Probably for the best.
I’ve been avoiding thinking about her.
Because every time I do, it’s barbed wire through my ribcage.
So, I train harder and push myself. Every session. Every drill. Nonstop. The lads joke about me being possessed, but they don’t know half of it. Gotta be the best, or what’s the fucking point? If I let up, even for a second, it all floods back.
Her nose with my spaghetti sauce on it.
How her eyes sparkle when she deepthroats me like the boss she is.
Her face, her voice, the way she looked at me right before I lost her because we’re both too fucked up to make it work.
Derek mutters something about the tension in my back and asks if it’s been worse lately. I grunt. Can’t be arsed to have that conversation. Just want him to do his job and bugger off.
I’m still on the pitch every game, doing my job, dragging us to wins. But I’m playing angry. Coach knows it. The boys know it. Took off on a sniping run from our own twenty-two like I thought I was Superman. Cost us the game. Then I lost my head and smashed into a ruck like a fucking bulldozer, and Wallace tore me a new one. I just shrugged and walked it off.
What’s the worst that can happen? They bench me? Make me rest?
I’d go down swinging. Throwing myself into the mess till my lungs give out is easier than sitting still and replaying the look on her face when she flinched from me.
Derek hits a spot that makes my vision blur, and I brace my hands on my knees. If the pain cuts sharp enough, it drowns out everything else. Beating my body past its limits, grinding through the ache like I’m punishing myself for feeling anything at all.
But that’s how it’s always been. Push harder. Be better. Outwork the pain.
Derek’s done with me. The lads are rehydrating, wolfing down gels and bananas. Coach has just wrapped up his halftime speech, and the tension’s still hanging like a nasty fart. No one’s saying a word, but the side-eye glances are coming at me from every direction.
Jamie’s the first to crack. Kicks a stray water bottle across the floor, making it clatter off the wall. ‘What the actual fuck was that out there, MacRae? You trying to get yourself killed?’
I don’t answer. What’s the point?
Scottie barks out a bitter laugh. ‘Aye, well, maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s too busy trying to knock his own brains out to think about the rest of us.’
‘Fuck off,’ I mutter.
‘Naw, pal. You don’t get to sit there like the wounded warrior.’ Finn’s perched on the bench, blood streaking down his shin, eyes blazing. ‘What the fuck’s your problem, man? Charging into rucks like a demented rhino – you’re gonna snap your spine to prove your dick’s still attached? You’re not a forward, you absolute knob. You’re meant to have a brain. Gonna break your neck one of these days, and we’ll be scraping you off the pitch like roadkill.’
‘And that chip kick?’ Jamie cuts in. ‘What were you thinking? You had options, and you went for glory like a one-man army.’
‘You’re supposed to be better than that,’ Scottie growls, wiping sweat off his neck. ‘You know it, we know it. So, what the hell are you doing out there? Trying to make some point nobody’s asked you to prove?’
My jaw aches from grinding my teeth. ‘I’m playing to win. You lot should try it sometime.’
‘Fuck that,’ Finn fires back. ‘You’re not playing to win, you’re playing like you’ve got a death wish. Thought you had more brains than this.’
‘You’re a headless chicken, MacRae,’ Jamie throws in, arms crossed tight over his chest. ‘You think smashing through the line like a tank makes you tough? It doesn’t. Just makes you reckless. Think.’
‘I’m doing what needs to be done,’ I grind out.
‘No, you’re acting like a twat,’ Finn says. ‘And we’re the ones paying for it. You’ve been a miserable prick for weeks now, and I’m done tiptoeing around it. Get your shite together, big man.’
‘You think we don’t see it?’ Scottie adds. ‘You think we’re blind to what’s eating at you? We get it. Heart’s fucked. Head’s gone. But dragging all of us down with you? That’s selfish.’
Heat crawls up my neck. ‘You don’t know shite about it.’
Jamie throws his towel at me. ‘You think you’re the only one who’s been fucked over? Grow up. We’ve all been burned. Difference is, we’re not trying to break every bone in our body over it. Pull your head out your arse.’
‘You’re not playing for the team,’ Finn cuts in. ‘You’re playing for your own bloody pride. And it’s costing us.’
