Chapter 11 #2
Rugby isn’t like that, and this isn’t a fantasy world, but if Liam thinks that highly of me, I don’t want to disappoint him because I’m anxious about my shoulder. I don’t want to lose him because I can’t figure out how to answer his concerned questions.
So I stand, holding the books carefully, and stash them in my bag and grab my phone.
I open my text thread with Liam, and the photo of him from his solo hike appears. I smile and type out a message.
I hope you had a good day. Daisy strapped me up and said you spammed her with memes. Hope you’re okay and sleeping well.
I send it before I can think too deeply about it and grab one of the books, opening it to chapter one.
I need something to distract me until we leave for the stadium.
Being around the boys laughing and chatting about the game will do nothing but remind me why I’m anxious.
So I settle in to read, hoping Liam’s words will calm my racing heart and my unsteady breathing.
It doesn’t work.
By the time we arrive at the stadium, I can barely hide my trembling fingers from the team, let alone the coaches, and it feels like I’m breathing through a straw.
I smile tightly at Johnny, who peers at me from across the changing sheds where we’re all getting into our uniforms and coming in and out from the warm-up area.
I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.
Like he knows something’s wrong and he’s about to ask about it.
A text from Charlie and Mum was enough, both asking how my shoulder is—Charlie spilled the beans to Mum, which is an added worry I don’t need right now—and wishing me luck.
It should spur me on and bring me comfort, but all it did was remind me why I wasn’t here last week.
Because I wasn’t good enough.
Because there’s nothing wrong with my shoulder, but I continue to baby it instead of giving my all to the game.
Training wasn’t all bad. I was better than I have been the past few weeks, but I had to concentrate on using my arm like normal. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that for the game.
I turn my phone on, but there isn’t a message from Liam. It’s four A.M. in New Zealand now. No way he’ll be awake, and if he’s watching the game he doesn’t need to be up for another hour for kickoff.
I glance at Johnny who’s frowning at me now, and in a whirl of movement, I duck out of the room and jog down the hall, passing all the officials and coaches and medical staff and subs, until I find a quiet room.
I launch myself inside and slam the door behind me.
My breaths are loud and jagged in the silent room, which heightens the anxiety, and my fingers shake so much I can barely turn my phone on.
I’m panicking.
Full-blown freaking out about this fucking game. Fuck’s sake, what am I gonna do? I can’t play like this.
I bend over my knees and clutch my hair, and my phone digs into my skull.
When that doesn’t work, I pace around the room.
When spots enter my vision, I turn my phone on and it opens on the text thread with Liam I haven’t closed yet.
I should call Mum or Charlie, but instead I click the call button for Liam, hoping and praying he’ll pick up.
I know Mum won’t watch the game, and I have no clue what time zone she’s in.
Charlie only watches games at normal times, but Liam follows the team, so maybe he’ll be awake.
“Please, please, please,” I mutter through desperate breaths. The dial tone connects. “Liam,” I choke on his name when I can’t breathe properly. “Fuck, can’t breathe,” I pant.
“Hemi? What’s the matter?” Liam asks, his voice rough with sleep but sent from god. His voice calms me enough I can suck in a full breath and answer his question.
“Panicking.”
“Shit, Hemi, you need to breathe. I’m changing the call to camera.”
I shift the phone from my ear to hold it in front of me, and when I accept the camera call, the phone shakes so violently I can’t see him properly.
Liam is in bed with a pillow crease on his cheek.
“Take breaths with me, Hemi. In.” Liam breathes in long and slow, and I try to follow him, but choke halfway through and start coughing.
“Hemi, look at me.” I meet Liam’s serious eyes.
“Breathe in with me as long as you can and then out.” Liam breathes in, and I follow, but as soon as I feel the choking sensation, I breathe out.
“Good. Again.” This time it’s easier. I can pull in a breath for longer before blowing it out.
My hands start to steady, and I can see his face properly, his messy hair and pillow creases.
In. Out. In and out. I follow Liam until I’m breathing properly and don’t have to think about it, don’t have to force it, and my hand is steady enough I don’t have to concentrate on holding it still.
“Hi, darling,” I say with a rough and ragged voice. “I’m having a bit of a shit day.” I laugh ruefully and rub a hand through my hair as embarrassment races through me and my nose stings. “Sorry I woke you.”
Liam shakes his head and brings the camera closer to him. “Don’t worry about that. Are you okay? What happened?”
“Nothing really. It’s just…” I trail off. I’ve barely spoken to Liam the last few days because of my own stupid anxieties, and I don’t know if I have a right to dump all this on him. But it’s too late now.
“What?”
I sigh and shake my head. “I don’t think I’m going to play very well.”
“Why? What happened? Shoulder still being a bitch?” Liam asks as he settles against the pillows, getting cosy and warm, and I wish I was there with him in his brown and cream bedroom instead of holed up in a small room by myself, trying to remember how to breathe.
“Kind of. I don’t know. Training’s been…fine. Good, even. But everyone keeps asking about it, and I keep thinking about the game that got me leave. I’m worried it’s gonna happen again.”
Liam’s quiet on the screen, but his eyes flick me up and down before he says, “Is that why you weren’t responding to my messages?
I stressed you out with the questions?” I shrug, not sure what to say.
It was stupid of me to ignore those messages, but I couldn’t figure out what to say.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. ”
“Don’t apologise. I should have told you. It’s a lot being back with the team with everything hanging over me, and I complained about it all week when I was with you.”
Liam rolls his eyes. “Hemi, you spoke about it like three times. You’re having some issues, and that’s okay.
You don’t need to be perfect, and you’re allowed to talk about what’s on your mind with the people that care about you.
” Liam sits up in bed. “In fact, you should talk to people so it doesn’t bottle up inside and you’re left drowning alone.
” Liam bites his lip. “I care about you, Hemi, and I want to know if you’re okay or not okay or what annoyed you or even what you ate for breakfast. I want to know so I can support you.
That’s what—” He cuts himself off, but I wish he hadn’t.
I want to know what the end of that sentence is.
“If you want to tell me, I’m here, or if you don’t want to talk, all you have to say is ‘Liam, I don’t want to talk about that right now’ and I’ll leave it alone. ”
I nod and sit on the floor with my back against the wall, my legs too weak to stand. Another bad sign right before kickoff. “I’m sorry I ignored the messages instead of responding and telling you how I felt.”
“That’s okay. Are you feeling any better now?” Liam asks, getting up and switching on lights as he walks to the kitchen. He puts the kettle on and leans against the bench.
I analyse and take note of my body. Despite my shaky legs and that stupid phantom tightness in my shoulder that refuses to leave, I’m feeling…not bad. Not great. But nowhere near as bad as I had twenty minutes ago. “Not awful.”
“Not awful is good.” Liam pours boiling water over a tea bag.
“Are you gonna watch the game?” I ask quietly. Usually I don’t care if family and friends watch, but after breaking down in an empty room and being coached how to breathe, it would be reassuring to know Liam was watching. That he was rooting for me.
Liam smiles. “Yeah. Gotta watch your comeback.”
I smile faintly in return and trace a finger over my name stitched on my shorts. “What if it isn’t a comeback. Or it’s a bad one?”
“Hemi baby, you know rugby.” Liam brings the camera close to his face again.
“You know exactly what to do. People who are good at what they do, whether it’s their job, or a hobby, or something they have to do but hate, are continuously learning.
Failure is a good thing. You learn from it and get better.
” He points at me. “You are good at what you do. You’ve had a setback, but you’re learning how to work through it and with it.
The coaches wouldn’t have kept you starting if they thought you had more to work through.
You’re ready.” Liam shrugs. “And you know what? If you have more issues during the game, you learn from it. You work on it and your mentality to figure out what’s happening.
If you were the kind of person to give up, you wouldn’t be a professional rugby player in South Africa competing in the Freedom Cup. ”
I tilt my head and consider his words, glancing at my black jersey. The national team with my name on the back. Because I’m the starting right-wing. “That’s true.”
“Did you do any sightseeing this week?” Liam disappears briefly from the screen as he sits on the couch and clicks on the TV, washing him in different coloured light.