Haley nods slowly. “Right, yeah. That makes sense,” she gives me a narrow-eyed look, like she thinks there’s more to the story. Well, there’s not.
“Yup,” I say. I don’t know what else to say. Why is she being so weird?
Beginning to back out of the living room and toward my bedroom, I say, “Alright, well I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. Night.”
“Night,” I hear Ellie and Haley call back as I shut the door to my bedroom and take a deep breath.
I don’t know what was up with Haley, or why she was acting like she knew something I didn’t, but I didn’t like it.
All I know is that I have to start coming up with a plan for this weekend. It shouldn’t be too hard. Maybe we could go into the city for the night. That could be a fun reprieve from the reality of life, and I could use that right now.
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 beenlong 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 Eliteandon 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.
