He’d been all pissy at his dad for thinking he’d forgotten his brother’s address, but between Derek’s party and the Cheryl situation, he hadn’t re-enroled for university. He’d deferred his psychology degree for a year, and if he didn’t call Monash and sign up for late registration, he’d lose his credits. “Goddamn it.”
He picked up his phone to Google the number when someone clapped his shoulder. “G’day, Psycho.”
He almost jumped out of his skin. “Shit!”
Turning, he saw Sharks Club President, Mick Fletcher, grinning at him. He yanked out his earbuds. “Hey, Mick. Sorry.”
“No problem, tiger.” Mick gave his back another slap. “Working hard or hardly working?”
Patrick grinned cautiously. Mick was friendly, but in that way where it always seemed he was about to give you a surprise dead leg. “Just finishing up. What can I do for you?”
“Oh, this and that.” Mick sat on the weights bench across from him, paunchy but solid in his pale yellow shirt. He was an ex-captain and a former Brownlow medallist, and so nuts about the Sharks it had apparently ended his last two marriages. Patrick tried to relax his shoulders. Talking to the leadership team always made him feel like he was back in junior footy.
“Excited about next year?” Mick asked.
“Yeah, pretty positive…”
Was he getting dropped back to reserves? Or, his insides lurched, had Holloway come forward about what he’d done at Derek’s party?
“Your goal-kicking was excellent last season,” Mick said with what sounded like deliberate casualness. “Think you can do better next year?”
Patrick knew the answer to that. “Definitely. Always room for improvement, you know that.”
“Glad to hear it.” The club president smiled. “You play your cards close, don’t you? You’re level-headed. Don’t show off.”
Where the hell was this going? Patrick tried for a smile. “My brothers wouldn’t have put up with that.”
Mick laughed, but not like he thought it was funny. Patrick could tell he was about to drop the bomb. Sure enough, Mick leaned forward. “You might have already heard but John Yarding’s retiring next season.”
Patrick almost blurted out ‘no!’ but managed to stop himself just in time. John had been the Sharks’ captain for the last eight years. He was a pillar of the team, almost as big an institution as Derek. “I didn’t know,” he said. “That’s huge.”
“Yeah, well, he’s thirty-six, and his hammies are shot. He’ll play one game next season, say goodbye to the fans and retire.”
Patrick had been watching Yarding on TV since he was a kid. He couldn’t imagine a world where he wasn’t a Shark. He felt Mick watching him. “Is there something you need me to do for John? To help out?”
Mick laughed, and this time it sounded genuine. “A cool head and a good heart. Very rare.”
The back of Patrick’s neck went hot. “Thanks.”
Mick put his elbows on his knees. “The Sharks are headed in a new direction. Average player age has dropped, our established names like Hardiman and Willow have moved on. We’re rebuilding and we want a young captain for a young team. What do you reckon about that?”
Patrick was distracted by the amount of direct eye contact Mick was making. He’d be a heck of a psychologist. Or a police interrogator. “Sure. That makes sense.”
Mick kept making weird eye contact and Patrick wished he had a shirt on. “Are you asking who I think is a good pick?”
Mick grinned. “How would you feel about being the Hammerhead Sharks’ new captain?”
Patrick felt like his brain was sagging. Never, not in a million years, did he think that was a possibility. Not at this stage of his career. “I’m too young, aren’t I?”
“Like I said, that’s the idea. You’re what, twenty-three?”
“Almost twenty-four,” Patrick said automatically and regretted it. This wasn’t about reassuring Cheryl they were pretty much the same age; this was about not biting off more than he could chew. He took a quick inhale. “I appreciate the offer, Mick, but seriously, that’s… I’d be one of the youngest captains we’ve ever had, wouldn’t I?”
“Probably, but again, we’re looking to make a splash and you have captain blood. Everyone can see it.”
Aside from Cheryl telling him he was sexy, that was the highest compliment he’d ever been paid. “Thank you, Mick. Seriously.”
“So, you’ll take the position?”
