Chapter 14 Rhea
My thighs are on fire, and my chest rises and falls in uneven lulls that do nothing to help me catch my breath.
We rarely get outplayed on the field except for when we come face-to-face with the Northside Rugby Club.
The NRC is a bunch of very fast, very nasty athletes who always put on their best show.
“Patty is going to go left, watch that lane,” Cosy says, her red braids in tatters from the rough game. Kaia is already bruising around the thigh where they caught her and slammed her down hard.
Kaia stomps twice in the dirt to get Sunday’s attention, and the two of them communicate without words.
It’s second nature to them: when the ball leaves the opponent's hands, they both take off faster than anyone, weaving down the field. Kaia is on her tail and picks her up by the shorts just enough for Sunday’s fingers to reach the ball before the other winger.
Once back on the ground, she spins to her right, knowing Patty is covering left, and kicks off that foot.
Cosy manages to get between Sunday and the oncoming attacker, slowing their route, opening a pocket—but leaving her right side completely open. She sees the player and whips back, popping the ball up and behind her into the open arms of Kaia.
“Easy!” Kaia screams, kicking her feet into motion and dodging the next attacker. Cosy, and I work hard to keep behind her as we follow Sunday up the flank, keeping separated enough that if Kaia runs into trouble, Sunday has the lane.
But the trouble is two yards out, and there’s no way she catches Kaia with how fast she’s moving. Kaia’s head flicks over her shoulder, and a wicked grin spreads across her face as she bunny hops between the posts and sets the ball down.
Cosy reaches her first, giving her a rough hug and grabbing the ball for the ref.
With the conversion, it puts us three tries ahead, and the NRC looks pissed.
There are still two minutes left on the running clock, and we move back into line as quickly as we can, itching to get one more try.
If we rattle them today, it means they’ll start to waver in future games, and man, it feels like flying.
“Yukon,” Kaia yells, and Sunday sighs. “It’ll work,” she argues just as quickly as Sunday taps the ball and sends it flying through the air.
“It never works,” Sunday calls out, splitting the line into a crooked Y formation, leaving me in the back line to follow up.
It blocks the team in from both sides, and as soon as they catch the ball, we’re all over them.
One by one, they’re forced to lay the ball down or pass it out, and eventually there’s only Patty and me.
One versus one, heading straight toward each other like two trains.
I press my tongue against my mouth guard, making sure it’s in place, and surge forward faster.
The ball is tucked carefully under my arm.
I know it’s a gamble that I’ll no doubt get yelled at for, but as Patty lunges for me, I drop my shoulder inside and lift with my knees.
Her feet slide in the soft ground for no more than three seconds before she’s scrambling on her toes for purchase.
I push harder, almost back to full height, and Patty grunts as her feet leave the ground.
I’ve only got a few yards, and all I have to do is get the ball on the ground over the line.
I scream as my muscles stretch and flex beneath my skin, juggling her weight and my grip on the ball as I step forward faster.
She’s trying to find the ground without letting go of her hold on me, but she’s too far off it to do anything for another six yards.
I drop her suddenly, shifting right as she scrambles to keep her balance, clawing at me as I spin away from her and her teammate across the line with a hard thump as my body hits the ground to score the last try.
Everyone is screaming, and the girls pile on top of me, hollering and cheering as the whistle blows to end the game. The NRC girls shake our hands with long faces, Patty stopping briefly as she reaches me.
“You’re an animal,” she says with a smile.
“Only you could pull that off,” she compliments, clapping her hand on my back as she starts to move again.
Kaia is standing to my left with her shorts hiked up as far as they can go, her face contorted grossly as she pokes the red and purple bruise that seems to span her entire thigh.
“That’s going to be fun in the morning,” I say to her, fingering her shorts and tilting my head to get a better look at the bruise.
“You’re telling me, I have a week of doubles on the rig. They’re going to have to roll me out of the station in a wheelchair,” she hisses.
A flash goes off, and Sunday pulls the disposable camera away from her dirty face. “It’s one for the book,” she waves it around. “Still doesn’t beat the great back bruise from the opening game, but it’s a close second.”
“I hope one day the police have a reason to raid you, only to find that creepy bruise binder you keep.” Kaia groans, letting her shorts unroll as she straightens out and puts all her weight on the other leg.
If there’s one thing I admire about Kaia, it’s her ability to complain once and move on.
She thrives in taking care of her shit, despite the state of her body.
The idea that if she stops, she’ll die is lived out every day in the roughest possible way.
“I want a bacon cheeseburger, buffalo fried pickles, and at least fourteen shots of booze in my body as of thirty minutes ago.”
“That does sound amazing right now,” Cosy huffs, running her fingers through her hair as she loosens her braids and shakes out her hair.
“I can’t, I have a shift in two hours, and I need a nap,” Sunday says, following us back toward the locker room.
“That’s the fourth game in a row, Sunny. I thought you weren’t picking up after game shifts anymore,” Cosy asks.
“I’ve kinda got used to the quiet?” She says, pushing open the door.
“The ER is always a mess, but it’s a lot quieter later at night.
Not to mention it usually lines up with your shifts, and you always bring in the most insane patients.
Keeps me on my toes,” Sunday pinches Kaia’s ass and pulls off her jersey before heading to her locker.
“I’m in,” I say, pulling off my own and sinking to the bench.
“You live there now, of course you’re in,” Kaia giggles. “Have there been any more incidents?” She says it quieter, like it’s supposed to insinuate something more than just shirtless sightings of Brighton Black.
“No, we’re friends,” I say, thinking about the fact that he’s been making my lunch all week, and try not to blush.
He’s quiet and respectful, he’s always out of the apartment before I get up from bed, and even though I can hear him moving around while I’m in the bathroom, he’s always down in the bar when I get out and leave for work.
Yesterday evening, after school, the pile of dirty clothes I had been collecting in the corner showed up folded and clean on my bed in a brand new laundry basket that didn’t belong to me.
“The Terminator did my laundry,” I add, just to keep her satisfied and quiet.
“Like all of it?” Kaia stares at me.
“Folded and separated.” Our cleats click against the tile flooring as we kick them off.
“I wonder if Bright is a panty sniffer.” Kaia flips the script, and I practically choke on my own spit.
“Yeah, cause this isn’t awkward enough for me,” I groan, rubbing my hands over my face.
“I’m just saying, guys like that always have weird kinks. ” She shakes out her hair, and it whips me in the face.
“Guys like what?” I ask, a little concerned.
“You know the silent serial killer type,” Kaia explains. “Quiet, mysterious, a little mean, and too pretty to be that weird and that antisocial.”
“I think he just likes his privacy,” I defend, and Kaia’s eyes spark with mischief.
“Yeah, most serial killers do,” she smiles.
“Wasn’t Ted Bundy a social butterfly?” I challenge.
“Ted Bundy wasn’t hot, definitely not like Brighton is.
There’s something messed up going on in his head, Reaper.
He’s twisted and quiet; it’s dangerous.” She strips from her jersey and shorts and stands in her sports bra and Spanx, “Make no mistakes, I want you to climb that mother fucker like a tree, but just make sure that's all you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I scowl.
“You fall in love with every tall, dark-haired man you see, and Bright is not the one,” she warns.
“Honestly, the only thing that’s missing is the ugly mustache.
You know better than anyone he’s fucked up; if he wasn’t, we’d know more about him.
Sunday brings up Boone constantly; we know him.
Why doesn’t she talk about her very handsome second brother as much? ”
I strip down and wrap a towel around myself, my mind drifting to horrible places. We wander to the showers as Sunday leaves for her shift, and I chew my lip thinking about what Kaia said.
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” I ask, turning on the hot water.
“No,” Kaia answers quickly, “if he were, they wouldn’t willingly allow Daisy to stay there. I just think he’s messed up worse than the Black siblings like to put out there.”
“Maybe it’s not our business,” I say, trying to calm my own thoughts down as I wash out my hair.
“Sure, before, but lines are blurred now that you’re sleeping under his roof.” She adds, grimacing at the bruise on her leg one more time.
“You make me sound like a piranha,” I snort.
“Worse, you’re a slut who hasn’t had sex with a man in like five months. You’re like a sexual predator,” she says.
“Ew, don’t call me that!” I turn away from her and reach for the soap along the back wall. “I’m not sleeping with Brighton Black. He’s a roommate and a friend.”
“Who’s probably packing a weapon and a nasty set of bedroom kinks,” Kaia adds, and all I can do is groan.
An hour later, Boone is sliding plates across the table to us at the Hollow.
I pick at the plastic on the drink menu along the corner that covers the intricate logo beneath.
A skeleton hand holds a cup of whiskey with the first responders' red cross spray-painted roughly behind it all and framed in a simple circle. I always wondered if it was hand-drawn, and with Kaia in my head, suddenly, I’m wondering if Brighton is an artist beneath all that mystery.
Picturing him with a pencil and notebook doesn’t do it for me, though, and I push the menu out of my reach and pull my burger close.
“Good game today, pussycats,” Boone says, and Kaia gently stabs him with a fork. “That last push was insane, Reaper.” He points to me, completely unfazed by her, as he gets called from another table. “I’ll have Maggie bring some drinks around.”
Once he’s gone, Kaia collects the pickle from her plate, holding it out for me, in trade for my tomatoes, but when I lift my bun, there aren’t any.
She looks at me and then frowns with a tiny shrug, still offering me her pickle without trade.
I stare at the bare black bean burger in confusion, looking around at everyone else’s to see that they all had tomatoes.
I look over the booth and find Brighton’s gaze on me from the bar.
He’s wearing his Hollow shirt, and his dark hair is brushed off his stern face.
His jaw does that infuriating ticking as he watches me, but he nods and goes back to work the second I make eye contact, like he was embarrassed to get caught staring.
I’ll figure you out, Brighton Black, just please, for the love of all that is holy, do not be a serial killer.
I don’t know if I can be attracted to Dexter.
“Shit, the drink menu for the month is incredible,” Kaia waves it in my face, and I give it a proper look.
The Reaper: Brown Sugar Espresso Martini made with top-shelf vodka, a house-made BS syrup, and freshly brewed espresso.
“The Reaper?” I huff, and Kaia gives me that knowing look. He could have written out brown sugar, but he’s left it BS on purpose, and it makes me smile.
“Roommates, just friends,” she mocks and goes back to her meal.