That’s why studying the players and how each of them watches and reacts to the others’ body language has becomesomething of a game for me. Yes, I enjoy the adrenaline rush, as I do when watching or playing football, but the often unrecognisable subtlety of rugby has captivated me in a way I can’t fully explain.
This is one of the last matches of the season, and I’m desperate for anything to quiet the nausea I’m still dealing with, despite the stronger prescription Dr. Alvarez prescribed.
If this is what pregnant people feel like, it’s truly a wonder how the planet ended up populated by over eight billion people.
I get dressed, careful to choose an outfit that covers the port at my clavicle and the bruises in the crease of my arms from before the nurses started using my central line to draw my labs. They’re unbelievably slow to heal, and I don’t have the energy to explain them away. I’m just lucky my friends can’t make it today, or I’d have to string together more lies when they demand to know why I’ve lost weight or how I’ve got the bollocks to go two weeks without seeing them.
Elijah knocks when he’s ready to go, and I follow him down the stairs and through the warmly lit lobby, out onto the pavement where our small building is tucked into the brickwork. It’s a short distance to his tank-like truck parked along the street, just outside the pottery studio. It makes perfect sense that someone as anxious as him would want a car that could withstand anything—including, it appears, a wayward bullet.
He sprints around to my side, opening the door for me, and I don’t miss the way his cheeks flush when he starts to overthink the gesture.
“Thank you,” I tell him, hoping to ease some of his nerves. He ducks his chin in response, gets in on his side, and peels out of the parking space.
I’m perfectly content to sit in silence, though this chatterbox makes it difficult.
“So, where’d you grow up?” Elijah asks, lightly drumming his fingers over his steering wheel as he pulls up to a slow stop at a red light.
“I was born in Gujarat but moved to London when I was four. What about you?” I ask as a wave of acid swims in, splashing against the walls of my stomach.
“Gujarat. That’s in western India, right?”
“Yeah. Have you been?”
He shakes his head, short blond waves flying. “No, but I read about it a bit during a British colonial history course in secondary school when we discussed civil disobedience and Mahatma Gandhi.”
Before I can respond, he fills the silence with his response to my earlier question, as if his own story is an afterthought rather than the foreword. “I grew up just outside of Manchester.”
“Manchester has a great union team. Did you consider playing for them?” I ask, realising too late that this might be one of those moments Letty and Chelsea would scold me for saying something rude. Becauseof coursehe’d have “considered” playing for the best rugby team in the union.
He chuckles deeply, and the sound wiggles beneath my ribs. “You don’t hold back, do you?”
“No, I do not. Or so I’m told.”
He peers over at me, flashing a bright smile that I find frustratingly beautiful and maybe a little disarming. I groan internally. With every quiet conversation, meal left for me to eat, and answering note slipped beneath my door with his own fun orca fact, this man crawls under my defences. It’s making it incredibly difficult to keep him at arm’s length when all I’m desperate to do is open up tosomebody.But sharing the weight crushing me feels like more than I deserve, considering all I’m hiding.
“I was actually contracted with them just before I turned eighteen.”
“And? I see you reading all the time. How would you feel if every book left you on a cliffhanger?” I cock my head.
I’m rewarded with another bout of deep laughter. “Well, that would be absolute shite, that’s for sure,” he agrees, running a hand through his tousled waves. “My mum was diagnosed with cervical cancer just after I signed with them. My sisters were young, and my dad was a deadbeat.” He glances over at me, checking I haven't lost interest, and there’s a strange ache in my chest as a result. Only after he confirms I’m still invested in his response does he continue. “He struggled with a gambling addiction that he refused to get help for, and when we received Mum’s results, he left because he said it was too much for him. Things change, and life happens. We adjust. So I wound up playing for a local team that didn’t require as much travelling.”
My stomach dips. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of that. It sounds like a lot for one person to take on, especially so young.”
He nods, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Taxis and cars litter the streets. “Thanks,” he whispers. “It was a lot, but Coach Auclair saw some of my game tape and reached out. I know I’m a little old to be joining the premiershipnow,but I’m thankful for the opportunity.”
Elise’s dad is always watching for the underdog, ready to take them under his wing. So Elijah’s admission doesn’t surprise me.
“And how oldareyou?” I ask, as if I don’t already have his stats memorised.
“Twenty-six. You?”
“Twenty-two. Twenty-six is my favourite number,” I tell him for no reason other than to see the wide grin I know my words will induce.
And sure enough, there it is—dimpled and perfect, the apples of his cheeks turning pink, his eyes refusing to look my way.
We fall into a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive, and as much as I enjoy his deep baritone voice, I’m grateful for the reprieve. It gives me time to study him properly, my gaze catching on the ink swirling down his left arm.
I’ve never had this much uninterrupted time to take in each piece of the puzzle that is Elijah Elliott, and more and more, I’m finding I like what I see. It’s no surprise that the massive rugger with a soft centre has plumes of black smoke billowing across his skin, with two small pink butterflies and a larger teal one, each sporting the cervical cancer ribbons hidden in their wings. The rest of the butterflies are colourless, merely black outlines. His tattoo is as much a paradox as he is—the smoke and sharp lines reflect his outer toughness, while the bright colours and softness of the wings represent his mum and sisters, flawlessly mirroring his inherently gentle nature.
