Page 2 of Personal Foul (The San Diego Storm #3)

Colin

E very day bled into the next. Even though I kept up my training, hoping something might change, nothing did.

No one wanted a player like me, no matter how high I ranked as a full-back.

A month out from my suspension, the highlight of my day had become sliding onto a bar stool and nursing the solitary beer I allowed myself to have with my best mate, Owen.

No matter how many times I replayed it in my head, I couldn’t figure out why they’d singled me out.

I wasn’t a mean-spirited person, per se, and was nowhere close to being the first player to be fined multiple times in a season.

I just did what the coach asked and brought the violence. That’s what won the game, he’d said.

A handful of my teammates, Brandon, Zeke, and Warren, had reached out in the first week to commiserate with me, but it didn’t take long for them to become absorbed by their own lives.

I couldn’t blame them for wanting to distance themselves from the drama.

It just made sense. I’d vanished on the club pages and IG posts, making me irrelevant in the one good thing in my life.

Reporters didn’t ask about my absence anymore, and seeing my career end at twenty-five had been devastating.

And to add insult to injury, Leland had stopped coming around.

It was as if he were shunning me, too. When my paychecks ended, so did his appearances.

He only sent the occasional text message regarding something he’d paid on my behalf or some investment he made.

I didn’t keep up with all that shit. That’s what he was for.

He’d assured me I didn’t need a bunch of blokes in my business.

He hadn’t when he was playing, and it would only cost me more in the end.

That was something else I needed to look into, but it was the least of my concerns.

Our favorite pub, The Cranky Kangaroo, was vacant this time of day, except for a few old guys watching highlights of the Swarm’s last match on the screen behind the bar.

I tried not to watch and avoided being in here when I knew they were playing.

I stayed home for those and cursed at the screen in private.

A few years older than me, Owen had been a right-winger the year I joined the club.

He took me under his wing and became the only one I could count on to be there if I needed someone.

When he tore his ACL to bits, his career was over, and I’d missed him like crazy.

I tried not to intrude on his life, and if I did, I attempted not to monopolize his time.

He was talking, and I had no idea what he said. But it was time to put on another mask, so he didn’t worry about me. He was like the big brother I had never had, especially when he elbowed me in the ribs to get my attention.

“Ow, you beast,” I muttered, feigning discomfort.

“I didn’t hurt you. But did you hear me?”

I looked at him sheepishly. “Sorry. Say it again?”

He bumped my shoulder and laughed. “Punk. I asked if you‘d heard from the league.”

“Not since they booted me.”

It still didn’t make any sense to me, but I had no say in the matter. They did what they thought was right.

“What are you gonna do?”

Shaking my head, I stared at my glass. “I wish I knew. Right now, I’m just existing, day to day.”

Owen took a sip of his beer. “What does Leland say? Surely he can do something.”

I didn’t want to talk about him. Owen had no idea what had happened between us, and I tried to avoid thinking about the big wanker. But everyone around here knew him, and there was no avoiding the topic.

“He says I have an offer from a team in Argentina if I can keep my shit together. They’re looking for another full-back.”

Owen’s eyes bugged out. “Argentina?”

“Yep,” I said, turning on my stool. “Is my brain capable of learning a new language? How do you say ‘fuck you’ in Spanish, anyway? Or do they speak Portuguese there? I suck at regional geography.”

Owen smirked. “That’s Brazil, but the rest speak Spanish. You gotta learn ‘cock sucker’ too. And ‘motherfucker’. Those are your faves.”

I snorted at his response. His spot-on humor always lightened my mood momentarily.

“Let’s see if we can work this through without ya going to South America.”

“Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.”

He laughed but suddenly became more serious. “You saved a bunch of money, didn’t ya? You can live on that until next season if you’re careful. You don’t have a mortgage, so there’s that.”

I nodded and took a swallow of my beer.

“Maybe you should try coaching.”

I almost shot my lager out of my nose, and of course, he found it hilarious.

“Fucker,” I said, wiping my face. “That was funny. No one is gonna want an asshole like me teaching impressionable kids. Imagine the parents howling over that one.”

He grinned but gave me an apologetic smile. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Probably not the best choice for a dirty fucker like you.”

Owen finished his beer and signaled to the bartender to bring him another one. He knew my limit.

“I’ve got it,” he said. “How about television? You’re a handsome bloke with the hair and beard. You could be a commentator. Who knows the game better than a player?”

I snickered at the thought of being on TV. It wasn’t a terrible idea, but I didn’t think I was that personable. It might appear as if I belonged there, but my bad attitude sometimes didn’t agree with my face.

“True. I’m a sexy devil for sure, but that’s not me. I need something physical to help me ease the aggression out, and the clash of bodies slamming together and digging in to tackle a bloke to the ground does it for me. Put my hands on him and strip the ball away.”

Owen turned to face me. “Sounds like what you need is to get laid.”

I laughed. “Now that I have no trouble getting.”

Owen shook his head. He knew I was gay, but it never bothered him. My team knew it, and it never mattered to them either.

“How many dating sites are you on now?”

I snorted again. “A lot, but a man has needs. Not everyone has a sweet Sheila at home like you to take care of them.”

“You could if you tried. You’re not gonna find him on one of those sex apps.”

I ran my finger through the condensation on my glass. “I know,” I muttered.

Owen was right, but it was all I could handle at the moment.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, the only relationship of sorts I’d ever had was with Leland.

Stupidly, I thought he might be the one until he married the woman he allegedly got pregnant a year ago.

I wasn’t convinced the kid was his, and I don’t think he was either.

“You going to finally marry her, O?”

His expression softened as he nodded. “Yeah, and I want you to stand up with me when I do.”

Placing my hand on his shoulder, I gave my friend a genuine smile. “I’d be honored. Just hope I’m not in South America when it’s time.”

We joked around and ordered some food to quell the alcohol. My stomach growled as Mickie, the bartender, placed our plates with a thick burger and crispy chips in front of us. Grabbing a few, I stuffed them into my mouth.

I wish life could be simple, but that wasn’t how it worked for me. A few days later, my luck took a turn for the better.

Owen and I were once again holding down the stools at TCK when an unfamiliar man waltzed in and stood by the bar.

We knew all the regulars, so having someone new here was a rarity.

I gave him a cursory glance but didn’t pay much attention to him until he took the stool one down from mine, then leaned over to ask a question.

“Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m looking for Colin Kearney. Is that you, by chance?”

I turned my head to take in the American sitting beside me. He was cute in a puppy dog kinda way, but didn’t set off my gaydar.

“Yeah, that’s me. What can I do for ya?”

I gave him my flirty smile because why not? If he were straight, I was just being friendly. Maybe he was here for an autograph.

“I’ve been trying to find you. I went by the club office, and they said you might be here.”

I’m always here.

Cutting my eyes to Owen, he seemed surprised. Turning back to the guy, I wiped my mouth and gave him my attention.

“Yeah? And what would a Yank like yourself be needing with me? An autograph, maybe?”

I elbowed Owen. “Give me a pen, would ya?”

Owen sputtered. “I’m not yer secretary. Get your own damn pen.”

The American laughed, then raised his hand to Mickie and pointed at my glass. “Can I have one of those, please?”

Mick nodded and turned away to pull the beer. “I’m not here for an autograph. But I am here to talk to you.”

My brows shot into my hair. “Do we know each other?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I’m Mark Henderson. Nice to meet you.”

He extended his hand to shake mine. Nice, solid firm handshake and zero tingles.

“You too.” I was confused. “If ya don’t want an autograph, then what do you want with me?”

He smiled, but still not gaydar triggering.

“My brother sent me to talk to you about a job.”

Intrigued, I peered at him. “And who is your brother? And what kind of work are we talking about?”

He smiled as Mickie set his pint in front of him. I waited as he took a healthy swallow, then placed it on the bar.

“His name is Craig Henderson. He’s the head coach of the San Diego Storm.”

Frowning, I glanced at Owen. He was as clueless as I was. But if it was about rugby, I’d entertain it.

“Is that a rugby team? I have to say I’ve never heard of them.”

“No,” he chuckled. “The Storm is part of the NFL. You know, the National Football League in the United States. Have you heard of it?”

I took a sip of my beer and nodded. “Yeah. But why would he want to talk to me? I don’t play that kind of ball.”

“We know, but we think a full-back of your caliber, just might be a perfect match for the NFL. We’ve been watching you for a while. You’re a fierce competitor, and my brother thinks you’d make a hell of a safety. He lost a player to an injury, and he thinks you might be a great replacement.”

My eyes widened, and I looked at how much of my beer I’d consumed. Not drunk enough. “I don’t know, mate. I gotta be honest with ya. I’m kinda in some hot water right now.”

Mark laughed. “Oh, we know. I’ve been following your career. I coach rugby in Italy. That’s what got my attention. I can assure you my brother would never take a chance like this if he didn’t think it was the right move.”

I continued to stare at him, trying to put the pieces of this together. “I know nothing about American football.”

“You don’t have to. But the thing is, your intensity and intuition for where the ball is make you an ideal candidate. And your level of play isn’t illegal in the NFL. It’s expected. Within reason, of course.”

Now I was curious. This bloke didn’t look like he was trying to pull a fast one. And my suspension from the league wasn’t a secret.

As if he could read my apprehension, he smiled and continued.

“I understand this might sound fishy. I get it. But this is a genuine offer,” he said, sliding a card to me.

“Here’s his number. You can verify everything on the internet.

The player he has to replace this season is a former rugby player, Jayse Flannery.

There’s a chance it’s a career-ending injury. You can verify everything online.”

He glanced at his phone, then back at me. “I’m going to text him and let him know I found you. If you’re still around at midnight, give him a chance to explain. It’ll be seven a.m. in San Diego.”

Picking up the card, I read it. Looked legit.

I turned back to Owen, who was scrolling on his phone. “Mate?”

He knew I was looking for his advice. If he thought it was a bad idea, he’d tell me. But his face confirmed everything the American had said, but more.

“Those guys make ten times what we do. What do you have to lose? It’s only a conversation.”

I swallowed the excitement that was building inside me. He was right. I had nothing to lose. But I also wasn’t an idiot.

Turning back to Mark, I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll definitely think about it.”