
He nods. “Yes, Coach!”
I grin. Got ’em. But the hardest one is Ollie. His position has been his security blanket. It’s what got him on the team, and it’s almost the only position he’s ever played. “Ollie.”
He flicks his eyes from where they’ve been pinned to the ground. They’re full of doubt.
“Have I ever steered you wrong?”
He hesitates, then shakes his head. “No, Coach.”
“In every play, you shine. But you’re holding back, and I can see it. Ansel sees it. Carter sees it.”
“I see it,” Xavier confirms.
“Same,” River agrees.
I raise an eyebrow in a silent see? motion.
“So what I need you to do is play like you own that pitch. I’m moving you to scrum-half because it’ll allow you to study the pitch, watch what’s about to happen, and react.
You’re a fixer, not a front-runner. Not yet.
You’re a fly-half in a few years, because I see you analyzing everything as you run.
And that analysis has literally slowed you down.
Moving you to scrum-half will actually use your analysis for good.
Your instincts are incredible. It’s time to leverage them. Okay?”
He swallows hard. The very analysis that I want him to use on the pitch is damn near choking him right now.
“Ollie, get out of your head,” I say, slapping him on the shoulder. I’m not about to coddle him.
The contact seems to jostle him out of it, and he nods. “Got it. Okay.”
“Then get out there and let’s see what you can do.” I wave them off, exhaling a sigh of relief.
This is going to work. I can feel it.
I’m close to outright giddiness as I finish typing my notes up in my office. Today was a good day. No – it was great. Absolutely great. Best day as Granite’s head coach yet. I’m keeping this job.
A knock sounds at my door, and I glance up, then freeze. “Sam?”
“Xavier just left my table,” she says.
My brow pinches. “He looked fine an hour ago.”
“He was faking it. Says he couldn’t let you down after you’d just put him inside center.” She crosses her arms. “Is that true?”
“Close the door.” I don’t want anyone to hear this.
She turns, and my traitorous eyes feast on her while they can. She’s in her usual leggings and Granite PT scrub top. I’ve heard HR bemoaning her outfit, but there’s not much they can do about it. Our players show a hell of a lot more leg than she does.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing my attention away from Sam’s body.
The door closed, she turns to me. “What?” Her tone is defensive. “You angry that I’m calling you out on pushing a player too hard? Because I’m not about to apologize for that.”
I round the corner of my desk and sit on the edge. “I’m angry that you think you have any say in how I manage my team.”
Her eyes flash. “I see the things you don’t, Colin. I know which players are gritting through the pain –”
“Rugby is about pain, Sam. It’s about who can handle it better.”
“It’s barbaric.” She steps closer.
“It’s your job.”
“I’m only asking you to be aware of your players’ injuries,” she bites out, coming even closer.
I grip the edge of my desk. She’s too close. She smells fucking incredible and today’s been so good, and –
“To not run them so hard when we still have two months before the season opener,” she continues.
“Don’t tell me how to run my team,” I growl. Don’t come closer, my body begs.
“I’ll tell you whatever I want,” she snaps, her cheeks and neck flushing with anger.
God, she looks incredible. Furious and filled with righteous indignation. It’s too much, and I snap. The words are out before I can stop them. “Fuck it.”