The running back cut right, and I stayed on his tail as the quarterback faked left and pitched it outside.
I hesitated for just a breath … and that was enough.
Propelling myself forward, I lunged but too late. All my hands brushed was fucking air.
Another gap, accompanied by another burst of laughter.
Fuck me.
Marcus slapped my shoulder as we reset. “Dude, your instincts are lagging. You need a software update or something?”
I offered him a tight smile, still trying my hardest to appear unbothered. “You offering tech support, mate?”
“Sure,” Marcus said. “Start by uninstalling rugby.”
Yeah nah, not happening. For now, I may have been at a disadvantage, but once I figured out how to apply my skills to this field properly, these blokes were fucking toast.
The others laughed again.
They thought of rugby as my crutch. Everything I was, everything I learned, it was like some outdated operating system I couldn’t delete.
And in some way, they might’ve even been right.
Fact was, I was built for one and just trying to survive the other.
By the time practice wrapped, my legs were as heavy as lead. I yanked my helmet off and wiped sweat from my face, squinting against the sun.
The guys were laughing as they walked off, slapping backs and tossing jokes around as they talked about plans for later.
I smiled and nodded at those I made eye contact with, easily joining their rhythm.
They liked me — almost everyone liked me — but they didn’tseeme.
All they saw was a big dude who was trying too hard and getting nowhere.
A good sport.
A nice guy.
Not the one you trusted with the final play.
After everyone left, I lingered on the field, alone with the turf and the faint sound of traffic far off the fence line.
Once more, I crouched down, replaying the movement in my head — the fake, the shift, the missed angle.
This time, I moved more slowly, focusing on my steps, trying to recall how exactly this movement had felt in Tori’s small bedroom. But Istillgot it wrong.
I threw my hands upwards in frustration, then roughly tugged at my hair. My body wanted to attack, and my instincts demanded to charge through.
Football wanted him to wait, to absorb, to read.
Trouble was, I’d never been good at waiting.
Ain’t that a bitch.
Dusk was starting to fall as I lined up against a tackling dummy, the kind that rocked on a heavy spring.
“Alright,” I muttered under my breath. “React. Don’t think.React.”
