Chapter 26 #2
I wave my badge at the guard to let me onto the pitch, squinting into the chilly February sun.
At least it’s a gorgeous Saturday, the sky a glittering blue without a cloud anywhere.
Over on the left side of the pitch, the Granite go through a series of stretches that, were Colin doing them, too, would have me entranced.
As it is, the sea of thick thighs and tight butts and barrel chests do exactly nothing for me.
All I see are muscles that need to stay strong and players who need to bend deeper.
My PT hat rarely comes off, but in this moment, it’s my literal job to keep these guys healthy.
To the right is the visiting team. I met their head PT yesterday when he came looking for some medical-grade topical cream. After giving him ten kinds of hell for forgetting it, my boss had tossed him one measly tube. The pettiness was, honestly, perfection.
I sidle up to my boss and head physical therapist, both of us in standard-issue track pants and slim puffer jackets. “Hey, Bill.”
He turns, the sun glinting off his glasses. “Sam! Ready for your first game?”
I bounce on my toes, studiously avoiding the one man I’d like to look at the most. “Absolutely.”
He nods up at the baseball cap I’m wearing. “Look at you. Figured you’d be in one of the warmer hats.”
I chuckle. “No one looks good in those, Bill.”
He points to the beanie on his own bald head and grins as I shake my head playfully. “What are you saying, Sam?”
A few yards away, Colin blows a whistle and gestures for the players to come in.
Everyone jogs in, their breath coming in hot puffs of condensation.
They huddle around him as he talks, but there’s no hearing what he’s saying.
Knowing him, it’s something totally cliché but incredibly heartfelt.
A speech wrapped in khakis and earnestness.
Soon enough, all the opening activities have taken place and Ansel and the other team’s captain go out for the coin toss. We win and opt to kick to start the game. Both teams line up, we drop-kick to initiate play, and we’re off.
The crowd immediately starts up, yelling and cheering as Ollie moves into position to grab the ball.
“Gooooo!” I scream, jumping and cheering from the second Ollie has the ball to the moment he drop-kicks it down the pitch, where Carter zooms to grab it, a fucking ballerina in cleats, pirouetting away from the other team’s attempted tackle and shoving at another one’s chest to gain precious meters toward the try line.
Ansel appears to Carter’s left and catches the ball, immediately tossing to River, who tosses to Lennox. As our number eight man, Lennox is a bull on the pitch, our fastest forward by far, and he proves his worth as he eats up another eleven meters, putting us almost at the try line.
But he’s tackled from behind, forcing a release of the ball. The Bayou plucks it off the pitch and sprints in the opposite direction as the crowd roars.
And so it goes. Rugby is unrelenting. It’ll break your heart, repair it, and break it again in the same thirty seconds.
A few meters down, Colin paces the sideline, unable to do much of anything now that the game is in play.
The entire game is almost entirely out of his hands now.
He doesn’t get to go onto the pitch at all.
I’m actually surprised he’s down here. Most coaches would be up in the box to get a better view, but I’m guessing he never did that on the college level and wanted to be down here for at least the first game. The New Orleans coach isn’t across the pitch, so he’s definitely in the box.
We’re up by two tries at the half, giving the guys twenty minutes to strategize and regroup before the next forty minutes.
I’ve not been needed at all, and that’s amazing.
I may have acted a bit insane during the match so far, but no one’s told me to relax.
Everyone is a little out of their minds when the ball’s in play.
Colin emerges from the knot of players, headset wrapped around his neck and ubiquitous binder in his hand. His gaze meets mine, and I lose my breath.
He looks different. Focused. Alive. As if he is exactly who he is supposed to be, doing exactly what he’s supposed to be doing. There’s no doubt, no second-guessing. Only pure purpose and drive. It’s unbelievably sexy.
Even those damn khakis are hot. No one but me knows what those powerful thighs and butt look like, and I thrill to think about having them under me later.
I couldn’t stop the wide smile that erupts on my face if I tried.
I do, however, manage to keep from waving at him as though I’m some sort of insane fan and not a coworker.
Not his wife.
He smiles back, and it’s so unguarded that I smile even harder. I give him a thumbs-up as he heads off the pitch and to the box, where I’m sure he’ll spend the rest of the game. He nods, then turns to his backs coach, Elliot, to deliver one last comment.
The next forty minutes are a nail-biter.
The game moves slower here than it does in Australia, which I attribute to the sport not being as widespread in the States.
I’ve also seen the pro games on television here, and honestly?
Not great. Feels like rugby gets the B team when it comes to just about everything, if I’m being honest. Announcers need to be better and the camera work is frustrating at best.
But being down here on the pitch is the opposite of frustrating.
It’s energizing. And I’m so damn proud of how Ollie has played that my chest hurts.
In the end, we win by ten points. After giving Ollie a hug on the sideline, I head down to the PT area to prep for the players who need attention.
We’ve got ten tubs ready for ice baths, too.
Not enough for every player to have their own, but they can share.
Two hours later, I’m wiping down the equipment as Bill waves goodbye.
“Oh, hey, Coach,” I hear him say. “Great game. You need anything?”
“Just, ah, looking for something I left down here.”
“I got it, Bill,” I call. “I’m finishing up anyway.”
Bill leaves, and the room goes silent. We stare at each other and I offer the most professional smile I can come up with. “Congratulations on the win, Coach.”
“Thanks.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around. “I was wondering –”
He’s interrupted by the door swinging open behind him and Ollie bounding in. Right on time.
“Hey, Olls,” I grin. “Gimme five.”
Colin gives Ollie a confused look. “You’re not heading out with the rest of the guys to celebrate?”
Ollie laughs. “Not today, Coach. Remember I told you about my first-game process? There’s a part afterward, too. Didn’t think I’d get to do it this year when I first made the team, but with Sam working for the team…”
“We’re making it happen,” I finish.
Ollie’s eyes light up. “Hey, how about you come with us?” He turns to me. “What do you think? We could make it work.”
Is it possible for a person to feel one hundred percent joy and abject terror at the same time? Because that’s exactly what’s happening to my body right now. But I keep my shit together. “Of course, Olls – it’s just a meal.”
“Yeah, but it’s the post-game meal of the first game of the season,” he counters. “It’s a big deal.”
Colin raises his hands. “Actually, my mom and sister are here. I don’t think –”
“Bring them with you,” I interrupt, my stomach swooping at the thought of meeting them but wanting Ollie’s happiness more than my own comfort. “It really is okay.”
And that’s how I end up at a restaurant with my brother and my secret husband.