Chapter 8
Holland
My ears ring as I lie on the ground, trying to recover from the hit I just took from Luke Hunter, the teams left center.
This is my first time back on the pitch in a while. Working out and shit in the gym hasn’t really helped prepare me for getting back to the game. I knew it was going to be difficult. My knee is fucking killing me, and I’m trying really hard to ignore the searing pain it’s causing me.
I haven’t really told anyone that my knee still gives me trouble. Not Mason or Logan, and not my doctors. I don’t want to sit on the sidelines anymore. It’s been long enough.
It’s not like I plan on going pro or anything. That’s never been my plan. The other Elites and I wanted something physical we could do to get our anger out, so we chose rugby. Ever since we joined the team, I’ve taken it pretty seriously.
I do also really enjoy it. The physicality, the adrenaline, the competitiveness. It makes me feel alive. It doesn’t hurt that the team also gets a lot of attention from the girls on campus.
Being an Elite and on the rugby team pretty much makes me a God on campus. Not many people know about what happened last year with my father and his company, or that I’ll be taking over said company when I’m done with school.
We’re playing Ridgewood Academy this weekend the guys are working extra hard tonight. Ridgewood is a rough team to beat. Their guys play dirty, and our guys don’t back down from a challenge. It always makes for interesting games.
That just means Coach Shaw is working us to the ground, making sure we’re ready for Friday’s game. It’s Wednesday now, and we have practice tomorrow too. Mason, Logan, and I got a group text last night from Ryker reminding us he’s coming into town this weekend for his bachelor party, not that we needed a reminder.
So they’ll be at the game on Friday. I’m just glad we don’t have practice for the rest of the weekend so we can actually spend some time with them before they leave. They’ve been living in the city since they graduated. Ryker taking over his family’s company and Gwen being a teacher.
They’re doing well for themselves, and I’m glad they found each other. Ryker needed someone to pull the stick out of his ass.
“Alright, boys,”
Coach Shaw barks, his voice cutting through my thoughts and the ringing in my ears. Mason shows up next to me just then, extending his arm to help me up. When I’m on my feet, Mason eyes me warily.
“You good?”
he asks, looking down at my knee. I give a sharp nod.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Set it up. Holland, let’s see if you can get that ball out clean this time,”
Coach bellows.
Not even acknowledging Coach’s works, I get myself into position. I crouch low at the front of the scrum, my hands poised and ready. The pain in my knee distant as I try to focus on what’s happening in front of me. My teammates pack in around me, the forwards forming a solid wall of muscle.
“Crouch!”
Coach shouts.
I bend further, my fingers brushing the damp grass.
“Bind!”
Our tight-head prop, Payson Rawley locks arms with me, our grip firm and unyielding.
“Set!”
Then we’re off.
“Get it, Holland!”
I hear Mason bark from somewhere behind me. My foot shoots out, expertly hooking the ball back toward my side. The motion was fluid, practiced—a result of hours spent perfecting my technique.
The ball skids into the hands of our scrumhalf, Warren Lund, who darts away, passing it down the line.
“Good hook!”
Coach shouts as the forwards break apart and scramble into position.
The play moves quickly, the ball weaving through the backs as the team executes our set play.
I jog forward, staying ready to support, my body thrumming with adrenaline. Our inside center breaks through a tackle, then offloads the ball just before being brought down.
I take the chance to scoop it up, barreling straight into a defender without hesitation.
The hit was hard, but I stay upright, driving my legs to gain speed before being brought down.
I felt the weight of bodies pile on top of me, the chaos of the ruck forming around me. The wind feels like it’s been knocked out of me, and that’s how I know I’m out of shape. God damnit.
“Support!”
I call, holding onto the ball as my teammates crash into the ruck, securing possession.
Warren darts in, plucking the ball out and passing it wide. The backs surge forward, finishing the play with a diving try in the corner.
The team erupts in cheers as I push myself to my feet, panting but grinning.
“Nice work, Holland,”
Coach calls from the sideline.
“That’s the kind of grit I want to see on game day! Alright, we’re done for the day. See you guys tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Coach,”
I mumble, wiping the sweat from my brow. My teammates clap me on the back as we all head for the locker room.
Mason jogs over to my side, a teasing grin on his face.
“You enjoy getting flattened, or is it just a hooker thing?”
I smirk.
“Better than standing around waiting for the ball like you backs.”
“Keep telling yourself that,”
Mason says, jogging ahead of me.
I shake my head because my cousin’s an idiot. Trying not to walk with a fucking limp, I make my way into the locker room where the rest of the guys are already showering and changing into street clothes.
I find an empty stall toward the back, stripping down and stepping into the hot water, and it feels good against my clammy, sweat covered skin.
I know I’m going to be in pain tomorrow for practice, and especially for Friday’s game., but I have to push through it.
Honestly, I could just say fuck it and quit., but I’m no quitter. I don’t really care if we win or lose, but I know my team does. So I have to stay strong for them. I’ve got no idea why I was given the captain position, but I won’t let my guys down.
When I’ve successfully scrubbed all of the mud and grass off of my body, I step out, wrapping a towel around my waist before heading to my locker.
Of course, Mason is still here waiting for me. He’s a loyal fucker, and I like that about him. We always have each other’s backs.
He stands from his spot on the bench he was sitting on and grins at me.
“We’re going out,”
he states, as if that’s a final decision. Giving him a questioning look, I dig through my gym bag to find clean clothes. I pull them on, careful with bending my leg as I step into my sweats.
“Who’s we? I’m going home. I’m starving, and I need sleep,”
I tell him, slinging my bag over my shoulder and heading for the door. I can hear Mason’s footsteps as he follows behind me.
“You, me, Logan, and some of the guys from the team. We’re going to Rascal’s,”
he says matter-of-factly.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Walking through the parking lot to my car, Mason strolls up next to me, pouting.
“Come on, man. I can’t go without my wingman,”
he tells me, sagging in a pathetic way. I shake my head and chuckle.
“Sorry, Mase. Not tonight,”
I say as I toss my bag into the back of my car and get in the driver’s seat, starting it up immediately because it’s cold as fuck out here. A moment later, I sigh, rolling my window down.
“Are you getting in the car, shithead? Or are you going to walk home?”
I ask, annoyance laced in my voice.
Mason sighs obnoxiously. “Fine,”
he grumbles, throwing his bag in the back with mine and taking the passenger seat. Once he’s in, he looks out the windshield with his arms crossed, not making eye contact with me.
Shaking my head, I say, “you’re such a child.”
He still doesn’t acknowledge me. Now I’m getting annoyed.
“Say something.”
His head slowly turns toward me, his eyes narrowed.
“I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed,”
he looks back down to his lap. Oh, for fucks sake.
“Oh, fuck off,”
I tell him, rolling my eyes and finally pulling out of the parking lot to head home. Mason laughs and I just shake my head, not saying anything for the rest of the way home.