“That’s young. Mom and Dad had to practically create a rugby league for Silas to play in when he said he was interested. Where were you?”
“Australia.”
I tilt my head.
Every now and again, I get a hint of a foreign accent, and then there are the Britishisms he sprinkles into his speech, but I assumed he picked that up after playing in the UK for the past decade-plus. Otherwise, he sounds as American as I do.
“You’re Australian?”
“Old man was stationed there with the military. Which is clearly spelled out for anyone who reads my bio.”
I make a face. “Silas’s bio says he was born on the pitch with a rugby ball in hand. I don’t put a lot of stock in bios.”
“That work out for you?”
“Not reading bios?”
“No. Using me to piss off your brother.”
I grin. “Oh, that. To be determined. He hasn’t talked to me since I pulled a mom move on him after I got back to Rosalia’s the other night and actually made him feel guilty.”
“You two often give each other the silent treatment?”
“Looking for hints on how to handle him in the locker room?”
“Don’t want to handle him. Want him gone.”
“His kid’s here and going exactly nowhere else. He’ll push right up to the line, but he won’t do anything to get traded or kicked out of the league. He actually gave up the opportunity to play in France when he found out Brittany was pregnant.”
He stares at me as if he’s debating if he wants to make a comment about my brother polluting the gene pool, or if he wants to ask management if he can get traded somewhere else instead.
Or possibly he wants to talk about how my brother does occasionally play dirty. I’ve seen some of his tackles and they’re not always legal.
Fletcher isn’t the first teammate who hasn’t appreciated my brother.
And he wouldn’t be the first to question if Hallie is the real reason why Silas isn’t playing in France today.
There’s reasonable doubt as to if Silas could’ve made it long-term there.
I crunch loudly into a pita chip.
Plain salt. My favorite. “So, rugby from childhood. Why Copper Valley? You could’ve made a deal with any team in the league.”
He took a massive pay cut coming here. He also has more meetings with the team brass than Silas thinks is appropriate. And while I don’tknow-know Fletcher, there’s something about him that tells me Copper Valley is a stepping stone for him, even with there only being a dozen or so teams in the whole league right now.
Which is fascinating, since Ihaveread his bio and a few articlesabout him—though I clearly missed the part about him first learning rugby in Australia and being a military brat—and his game isn’t what it once was.
He’s in his mid-thirties, which isn’t ancient for the sport by any means, but he’s not getting any younger either.
“Freshest crowd,” is all he’ll give me.
Makes sense. Our hockey team is pretty stellar. Won the championship a couple times in the past ten years and haven’t missed the playoffs in all that time either. Our baseball team went from the worst in their league to champions under new ownership a few years ago too. And our women’s soccer team—well.
They’re good.
That’s all I generally say about that.
“You planning to go into coaching when you retire?” I ask.
