“I know, but if he can’t get over this funk, then—”
“Auxier! Callahan!” Coach shouts, waving at us to pay attention.
Gritting his teeth, Moxie throws one more worried glance in Bean’s direction, then gets into position.
It takes me a few seconds longer, mostly because my mind starts running through all the things I noticed during practiceslast week. I tried to watch the team as a whole, but a good chunk of my focus was on Bean. He’s a solid rugger, and most of his practices are fine. But whatever he’s dealing with at work must be messing with his head more than ever.
I’ve proven that I’m terrible at giving advice, but considering I got the likes of Savannah Blair to show genuine interest in me, maybe I’ve softened up. I doubt Bean would tell me what’s really bothering him the way Blaze did on the lacrosse pitch, though. I worry that, coming from me, even the best advice will only make him hate me more.
Coach blows his whistle, and I do my best to stay focused on my part. But I have a perfect view when Moxie gets the ball and passes to Bean, who fumbles it—again—and drops his head back in frustration as everyone grumbles around him.
On the next pass, Bean’s hands are too stiff to grip the ball.
The next time he drops it, I swear he already knows he won’t make the catch before the ball comes at him.
I know that spiral all too well, and it kills me that I can’t tell him I’ve been where he is. This is more than a rugby problem; the man needs help.
After a particularly messy drill, I pass Bean on my way to reset but pause when he snaps at me.
“No self-righteous pointers today, Hero?”
I glance back, trying not to show my confusion in case he mistakes it for irritation. “No. I’ve seen you make this play dozens of times; you know what you’re doing.” Ignoring the stunned look on his face, I get into position, but Savannah’s words from weeks ago play on repeat in my head.You need to benicer. If I had actually listened to her then, maybe I could have figured out how to help Bean before he spiraled this hard.
Something tells me a lot of things in my life would have been improved if Savannah was truly a part of it.
Realizing my teammates have jumped into motion, I curse and sprint forward, my thoughts still spinning. Moxie throws a pass to me, but the ball slips right through my fingers and hits the ground.
The team collectively groans, and someone grumbles, “If The Hero can’t hack it, we’re doomed.”
“What was that?” Moxie asks, staring at me like I’ve grown two heads.
I shrug, waiting until my frustration subsides. It’s been a long time since I bungled an easy pass like that. “Hands must be a bit cooked today,” I mutter as I pick up the ball.
“It’s not your hands I’m worried about. Is your head in this or not?”
It’s not, but I can fix that. Compartmentalize until I figure out my plan. My time with this team is temporary, but I’ve already let them down enough. They deserve better from me after all I’ve done. “Won’t happen again, Mox.”
He sighs. “Good.”
“Even the best of us have bad days.”
Several guys moan as they make their way to listen to the frustrated coaches.
Behind me, Bean scoffs. “You don’t,” he grumbles.
I may have been an ego-driven jerk when I started with this team, but he has to know I’m not some infallible god. Doesn’t he? I toss the ball at him without giving him a chance to think,and he catches it easily. “Mate, I dropped so many passes during my first year with the Wallabies that I almost cost us a spot in the Cup.” I shake my head at the memory. “Nearly got booted from the team.”
His jaw slips open. “You?” he asks, his tone so full of skepticism that it’s like I just told him I used to arrange flowers for a living. “Olympic hero, Logan Callahan?”
“Yeah, me.” I roll my eyes. “The pressure got to me. Playing on a team like that isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, and it took some of the best coaches in the world and eight years to get me to where I am.” I tap my temple. “And they couldn’t do jack until I got out of my own head.”
Frowning, he tightens his hold on the ball but says nothing.
Hopefully that’s a good sign. He hasn’t walked away yet, so he might actually listen to me today. Especially if I don’t say a word about him. I think back to those days, when I was nineteen and trying to prove to the world that I deserved my spot on the team, at the same time figuring out how to be a proper adult on my own.
“Funny how it doesn’t matter where the pressure comes from,” I say with a shake of my head. “Coaches, teammates, something off the pitch… Once it gets in your head, you’re cooked. Lose your head, and your hands are quick to follow.”
His anger and frustration slip, his shoulders sagging as he looks around the pitch, like he’s looking for backup. But the rest of the team has moved to the other side of the pitch, and when Bean realizes we’re on our own, it’s like something in him cracks. “I can’t turn it off,” he admits, so quietly that I barelyhear him. “Every time I mess up, it doesn’t go away. And it’s not just here.”
