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

Carson

T here are times when a person reflects on their life and wonders what the hell they were thinking. And today was going to be one of them.

I was unprepared for the miracle Coach Henderson was going to ask me to perform with a hotheaded, smooth-talking, pain-in-the-ass Australian rugby player.

Had I known the guy was going to turn my world upside down, only to flip it over before stomping on it until I didn’t recognize myself anymore, I may have said no.

But who was I kidding?

I wouldn’t do that to my coach, no matter what he asked of me. That’s who I was. A Type-A personality with a preference for routine in my life. Mister structure and order, and everyone knew it.

I could take a joke and talk shit with my teammates with the best of them. But I was also a fixer. If I had a defensive player who was struggling with something, I fixed it. And my coaches knew it.

So when I received a call from Marilyn, the coach’s assistant, the second week of July, asking if I was available to meet, I assured her I was. Without hesitation, I slid into my Range Rover and headed to the stadium, ready to see what they needed me to do.

As the captain of the defense, I took my job very seriously.

It was our job to get the ball back in Lennox’s hands without giving up too many points.

It was a point of pride for me to mentor the younger guys who joined our team.

And since the rookies were coming on board soon, I assumed what Coach needed was for me to form a plan to help them acclimate to our style of play.

But I was wrong.

So very wrong.

Entering through the player’s entrance, I strolled into the lobby toward the management suite. The walls were a Hall of Fame of sorts, with photos that dated back to 1995 when we were an expansion team in the league.

My personal favorites were photos of us on the raised platform accepting the Super Bowl trophy and Lennox’s MVP award. He’d kicked ass and took names last season, and we were going to repeat it if I had anything to do with it.

Along with the team’s on-field victories, pictures of all the charity events to benefit organizations around San Diego.

The ultimate honor of the Governor’s Gala in May was the newest additions framed.

There was speculation that Hudson Gatlin would run for President of the United States, and being celebrated by the future leader of the free world was a big deal.

The event had gone so well that after meeting the governor’s son, Jack, Evan invited them to come to San Diego for some time with the team.

After a tour of the stadium, we’d run some drills with the kid to help him with tryouts for his high school.

It brought back memories to see the kid all starry-eyed.

But the real eye-opener was the relationship Evan and Hudson had formed.

According to Lennox, Ev had returned to Sacramento to spend the last few weeks of the offseason with them. Looking at the photos of us with Governor Gatlin, it was easy to see the way they regarded one another. And now they were a couple.

That’s what I wanted.

Someone I couldn’t take my eyes off of.

Someone who excited me and made me feel alive.

Someone I could love and take care of.

Someone I could ultimately build a life with.

Everyone assumed Evan was the only bisexual person on our team, but that wasn’t true. Statistically speaking, four in every one hundred people identified that way. I simply preferred to think of myself as fluid.

But at twenty-eight, with no prospects in sight, I had to hope that when the time was right, I’d meet someone who made me want more out of life than my football career.

When I entered the coach’s suite, Miss Marilyn smiled up at me with her pleasant demeanor. Her sophistication and elegance reminded me of my mother.

“Hello, Carson. It’s nice to see you.”

“Thank you, ma’am. You’re looking lovely today, as usual.”

“You’re such a charmer,” she chuckled. “But I appreciate it. You can go on back. He’s waiting for you.”

With a single nod, I went down the hall to the second door on the right. Craig Henderson, our head coach, sat behind his desk, clicking away on his keyboard.

“Hey, Coach. How are you?”

He smiled when he looked over the rim of his reading glasses. Standing, he held out his hand to shake.

“Carson. Thanks for coming in. Have a seat.”

He pointed to one of the two leather chairs across from his desk.

“I’m sorry to interrupt what’s left of your off-season, but I wanted to talk to you about some changes regarding Training Camp. You weren’t in Colorado, were you?”

“No, sir. I went home earlier in the summer.”

“How long will your parents be here?”

“Until October. My mother will be filling in at the Embassy in London until Christmas.”

“I bet your father will be happy to go home.”

I smiled, thinking about my dad. “He is. My uncle has season tickets for Rugby Union.”

His smile brightened. “My younger brother coaches rugby in Italy. So I understand the fascination. Did your father play?”

I stifled a laugh, thinking about my father’s lack of athletic ability. He was more of an academic. “Only recreationally. And not well.”

Coach Henderson laughed at my assessment. “It’s not meant for everyone. Being a big fan, I’m sure he was proud when you played.”

“He was. But I preferred our brand of football.”

I’d learned to play when my mother served as the US Ambassador to Scotland when I was fifteen. When we lived in Edinburgh, it was the closest thing I had to the sport I loved.

He leaned forward and propped his arms on his desk. Lacing his hands together, I waited for what he wanted to speak to me about.

“You’ve heard Flannery’s going to miss next season.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir. He told me.”

“It’s a fucking shame, but it’s an injury that requires time to heal. I’ve been talking to the GM, and I think I’ve found the perfect replacement for him.”

“Okay. Anyone I might know?”

Before he could explain, William Carlisle, the owner of the Storm, walked in. Dressed casually, he looked like a coach.

I stood to shake his hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you, sir.”

Mr. Carlisle shook my hand, then patted me on the shoulder like my dad did. He was kind and approachable, not what you would expect from a billionaire.

“You too, Carson. Hope you’re enjoying the offseason. You sure earned the time off.”

I appreciated the praise. “I have, sir. But I’m eager to get back to work. We have a championship to defend.”

His warm smile made him easy to like. “I appreciate your optimism.”

He glanced at Coach. “Have you told him about his new teammate?”

My eyes darted back and forth between them as the team owner took a seat in the chair next to me.

“I was just about to.”

Coach pointed his attention back to me. “We’re planning to bring in another rugby player this season to replace Jayse.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“He’s a full-back from the NRL in Australia.

I’ve been studying his film for a while, and the more I see, the more I’m convinced he’s got what it takes to be another you.

He just might be a perfect fit for us if we’re willing to take a chance.

And with your rugby experience, you two should get along well. ”

I frowned. “What do you mean, take a chance?”

He glanced toward Mr. Carlisle before turning back to me.

“He’s young and plays too hard for the rugby league. But he could be an outstanding acquisition under the right guidance. And William is on board.”

Something wasn’t adding up. Playing too hard in a highly regulated league didn’t sound good.

I rubbed the back of my neck, unsure how to voice my concerns. Overstepping was the wrong move, but I had to be honest with him. He counted on me for that.

“What are you thinking about, Carson? I see your wheels turning,” Coach said.

I released a heavy sigh. “Please don’t think I’m being disrespectful, Coach, but I’m concerned about a player like that.

Almost everyone is returning this season, and we’re ready to roll.

Our dynamic is good, and we can read each other on the field better than any defense in the league. I don’t want to jeopardize that.”

Coach sat back in his chair. “I understand, and I appreciate your concern. But my gut tells me this guy could be a huge asset to us under the right circumstances. And if he isn’t, we’ll find someone else. We can always pull a safety off the practice squad.”

That made me feel better. “That could work, and you know I’m all for giving someone an opportunity, but we want another championship.”

Mr. Carlisle smiled and patted my shoulder again. “I know you do. And I want that too. But I trust Craig’s judgment, and if he thinks this is what we need, then we owe it to him to give it a shot. Don’t you agree?”

I did, wholeheartedly. But it still didn’t lessen my concern. I trust and respect Coach Henderson to do what is most beneficial for us, so I’d just have to play my part. “Yes, sir. We do.”

Focusing my attention on my coach, I went on. “What can I do to help?”

“First, teach him how to play the position of safety. Show him the right way to go about things. You know and understand both sports. But time is going to be short to make that happen.”

I sat up straighter, ready to accept the challenge. “Coach O’Neil and I can do that at training camp. No problem, sir. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“He won’t be available,” Mr. Carlisle added. “His wife is due to have their baby around that time, so he’ll be on paternity leave. But the other coaches will be. You’ve always been good with the rookies, so we hoped you might take him on yourself. If anyone can work with him, it’s you.”

My stomach churned. They kept saying I was the one to make it work, and while I thrived under pressure, I could only do so much. But I’d die trying. “Okay. I’m sure I can handle it.”

Coach sat forward in his chair. “We have a unique situation regarding his status and the timing of his arrival. We had to opt for the quickest one he could get, and with that, there are a lot of regulations. The plan is to file for a professional athlete visa once he arrives. Once that’s taken care of, we’ll have more options for pay and housing.

If he violates this one, there will not be a second one. ”

I wasn’t sure what that had to do with me.

“He’s going to room with you at training camp, and we were hoping you might consider leasing us your guest house. For him.”

My brain began to fire on all cylinders.

If he lived in my guest house for the season, the proximity would make things much easier with teaching him how to play.

We could work out and study whenever there was time.

He could get the fundamentals down, and we could have the best secondary defense in the league.

And with a house guest, I might not be so fucking lonely.

My team needed me, and I was just the man to make it happen. How bad could it be? If he were as devoted to the game as I was, then we’d be okay.

I smiled. “Yes, absolutely. When will he be here?”

Coach grinned. “He’ll arrive a few days before training camp. He had to cut it close since he only has six months on his visa. Hopefully, the immigration attorney can get the other one expedited before the end of January. Especially if we make it to the Super Bowl again in February.”

“Not if , Coach. When we make it.”

Mr. Carlisle stood and held his hand out for me to shake. “Keep thinking that way, Carson. I can’t thank you enough. I’ll get my secretary to email you a contract for the rental. We need to make sure we’re following the letter of the law with immigration.”

I nodded, still a little dazed. “Yes, sir. What’s his name?”

“Colin. Colin Kearney.”

I ran his name through my mental Rolodex of rugby players but came up empty.

“Hmm. Never heard of him.”

Coach grinned. “You will. Very soon.”

When our meeting ended, I walked outside and pulled out my phone to call Lennox.

“Hey,” I said. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

Lennox chuckled. “Yeah? What?”

“We’re getting another rugby player to replace Flannery. An Australian this time. I just left a meeting.”

He whistled. “That’s a long way to go for a player.”

I agreed. “Coach is convinced he can do the job. He’s going to live in my guest house so I can get him ready to play.”

“Seriously? You’re gonna be his landlord too?”

I snorted. “I guess. You’ll meet him at Camp. He won’t get here until right before we take off to Arizona.”

“Yeah, that’s cool.” He was quiet before he added, “I hate we won’t have Jayse, but maybe we can get him on the sideline.”

“Maybe,” I replied. “But I think he’s going to go back East for therapy.”

Lennox changed the subject and started talking about volunteering at the youth center before he shifted back to his second favorite topic after football. Food.

“You gotta go with me sometime.”

“Sure, sounds good.” What else did I have to do?

“Hey, let’s go shoot some pool and get a burger at the Squid tonight. I’m dying for one.”

I laughed because he sucked at Billiards, but hanging out with him was always fun. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see if I can get Mason to go. I’ll call you later.”

“Sounds good.”

Before I got into my car, I leaned against the side and did a quick Google search for Colin Kearney. When the page populated, his face filled the screen. He didn’t wear the usual scars of a rugby player but had thick, dark hair and a beard. And the required tattoos down his right arm.

But the more I read about him, the quicker my original concerns returned. The article I read indicated the man was a certifiable hothead with the temper of a pit viper. If that was the case, we might all be fucked. And not in a good way.