Seth
I didn’t make it.
I didn’t fucking make it.
It was Saturday morning, and I was in a foul mood. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own, but I was about to rip heads off if anyone got too close. Mum and Dad had flown in from Melbourne, convinced they needed to be at my first game, but I’d gone and fucked it up. I wasn’t playing today.
This whole week had been a shit show. First, Claire blew me off, and I had no idea what the hell I’d done wrong, but I didn’t have time to wallow. I had to focus on getting my starting jersey, but I’d fallen short even with that.
I didn’t envy Luca. In fact, I felt sorry for the poor guy. After practice on Thursday afternoon, he’d called me into his office and let me know I wouldn’t be playing. For ten minutes I’d sat there, trying to keep my emotions in check while Luca had patiently encouraged me. Reassuring me that I was on the right track, I just hadn’t quite gotten there yet. He said all the things I’ve heard before but never wanted to be on the receiving end of again. Yet that’s exactly what happened.
After leaving the club with a huge chip on my shoulder, I raced home, changed, grabbed a bag full of shit, and checked myself into a nearby hotel. While I understood Luca’s decision as my coach, going home and sitting across the dinner table from him wasn’t my idea of fun. Spending the afternoon channel surfing while lying on the oversized bed and stuffing my face on room service was exactly what I needed. I’d left my phone on silent in the bottom of my bag. I was in no mood to talk to anyone, and they most certainly did not want to know what I was thinking right now.
Feeling restless, I stripped down, changed into my board shorts, and headed down to the pool. For the amount I was paying for this place, I might as well enjoy the amenities to work out some of the frustrations.
Forty-five minutes later, my arms were aching, and I was panting. I considered myself a pretty fit guy, I mean, I was in pretty good shape, and despite my love of fried chicken and burgers, I worked hard. But after swimming up and down the pool, racking up the laps, I was stuffed.
Back in my room, I showered and changed before finding my phone. I’d been putting it off since Luca had told me, but time was running out. Mum and Dad were booked on a flight tomorrow morning, adamant they had to be here. They might as well save themselves the trip.
Calling had been hard. Mum had told me not to worry. That I’d get there. That I needed to be patient. All the things I’d heard her tell Bryce time and time again over the years. But they were still coming.
And they had.
They’d arrived, and we’d spent last night at Bryce’s place. Thank God for Emma. Mum was so caught up with the idea of grandkids, I got off lightly.
Now it was game day. At least it was for the rest of the team. I couldn’t even sit at home and sulk. I had to show up. Smile. Be a good teammate. Sit on the sidelines and cheer. That wasn’t something I was used to. I wasn’t a damn cheerleader. I was a player. A player who hated the fact he wasn’t playing.
Adjusting my tie, it felt like a noose around my neck, I kissed Mum’s cheek and shook Dad’s hand before watching them climb the stairs in the stands to their seats. Once they were out of sight, I turned and headed back towards the locker rooms. As much as it sucked, as much as I hated it, if I had any chance of getting a spot, no matter how much it hurt and how disappointed I was, I had to do the right thing.
Stepping into the locker room, I could hear the teasing and chatter echoing off the concrete walls. I was desperate to be a part of it. I didn’t know who I was without being part of a team. It was all I knew. Who I was.
“Masters!” Hamish called out, spotting me hovering in the doorway.
“You ready?” I asked, moving towards him before dropping down on the bench beside him.
“Yeah. Be glad to get this one over and done with.”
“Why?”
“First game always sucks. It doesn’t matter how many times everyone says they’re not going to go all out as soon as the whistle goes, by half-time you’re cooked. Second game’s much easier.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t know.”
“You’re not still pissed you’re not playing, are you?” Angus asked as he plopped down beside me and started tightening his laces.
“Not pissed. Just…”
“Pissed,” Hamish finished.
There was no point lying to them. If anyone understood what I was feeling, it was these guys. I’m sure at some point in their careers, they’d been right where I was. Didn’t make me feel any better, but I needed to stop being a big baby about it.
Before I had a chance to say anything, Luca appeared, clipboard in hand, barking final instructions. He finished up his ‘go get ‘em’ speech, and everyone filed out of the locker room, heading down the race towards the field. Falling in at the back of the pack, I made my way to the stands and took my seat.
It was painful to watch.
In my pocket my phone vibrated, but I ignored it.
Paying attention to what worked and what didn’t, I found myself making mental notes of things I could try. It wasn’t like it could hurt. I wasn’t getting a game doing what I was doing, changing it up couldn’t be all bad.
