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. . .

Viv

Fuck . My head hurts.

As I roll over, my body twinges with the ache of exertion. I can hardly breathe. My head is pounding so hard. My mouth tastes like sawdust and between my legs feels?—

My eyes fly open. No. Please tell me I didn’t…

Lifting the comforter, I confirm that yes, I’m naked, and the telltale slickness and ache between my legs tells me exactly what I got up to last night.

Did he…

Turning my head, I confirm what I already expected. He’s gone. Whoever he is, he’s long gone, and the bed beside me is cool. I don’t know if I’m relieved or upset. The twin frame probably couldn’t hold both of us, anyway. I’m barely able to fit on the small dorm bed on my own.

There’s a condom wrapper in the trashcan beside the bed, so clearly, we were safe. Good. That’s one less thing to worry about.

With a groan, I force myself upright. My roommate is asleep. She can sleep through a tornado siren, something we learned when we were in Iowa for an exhibition game a few years ago. I can only hope she was asleep—or better yet, not in the room—when I got down with whoever I got down with.

He was cute. I remember that. About my height, with shaggy, dark hair and dark eyes. Clean cut. Muscles for days. Covered in ink.

Someone on the volleyball team snuck in the booze. Strictly speaking, alcohol isn’t allowed in the Olympic Village, but now at my second Games, I’m seeing all the ways the rules are broken. We also aren’t supposed to invite other countries into the dormitories, but France and Brazil were definitely partying with us in Japan’s territory last week.

Being at the Olympics is nothing like I expected. When I pictured my return to the Games, my quest for redemption, I thought I’d find meaning and fulfillment in playing my heart out.

It’s not enough.

We have the finals tomorrow against Australia. They were our downfall four long years ago. I can still hear the taunting.

It doesn’t help that two of my teammates back home are Aussies. Sure, I love them when we’re on the same team, but staring at me from across the pitch, they’re the enemy.

And tomorrow, they are going down.

But first—a shower.

Rugby has brought me intense joy and satisfaction. For the last decade, I’ve worked my ass off—for the league, for the national federation. For me.

Tomorrow starts my last season. Well—training camp. After the season ends, either I have another Olympic berth or I don’t. Either way, I’m done. My body can’t handle much more.

Rugby is a spring sport with a fall training season. The sevens season in the summer this year will be the Olympics instead. I’ve given rugby my all since I was eighteen years old, and now at twenty-nine, I think I’m entitled to take some time off.

My agent would probably love for me to keep going, keep playing, but Alycia knows as well as I do that my body is starting to fail. The endorsement campaigns are starting to slow down. Not that there were all that many to begin with. The entire pie of endorsement options is small, and when you cut slivers off for the young, cute players with sunny personalities, the new pseudo-influencers, and the new girls coming onto the squad… Nobody’s going to look twice at the grumpy, geriatric team captain.

It would help if I smiled more, at least that’s what Alycia told me once. I scowled at her and she laughed. Yeah, I’m not a sunshine-y, happy-go-lucky sort. Not like my younger sister.

I’m a little rough around the edges. I’ve been to media training. It didn’t stick. I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not.

There’s nothing wrong with me. I had an idyllic childhood, even if we moved around a lot. My parents are still together, still disgustingly in love. My siblings are assholes, yeah, but they love me.

Trust is a hard thing to give. It’s even more difficult to receive. Unconditional love and support? I about break into hives. With my teammates though? It’s easier.

As I walk into the restaurant where we’re meeting, it’s like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I’m at peace with my girls in a way I’ve never experienced with other teams.

The Boston Revolution is one of twelve teams in the National Rugby League. When the league started with four teams a decade ago, Boston was the flagship team. It helps that the NRL corporate offices are based here. So are the U.S. Rugby National Team headquarters.

During the season, I play with the Revolution, and the rest of the time, I work out at the U.S. National Team facilities. They give me a small stipend for housing and meals, since I don’t live on the campus. The actual monthly payment for being on the national team is a pittance. If I didn’t have my regular day job as the hooker on the Revolution, I wouldn’t be able to survive.

I don’t do it for the money. I do it for the thrill of the game.

“Hey, Cap!” Andi calls, gesturing me to the back room of the restaurant.

As I enter the room, I’m surprised most of the team is already assembled. There are about forty women on the team, plus all of our trainers and staff.

“Viv is here!” Kiana calls. “Now it’s a party!”

Laughing, I let them pull me into the swarm. It’s been a full six weeks since we last saw each other at the end of the sevens season.

After our last match wrapped up and we had the media postmortem, I packed up and went to visit my family in South Carolina. It’s where my parents moved a few years ago when my mom got the head coaching job for Clemson’s volleyball team.

Of my five siblings, only Frankie and Bradley, the two youngest, are still in college and were home for the summer break. Chuck was home for two weeks, enjoying the remnants of his summer before hockey training camp started up. Perry was in Raleigh, working his ass off in football pre-season, and Janine couldn’t get time away from training for a big meet in Paris next month.

There are six of us Gallagher siblings and five of us are professional athletes. Well, Frankie’s technically an amateur because she’s still in college and therefore eligible for an athletic scholarship, but she’s already been named to the U.S. National Volleyball team, so it’s just a matter of her graduation status than anything else holding her back. Only Bradley, my youngest sibling, is not involved in sports. I’m not really sure why. He always changes the subject whenever anyone brings it up.

As much as I love my family, I have to admit they are intense. It’s why I spend as little time as possible at home. It’s nice to be with them. It’s even nicer to be on my own home turf.

South Carolina isn’t my home. We’ve moved all over for my mom’s job. My dad is an executive for USA Tennis, so he does most of his work from home, interspersed with travel to competitions. My home is where my family is. And while sometimes we’re spread all across the country, it’s nice when we get to spend time together.

The Revolution is my home too. I’ve been part of this squad for five years and I’ve loved every minute of it. These women are my family. They’d do anything for me, and me for them.

Kiana wiggles her way through the crowd to me, pushing a drink in my hand. I raise an eyebrow and she nods.

It’s not a secret that I’m sober. I’ve never hidden it. Still, I don’t like to make a big deal out of it. People get defensive when they find out I don’t drink, like I’m pointing out their inability to moderate their alcohol intake and not like it’s because I can’t handle mine.

I didn’t think I had a problem with alcohol. Not until the last Olympics, when I hooked up with some random dude and felt gross and used after. I don’t know that I’d remember his face, I definitely don’t remember his name, and that freaks me out. If something had happened—not that it did, but if it had—I’d be shit out of luck trying to pull the pieces of my life back together.

But I came home from the Games, I got tested, and everything was negative. Thank goodness.

Taking a sip of the fruity mocktail, I force a smile. I don’t want to think about the worst day of my life.

“How was your break?” I ask Kiana.

“Good. Not long enough,” she laughs.

It’s hard. Yes, I get to play the sport I love. My job is to play rugby. But I also train all the fucking time, all year round. Six weeks at the end of the summer is not a real rest when I have to train the other 46.

Then again… I’m a peak athlete at the waning end of my career. I’ve been to two Olympics—hopefully three—and I’ve won the national championship twice. I’ve had a storybook career. I can rest when I retire. Maybe.