I check my phone, but Haru hasn’t responded. I put my phone away, stuff the remainder of my sandwich into my mouth, and get back to the wall I was building.
The afternoon drags. Normally, I find bricklaying hypnotic. I like the repetitive nature of it. Bricks are predictable. As long as the weather is good, this is the best job in the world. But I can’t lose myself in the activity. I keep wanting to check my phone, which is a strict no-no while we’re on the job. Even Rob’s chatter can’t distract me.
I fucked up. Is Haru thinking of a reason why we can’t meet up as friends? I don’t blame him. Chatting online is worlds apart from meeting in person. Saving him from bullies once, eleven years ago, doesn’t give me a right to insert myself in his life now. Fuck, I’m an idiot.
We knock off at four. I’ve got my rugby kit in the car so I can go straight to training. I’ll be a bit early, but I can always listen to music or a podcast or something while I wait for the rest of the team to show up. I get into my car and check my phone. Haru has replied to my ‘you know me’ message.
I do.
Short and sweet. Is ‘I do’ good or bad?
We could meet for a drink or something if you want to.
I debate adding ‘as friends’ but decide that’s implied in my message and hit Send.
I’d like that.
And I’m grinning again.
It’s easy to imagine chatting over coffee. Does he drink coffee? He’d be dressed stylishly like he is in the photos I’ve seen. I’d be a lot more casual. With any luck, the conversation would flow smoothly. It does in texts. Why wouldn’t it in real life?
Have you decided whether or not to come back to Leeds?
Not quite, but I’m getting closer to one. I’ll let you know when I do. Tell me about your day. It must have been better than mine.
Work, work, and more work. I’m about to go to rugby.
But I still have a job, so yes, my day has been a lot better than Haru’s, even if I did spend half of it fretting over whether he was ever going to text me again or not. What is wrong with me?
A match or practice?
Practice.
Enjoy.
I will.
I drive to the pitch we train at and listen to music for half an hour before the other lads start showing up. I join them in the changing rooms, where we laugh and joke as we change into our training gear. We have a team kit, but we only wear it for matches. The rest of the time, it’s whatever tops and shorts we want.
We do a warm-up first, which consists of light jogging to get our hearts pumping, followed by some static stretches. We do dynamic stretches next to get us moving again. Walking lunges, quad kicks, and such. Finally, we work in small groups to do some skills warm-ups.
We’re divided by the skills we need to work on for the rest of the training session. As the fly half, I do kicking drills, including kicking down the line to see how straight my kicks are and kicking the ball into a tackle bag. I also do some passing and handling drills.
While I’m on the pitch, I can leave everything else behind. Talking to Haru and playing rugby were the two things that got me through Dad’s illness. Haru because he let me talk via text for hours at a time, and rugby because I could get out of my head while doing something I love.
We finish with a walk around the pitch to get our heart rates back to a resting rate and then do some gentle, static stretches to ensure our muscles don’t seize up and cause any of us an injury. Coach makes sure we’re all hydrated and gives us orders to eat within the hour, preferably something with high carbs and moderate protein, before he sends us on our way. I swear, the man is like a nagging parent. He must think we forget how to take care of ourselves between training sessions.
After saying goodbye to my teammates, I head home to heat up a pre-prepared meal. I batch cook at the weekend, so I don’t have to bother cooking after work or training. I shower and change into clean clothes while I reheat my food in the oven. By the time I’m finished, my meal is ready. I sit at my table, eating while I check the news on my phone.
Should I text Haru to see how his decision-making process is going? I don’t want to come across as being pushy. He’s probably getting enough of that from his parents. If he’s going to move back to Leeds temporarily, it has to be because he wants to, not because his parents want him to. Or because I want him to. I have no right to want him to, but I do.
I’m onto the health section on the news website I read when I receive a text from him.
Haru
I’ve spent the evening number crunching.
And how did that go?
