Which countryhereis.
What day it is.
My own name.
Once I’m fully aware of the world around me, I find a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water on the nightstand, along with a bunch of protein bars, and a banana and two apples arranged in a way that I’m positive was deliberate.
Whether Fletcher was calling me a dick or intentionally reminding me that he can often be one, I’m smiling while I grab one of the apples.
I manage a shower—fucking foot—and pull on clothesthat I find in the closet—a pair of plain gray cotton shorts and a bright red T-shirt that saysGoats are Spoonswith a smiley face and a sunflower on it.
Likely Fletcher’s punishment for anyone who spends the night without bringing their own clothes.
The banana-apple dick was definitely about him, I decide.
No texts from Ziggy asking where I am, but I shoot her a quick message anyway, letting her know I’m booking a ride and will be back sometime this morning.
I realize I don’t know where she’s working right now.
If she’s pulling weekend shifts.
If I should’ve addedhope you’re feeling betterto my message.
No, I know that one. I definitely should’ve told her I hope she’s feeling better.
And that she’s pretty even when she’s sick. And that I’ll buy her whatever food she wants if she’ll cook more for me. And that I want to know more about her.
Somebody has a crush…
I mentally flip off Caden’s voice.
I’m well aware I have a crush. And I’m well aware it’s going nowhere.
When I leave the bedroom and circle around to the living room, I almost fall off my crutches.
Bunch of guys from the team are here.
Crew’s on the floor, using one of the dogs’ beds for a pillow. Porter’s next to him, curled on his side with his mouth hanging open, snoring. Tatum’s on one end of the couch. Zander’s on the other.
Crew cracks one eyelid. “Hey, Captain. Came to love bomb you but you were asleep. Nice boot.”
No one else stirs.
Good thing. Not in much of a mood for them to see me getting wet in the eyeballs.
I’ll never play overseas again. The days of playing in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans, being recognized in public, needing an agent to work endorsement deals are over.
This—the Pounders—this is where I’ll be until I retire from rugby. And it’s not a bad place to be.
It’s been good the past few years. Even with fewer fans and less public recognition.
These guys are like family. Family with better genes than what runs in my bloodline. The team’s nearly fully turned over from the team it was when I first came to Copper Valley to take care of Caden, but these guys were there for me the past year.
They’re what I would’ve missed if I’d made a team in Europe.
I clear my throat and nod to Crew. “Thanks.”
“Need anything?”
