Page 3 of Big Rucking Disaster (Rucked by You #8)

Chapter Two

Johnnie

L ouella, the phys-ed teacher, was an absolutely affable woman. Her wedding ring put me at ease in a way few things did these days. I wasn’t as interested in playing the field as I had been not so long ago. After all, I had a gorgeous girlfriend, adoring fans, and plenty of adulation.

“We’re so appreciative that you’re willing to speak to our grade-twelve students.” The petite woman hustled me down the hall, through the crowds of students.

I was taller than most of them—which wasn’t a surprise.

I was a bit leaner than most hookers in the league, but my strength was legendary.

If one wanted to win a scrum, they needed me on their team.

“It’s my pleasure. Isaiah, my teammate, teaches high school.

He’s been telling me I need to get out into the community more.

” His exact words had been something like you need to give back, and sitting around all day on your ass isn’t doing that . Or something to that effect.

“The kids are so excited. Coach Morrison says two have real potential.”

“Coach Morrison?”

“Our other physical-education teacher. He’s got the mixed grade-twelve class this afternoon. They’re a rowdy bunch, but with good hearts.”

Some kids who took physical education all the way through school did so because they wanted an adjacent career.

Others took it because, generally, the class was easier than some academics.

Yeah, that was me . I’d excelled at most sports and had loved my gym class.

Now, I regretted not having tried harder in my academic classes.

Thirty-one, and I worked a courier gig when I wasn’t playing.

Compared to Isaiah’s teaching, I lacked… gravitas.

“In here.” Louella led me into the school’s gymnasium.

Ah, high school. Nothing quite smelled like it. I’d graced locker rooms for almost twenty years, and secondary schools just had a distinct odor.

A circle of chairs around center court caught my attention as I followed Louella to the group.

“Mr. Leclerc, this is our grade-twelve class. And this is the teacher, Mr. Morrison.”

Mr. Morrison stood. Okay, perhaps not what I was expecting. Except, who was I expecting ? My gym teacher had topped six-four and carried a significant amount of weight around his midsection. Former defensive liner for the BC Lions—Vancouver’s football team.

In contrast, Mr. Morrison was…short. Barely over five-seven, if I had to guess. Whippet-lean. Yet clearly some muscles under his T-shirt. His dark-brown eyes assessed me.

I tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. The man was…hot. All dark skin, shaved head, and something indefinable. I wasn’t into guys, but I suspected Isaiah would find him attractive. This teacher had a similar build to my teammate’s fiancé, Travis. I extended my hand. “Johnnie Leclerc.”

Something flickered in his eyes as he extended his hand. “Coach Morrison. These are my students. Why don’t you have a seat, and we can get started?” He pointed to a seat across the circle from him.

So he can keep an eye on me? I offered a wide grin.

“Sounds great.” I dropped my bag to the ground and sat.

I wore my team jersey with a pair of khakis in deference to the Vancouver rainy, cold, miserable day.

On the field, I wouldn’t have hesitated to wear my shorts.

Nothing deterred me from playing hard and fast. “So, before we start, maybe we can go around the circle, and each student can tell me something about themself.” I had a great memory and would be able to remember all the names and whatever each student said.

“Oh.” Coach Morrison frowned. “That’s not really why…” He trailed off. “Sure, okay.” He glanced at the kids. “Maybe something that’s not too personal.”

I’d never considered the students might reveal some deep, dark secret. I just wanted to get a sense of the kids and their aspirations.

Madison went first. She spoke about wanting to be a trainer for a pro team and how cool it was that Francine was the trainer for the Orcas.

I was damn impressed.

The kids who followed showed varying levels of interest in rugby.

Some not at all—George spoke of hockey with reverence.

Some with a great deal—Kenji enthused about wanting to make the Orcas team when he graduated high school.

Greta was already playing for a local women’s team, and she certainly had the build and attitude to be a great 15s player.

I loved my 15s.

Once we’d gone around the circle, Coach Morrison met my gaze. “Perhaps you can share the good and the bad of being a professional athlete?”

“Sure. The good? I love rugby more than life itself, and I get to play and get paid. The bad? Professional athletes don’t get paid nearly as much money as you might think.

Sure, pro baseball, hockey, and football players do well—on teams that are associated with the NHL, Major League Baseball, and the NFL.

Some soccer teams as well. Most of the rest of us?

Well, I’ve got a part-time job so I can pay the rent. ”

“What do you do?” Greta leaned in.

“Courier. Several days a week, I courier documents on a bicycle for law firms around the downtown core. The job isn’t as lucrative as it once was because people can sign many documents over the internet, but there are still some things that have to be done the old-fashioned way.

Sometimes I also pick up other business stuff.

But let me tell you, cycling around downtown is dangerous, and I don’t recommend it. ”

“But it’s a good workout.” Kenji slapped his thighs. “Quadriceps.”

“And glutes.” I attempted to jiggle my butt.

Coach’s eyebrow arched.

I didn’t pout.

Well, much.

“How often do you work out?” Juniper hadn’t seemed all that keen when introducing themselves, but they brightened now.

So I went on to explain about my training schedule—how often I worked out with the team or by myself. I also veered into nutrition. Admitting I didn’t always eat healthy, but that certain nutrients were important, and I was careful with supplements.

“How about concussions?” Greta gestured to her head. “I got knocked around once. I passed protocol, but my mom got super worried.”

“She’s right to worry. Rugby’s a dangerous sport. All that body contact and no protective gear.”

“Unlike hockey.” George grinned.

“And football.” Kenji rolled his eyes. “Wimps.”

“Hey!” His schoolmate apparently didn’t take kindly to that.

“I meant football players—”

“Hey!” This time, a rather large teenager, Moose, crossed his arms. Defensive tackle. Built like a brick shithouse, as my mate Jason would say.

“I think we can bring it down a notch.” Coach caught the gaze of each of the kids. “Rugby’s a very dangerous sport. As are many others. Perhaps you can take us through concussion protocol?” He stared at me with intense and laser-focused eyes.

“Sure. Something I’m way too familiar with.” I took them through the entire protocol, including all the steps the doctors would take before deciding if I was concussed or not. “Three times. I don’t recommend it.”

“What about chronic traumatic encephalopathy?” Madison asked that question. Although athletic, she’d made it clear she wanted to be a trainer and not an athlete.

“CTE’s a danger anytime you get knocked around. Obviously, the more concussions you have, the more likely you are to get it. It can only be diagnosed after death.”

“That’s why some athletes are arranging to donate their bodies when they die.” George puffed out his chest.

Watch him. Kid’s…a bit morbid .

“That’s true. I’ve arranged for that as well.

It’s good to have a will and a medical directive when you play pro sports.

I mean, those things are good to have anyway.

I sure didn’t think about it growing up, but now when I risk myself every week?

I want to make sure people know what I want. ” God, now I sound morbid.

“Have you ever had a red card?” George again.

“Once. I have to say that wasn’t my proudest moment.

I accidentally hit a guy in the throat with my arm.

Honest mistake—I thought he was turning one way, and he turned another.

But I could’ve caused serious damage. There’s no excuse for that, and I got turfed.

I try really hard not to get them, though.

I don’t even like spending time in the sin bin. ” I rolled my eyes.

Everyone laughed.

Except Coach.

I don’t know how to reach him. To assure him I’m one of the good ones. He appeared ready to boot me at any moment. Where was his antipathy coming from?

“Do we have enough time to try a couple of throws?”

“Yes!” Kenji leapt up. “I want to show you my moves.”

George rolled his eyes. “Try doing it backwards in skates.”

Coach rose. “We have a couple of minutes before the final bell.”

We all folded our chairs and put them in a pile against the wall.

I pointed to George and Kenji. “I’m going to teach you how to throw behind your back while moving down the field.”

“Dumbest game ever.”

“George.” The warning came from Coach.

“What? You can’t move forward, you have to move sideways. It takes for-freaking-ever to get anywhere.” He put his hands on his hips.

“I know, isn’t it great?” I grinned.

Kenji high-fived me.

We were off.