I need it, since I’m figuring this out as I go. Dad’s heart attack last month, sudden as it was, spooked me. Spooked all of us. My adoptive parents are getting older and won’t be around forever, and they’re the only family I’ve got. Mum is convinced that I’m going to be miserable and lonely when they’re gone, and when we were sitting in the hospital after the attack, she and Dad made me promise to take some time to figure out where I came from. Which means finding my birth mum.
And since I owe everything to the people who raised me, how could I refuse?
Getting answers will give them peace of mind, which hardly covers what I owe them for the life they’ve given me. That means I can’t go back home until I’ve done everything I can to learn about my background, and I’m more than happy to keep my head down and play a good game while I do.
Whether the rest of the team can keep up with me remains to be seen.
“Don’t worry about me,” I tell Evanson and follow him out. “I’m here to play.”
When we get down to the pitch, the lads have finally been wrangled into a somewhat respectable stretch routine, led bya blonde woman who barely looks old enough to be out of uni. Evanson heads straight for her, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek. Must be the wife. He says something to her, making her blush, then whistles to catch the attention of the team as he releases his wife and stands at her side.
All eyes turn to him, but a few dart over to me after a second or two. I’ve kept my distance, standing just within hearing distance, and I’ll join the boys on the pitch once they’ve gotten the excitement or nerves out of the way, whichever they may feel.
“Listen up, Thunder,” Evanson says, nodding at the coach, who must know the news because he nods back from where he stands with the rest of the coaching staff. “We have a last-minute addition to our roster.”
More pairs of eyes turn my way, some with interest, others with confusion or suspicion. I reckon I should be glad they signed me so close to the start of the season, but they’d be mad to turn me down. I doubt they’ve had a player with anything close to my skills on their team in the few years they’ve existed, and they’ll get a lot closer to winning the “Championship” again with me among the backs.
“This is Logan Callahan. He’ll be with us for the season, so be nice while he’s here.”
“Only one season?” someone asks. “Visa problem?”
A different man stands, his eyes narrowed as he takes me in and slowly approaches.
I address the man who spoke, keeping a wary gaze on my approaching teammate. “No problems here. Dual citizen. Yank and Aussie,all in one.”
“Aussie?” someone else says, elbowing the bloke next to him. “Hear that Gary? You finally have a fellow kangaroo!”
Gary nods at me, a gesture I return only out of courtesy. I was hoping the team would be free of other Australians if only to make it easier to avoid anyone trying to become my friend. As long as he’s from any state but New South Wales, I’ll have reasons to keep a distance, but with my luck he’ll have grown up in Sydney, like me. “How’s things?” he asks, almost nervously.
The player who stood reaches me, saving me the trouble of responding. He holds out his hand and offers a wary smile. He’s likely somewhere in his mid-twenties, same as me. “Malcolm Auxier,” he says. “But you can call me Moxie.”
“Captain,” Evanson says, nodding at Moxie.
I take the captain’s hand. He looks friendly, but I have no idea if he can lead a team, particularly one as chaotic as this one. But I’ll withhold judgment and see what he can do. “Logan.”
“What position?”
With two and a half dozen eyes on me, I try to gauge where the team might be lacking based on size alone. I contracted for a specific position, but I’ve played them all and am not afraid to lobby for somewhere I’ll be more valued. “Wing,” I say eventually, sticking with my usual position.
A man on the ground scoffs, and I can easily guess he’s a fellow wing. He’s too slender to play any other spot, built for speed instead of power. “Seriously? But you’re huge.”
“Still faster than you,” I mutter.
Moxie’s eyes immediately drop back to slits. “Take the ego down a notch, Callahan,” he says, keeping his voice low.
My eyebrows jump up. After his friendly greeting, his warning catches me by surprise. He has backbone, I’ll give him that. “Cap,” I say with a nod. I don’t need to make friends, but neither do I need to make enemies. My angelic mum would skin my hide if she caught me belittling my teammates just because I have more experience than they do.
“Can he even play?” the little wing asks the teammate next to him.
Fixing my gaze on him, I fold my arms and study his small build. Speed is one thing, but if he can’t push through a block, what good is he? The man needs to put on several kilos of muscle if he wants to excel in his position.
“Easy, mate,” Gary says, throwing his teammate a sharp look. “That’sLogan Callahan.”
“So?”
“He scored the match-winning try at the World Cup quarter finals three years ago, and I’m pretty sure he was on the Australian Olympic team when they won silver in Madrid.”
As whispers filter through the team, I resist the urge to smirk. Nice to know my reputation has preceded me when I’ve put in the work to get to where I am. But when the wing rolls his eyes, like my stats mean nothing, I can’t hold back a sharp, “What haveyoudone, String Bean?”
