Page 3

Chapter 3

Team Meeting

Robyn

Eight weeks later

I ’m thrumming with good energy as I walk into the USA Valor training facility for our team meeting. It’s been about a month since everyone has seen each other. Women’s professional rugby isn’t set up like other professional sports in the U.S. Our games are scattered throughout the year, and sometimes we go through small periods of time between matches, like we just did. But with summer on its way, we have to get ready for three upcoming games.

Coach usually calls us all together the week before practices start to get us mentally prepared and discuss our team strategy for the season. The USA Valor picked me up four years ago. Before that, I briefly played for Minneapolis’ Women’s Premier League Rugby. And before that, I was playing in college.

A lot of my old teammates warned me not to put all my eggs in one basket when it came to making rugby a profession, but my parents had the opposite approach. They’re both former Olympians. My father, Chris, was a soccer player, and my mother, Diedra, was a synchronized swimmer. They actually met at the Olympic games in Atlanta, and I was the result of that meeting, if you catch my drift .

“Birdie!” my teammate Serwaa cries out as she sprints toward me and launches herself into my arms. My nickname might be Birdie, but she’s the one flying into me. My hands instinctively find her waist, and I lift her in the air for that signature Dirty Dancing pose.

“Hey, girl,” I smile. “Missed you.”

Serwaa carefully comes down, but then latches onto my back for a piggyback ride, and dozens of small braids flap over my shoulder. “Missed you, too.”

“How was your trip to Denver?” I ask.

She sounds wistful when she says, “Amazing.”

“Did you ask her yet?” Serwaa has been in a long-distance relationship with her girlfriend Dani for five grueling months, and she was supposed to ask Dani to move in with her.

“I was too nervous.”

“Baaaabe,” I drawl.

“I know.”

Carefully, I drop her down as we approach the conference room. “She literally got your name tattooed on her under-boob. Arguably, the hottest part of the boob.”

“How would you know?”

“I might be straight, but I appreciate the female form.”

“The sooner you stop lying to yourself, the better,” she teases.

“You all just want me to join the club.”

“Duh. Think of all the pussy you’d be drowning in if our fans found out.”

I think of all the comments I get on a regular basis from my social accounts and snort. “More for you.”

Serwaa opens the door, and most of the team is already here with ten minutes to spare. I give a few of them bear hugs before spotting a new player and making my way over to her.

Stretching out my hand, I give her a smile. “Hi. I’m Robyn Cassidy. Team captain. Hooker.”

“Hi,” she replies. She’s a couple inches shorter than me, about five-eight, with bright blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She’s in casual team apparel like the rest of us, but she’s wearing what looks like a tennis skirt. I like her already. “Hannah.”

“Welcome to the team, Skirt.” She smiles softly at my nickname for her. “This is Khaos,” I say, gesturing for them to shake hands.

“She/They. Scrum-half.” Khaos is a peppy, bizarre little human with short red hair and ivory skin. Her pregame ritual consists of sipping a Five Hour Energy shot while praying the rosary, immediately followed by screaming the lyrics to Call Me Maybe .

I introduce Skirt to the rest of the team and save my bestie for last.

“Serwaa Yeboah,” she says, extending her hand. “Winger.” Serwaa is Black, and she has her usual thin, waist-length braids falling behind her back. And, as always, her nails are perfectly painted. When Serwaa finishes playing a game, she looks more or less the same as when she started. Me on the other hand? Even with tight braids on game day, my flyaways take charge and I’m a blotchy mess. Serwaa will look like she went for a light jog.

Some people have all the luck.

When we get through the rest of the introductions, I take a seat next to one of our props, Casshole (real name Cassie), a white, masc lesbian with dark hair cropped close to her head. She’s one of our quieter players, and most people find her intimidating, but she’s actually a total sweetheart.

“Is that for our trainer?” I ask, peering over her shoulder and watching her edit a workout video.

She finally looks up at me. “Yeah. Thanks again for introducing me to him. I’ve seriously seen such an improvement in my core strength. ”

A couple of our other teammates see him too. “He’s growing quite the collection of rugby players.”

“If I were him, I’d be advertising that he trains Olympians.”

I chuckle. “You and I both know he’s not lacking in his marketing game.”

Before Casshole can reply, Coach walks into the room. Laura Casey is slim and white, with strawberry blonde hair that’s almost always in a tight bun. She played rugby in college like most of us, but picked up coaching after retiring from Premier League about ten years back.

“Good afternoon everyone,” she says, coming front and center to address us. Leaning against the table, she crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap. Her usual upbeat attitude is mysteriously missing. She swallows. “I hope you all had a nice break and were able to recover from any minor injuries. I’d like to welcome Hannah to the team,” she says, nodding over to the rookie with a wan smile. “Normally, I’d be ready to get into this season right away with all of you, but there’s been a change of plans. As many of you know, my wife Bridget has been suffering from migraines for the better part of this last year. It got so bad, she was hospitalized a couple weeks ago.”

Oh my god! I didn’t know about that.

Coach continues, her face turned down as she takes a deep breath, but it does nothing to help the crack in her voice. “They found a malignant tumor in her brain.” There’s an audible gasp and murmuring across the room in response and I’m certain all of our hearts have stopped beating. “She’s been diagnosed with stage four cancer. And effectively immediately, I will be resigning as head coach to take care of her full time.”

Before I can form another thought, I push out of my chair and round the table to hug her. A chorus of chairs scraping across the carpeted floor and falling over follows suit. We’re soon surrounded by the entire team, all of us wishing this wasn’t happening.

Laura has been more than a coach to us. She’s been our friend. She’s been our mother. She’s been our rock. I can’t imagine playing for anyone else.

Eventually, everyone gets back in their seats, and she continues. “Assistant Coach Wallace will step up as head coach until USA Valor hires a replacement. In the meantime, I’d encourage you all to put your feelers out in case you know anyone who might be interested.”

I look over at our assistant coach and interrupt. “You don’t want to be head coach?”

Bob’s a white guy in his mid-sixties with a bald head and an addiction to sunflower seeds. “I was planning on retiring next year,” he says with a shrug. “No sense in taking that position just for them to hire someone new again next year.”

Laura cuts in. “Bob will help your new coach transition, but I expect each and every one of you to give the new coach your full attention, just the way you have with me and Bob. The USA Valor have come too far in recent years to let it all go back. It feels like we’re finally seeing this sport grow in America, and I’ll be damned if I see that slip away. So keep your heads on straight and stay focused.”

“I’d prefer to keep my head on gay,” Khaos interrupts, because she’s Khaos and gets away with everything.

Miraculously, that gives Laura the first smile we’ve seen today.

After the coaches left the team meeting, us veteran players stayed behind to form a social media plan. I have the most followers by far, a combined total of about five million, so after talking with the team’s social media manager, she approved me making the announcement with the team's to follow. I posted about finding a new head coach before I left the training facility, and by the time I got home after my workout, it had forty-three thousand likes.

After a quick dinner, I had a long phone call with my dad about the announcement. It went about the same as I thought it would. He dug into me.

Be the best and make a great first impression. Establish your presence but be willing to listen. Show them why you deserve your title as captain.

It’s impossible not to get tired of this same old spiel. He’s been doing this for years. Both of my parents have. He’s ruthless about my athleticism and leadership, while Mom is ruthless about my appearance and brand.

I love them, I do, and I probably wouldn’t be where I am today without them, but could they trust that I know what I’m doing? I’m twenty-eight, my whole prefrontal cortex is developed, and all I do is eat, sleep, and breathe rugby.

That, and read romance, usually something of the unhinged or sporty variety.

After a relaxing shower, I don my oversized Bridgerton T-shirt and slip into bed for an early night watching my favorite show. My Kindle is fully charged with a new dark romcom queued up so I can dig in the minute my show is over. With slimy under-eye masks pressed on, I settle in and press play. As the intro starts, I check my phone again.

TheGymBreaux has liked your post.

That makes me smile. Dell Breaux’s online presence is how most people know him, but I met him long before his socials blew up.