“Go back to sleep,” I whisper, and kiss her on the forehead. “I love you.”
When I get back into my bed, I stare at the expensive gown hanging on the back of my door. At the pretty shoes tucked against the wall—shoes I’ve only ever worn to dominate in. Tonight was going to be my first time wearing the black, pointed-toe heels outside of that capacity. I chose them for tonight because they’ve always done right by me. They’re sharp and elegant, and I can wear them for at least a few hours without hurting my feet.
I would have loved to wear them dancing tonight, though. I doubt that even pinched toes could have spoiled the night. Not in the least.
Chapter 13
Rugby's Not For The Weak
Jonah
It’s a blistering summer day. I spent most of the morning outside with the animals before I arrived at rugby practice—early!Man, I am nailing this responsibility thing.
Despite my internal pep talk, I’m buzzing with nerves, which is weird because I haven’t been nervous about rugby since I started playing in high school. I’ve also never had to prove my dedication to a team. Showing up at some point and scoring points was always enough for me to earn my spot in the A-side starting lineup.
But being late is old JoJo. My brother’s right—if we’re gonna level up as a team, I need to do the same. I had to beg him to let me train this summer, and I don’t want to continue disappointing our family and teammates.
“As I live and breathe,” Wheels chuckles, before plopping his kit next to me on the ground. He plays fullback and has thighs the size of tree trunks. Wheels glances at his watch. “Did someone tell you practice started an hour earlier or something?”
I finish lacing up my boots. “No, I just wanted to get here early. I’m excited about the season.”
“You know the season doesn’t start until fall, right?” he teases, but there’s a very real possibility he’s not. He gestures around the empty field. “Thisis only summer training.”
“I know,” I smile. “Bring it on.”
When the rest of the team arrives, I receive much of the same teasing. They've always ragged on me for being late, and though it never bothered me, it's kind of nice to be teased for my punctuality. I'm taking this seriously now, and they're noticing, even if they're laughing about it.
Warm-ups go the same as they always do—a couple of laps around the field followed by dynamic and static stretching. Then we launch into partner drills. We match up with someone of equal size, so Dane and I naturally gravitate toward each other. We practice tackling and racing with the other piggyback. He doesn’t say anything about me being on time to practice, and the more time we spend together on one-on-one drills, the antsier I become for acknowledgement.
When we go into a scrimmage, my legs and core are shaking. It’s an inferno on the field. Despite the heat, the team’s tempo is unbelievably fast. It’s hot as hell, and we’re all sprinting like we’re being chased by Satan himself.
The forwards split away to do their own thing, and I join the backs. Our quick hands turn into tried-and-true plays, and I feel like a gazelle tearing through gaps in the B-side. That is, until I collide with someone and a chorus of inaudible gasps andOh damn’s break out.
He called my bluff when I tried to juke him.
Sugar, that hurt.
After that, nothing goes right. I trip over my own feet and miss a perfect pass. I get too greedy near the end zone and try to score, only to get tackled again and reprimanded for not offloading the ball to the player who was yelling, “With you on your right.” To make it all worse, every time I look at the forwards, I catch my brother, El Capitan, watching me like a hawk.
Ughh, that’s not helping.Why’s he so obsessed with me?It’s freaking me out, and I already feel like I’m on a razor’s edge here.
“Get your shit together, Philly,” Coach hollers at the backline, but I know it’s directed at me. He blows the whistle, and barks at us to sprint seventy meters to the try line and back. Then three more times because I’m pretty sure he’s sick in the head. Listen, I’m in shape, but even I’m heaving.
“You think we’re gonna make the Premier League lookin’ like this?” he yells. “Get your heads out of your asses and run the loop again.”
The groan I suppress is on the tip of my tongue, but Coach is right. This next level will be more demanding than what we’re used to. If we want a chance to compete with the big dogs, we have to play harder—and train harder—than ever before.
Coach shows us mercy once he’s satisfied with our progress, and we all gather by our bags for a water break. I dig through mine, sweat pouring from my hairline and shirt half-soaked. I freeze when I realize I forgot to bring water. It’s not uncommon for someone to forget their bottle and to ask another player for a swig of theirs, but with the way my brother’s been watching me like he’s waiting for me to fail... yeah, I’d rather eat rocks than admit I didn’t bring any water.
Luckily, I find a plastic bottle hidden at the bottom of my bag with just enough water to wet my whistle. I open the tiny cap and throw it back before spewing it on the grass—coughing and sputtering.That’s disgusting!How long has that bottle been in my bag?
Two guys laugh at my misfortune. “I remember my first beer,” one of them says.
“You okay, JoJo?” Raf asks, and extends his water to me. “You want some of mine?”
I clear my throat, but the rank taste lingers and now it’s crawling up my nasal passage. “I’m fine. Thanks though.”
“D’you guys hear our Daddies won Beachside Sevens?” one teammate asks, referring to our summer tournament team—the team I would have been playing on this summer if we weren’t trying to level up.
