Page 4 of The Scrum-Half (Lincoln Knights #3)

Matty

“Matty? Are you ready? We’re going to start drills,” Devon said, tapping me on the shoulder and nearly making me jump out of my skin as I spun around to face him. “Shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine, sorry.” I shook my head and tried to focus on what I was supposed to be doing. My mind had been wandering all day as I tried to resist the temptation to constantly check in on Jack and Harper, even though Jack would have been at nursery until about an hour ago.

When I’d first decided to hire a nanny, I’d installed nanny cams around the house so I could easily check in. I hadn’t needed them for a while, but they were still connected to my phone. All I’d need to do was open the app.

I’d talked myself out of checking them over lunch because watching Harper when he was home alone felt like it might be crossing boundaries. Or maybe it was because I didn’t want to see him doing something like yoga and be reminded that I’d struggled to touch my own bloody toes.

But Jack would be home now and I was itching to excuse myself for a couple of minutes to make sure everything was okay.

I didn’t think anyone would care, although I would have to explain I’d hired another nanny and fend off the inevitable round of questioning about them, which would culminate in someone—probably Danny—expressing his surprise about hiring a male nanny and someone else—probably Hunter or Mason—taking bets about how long it would be before I sent Harper packing.

And while I knew I was getting a reputation as a difficult arsehole, I didn’t want them to confirm it.

Not today.

If I hadn’t gotten so lost in thought, I could have said I needed the toilet and nipped into the changing rooms, but it was too late now. Everyone was waiting for me, watching me expectantly.

“Everything okay?” Charlie asked as we gathered in a group to start some passing drills. “You seem a bit out of it today.”

“Just tired,” I said, waving my hand dismissively.

“Mate, you’re always tired,” Danny said with a grin. He was one of the wingers and a mouthier man I’d never met.

“It’s called being a parent, Daniel,” I said, resisting the temptation to smack him around the back of his mulleted head. “I live in a permanent state of exhaustion. And then I have to come here and deal with your shit.”

“I thought by three they were supposed to be better sleepers? Please tell me it gets better,” Harry, another winger, said weakly. He and his wife had a daughter who was coming up on her first birthday and who’d recently decided sleep was for the weak.

“Er, sorry. No. I mean it might. All kids are different.”

“Yeah, and it can change all the time,” Frankie said with a firm nod. “My two slept like logs for eight or nine hours a night from six weeks until they were five, but now? Up at the crack of fucking dawn every day. I’m usually in bed by eight just so I can cope when they start jumping on me.”

“Can’t you just lock your bedroom door?” Danny asked.

“Tried that. They decided they wanted breakfast and went downstairs to make it themselves. Tils is teaching them to use the kitchen, but two five-year-olds trying to make scrambled eggs at four in the morning is a recipe for bloody disaster.” Frankie chuckled as he grabbed one of the balls off the floor.

“You want a challenge, try cleaning eggs off my kitchen ceiling.”

“I’ll swap you that for crushed Quavers in the back of my car,” Kegan said quickly.

“Or you can have Nutella… just everywhere,” I said with a laugh, watching the looks of horror and bemusement on the faces of the childfree members of the team around us.

At least some of them understood what I was going through, even if they all had partners or supportive families to share the load.

Not that Hannah was a shit parent, but it was hard for her to be hands on when she was halfway around the world every few weeks.

Frankie grinned. “Nah, man, it’s okay. You can keep that. I’ll stick with eggs.”

“Sure?” I asked as we all spread out. “It’s a great offer.”

“Absolutely. I’ll take eggs any day.”

“And this,” Devon said, smiling wryly as the conversation around us began to dissolve into the worst thing to clean up, “is why I’m going to stick with dogs.”

The aches in my body had deepened after an afternoon of drills, and getting a sports massage to round out the day hadn’t made me feel any better. I could still feel the ghost of Donna’s hands on my calves where she’d worked out some of the knots, and my thighs felt like they were on fire.

There’d be no yoga for me tomorrow morning. I’d be lucky to get out of bed in one piece.

Over twenty years of rugby union had brutalised my body, and it was only through sheer luck that I’d managed to avoid recurring long-term injuries.

But I could feel the clock ticking down on my career.

There wasn’t much sand left in the glass, and sooner or later I’d have to make the decision about my future or risk having it made for me.

I’d already given up my international career when Jack was born, and while that might have bought me more time to play club rugby, it wasn’t a lifetime supply.

I sighed as I climbed out of my car and grabbed my training bag off the back seat. Maybe once Jack was in bed I’d treat myself to a long, hot soak in the bath before I crashed out.

As the front door swung open, I could hear Jack’s happy chatter and giggling from the kitchen, the sound lifting my mood.

It was a good sign that everything hadn’t gone to shit while I was out.

“I’m home,” I called as I put my bag down so I could slip off my trainers, putting them into the shoe cupboard near the door alongside Jack’s ever-growing collection and what I assumed were Harper’s trainers.

They had bright orange laces and flowers painted on the side. I stared at them for a long moment, unsure why the sight of them had thrown me. Had he decorated them? I couldn’t remember if he’d listed artistic skills on his CV or not.

Maybe he’d taken a course.

“Daddy!” Jack came running towards me with his arms outstretched. He was, for once, still wearing the clothes he’d been sent to nursery in, although there were at least two or three stains on the front of his T-shirt.

“Hey,” I said, bending down to scoop him up and spin him around. He laughed again and it was a warm balm to my soul. I already dreaded the day he was too big for me to do this because it was moments like these that made all my stress melt away. “How was your day? Did you have fun at nursery?”

“Look! I got a plaster!” Jack stuck out his hand proudly to show off the large plaster patterned with characters from Bluey wrapped around his middle finger. I frowned and took a slow breath, trying to control the rising tide of emotion inside me.

“Oh no, what happened? Was it at nursery?”

“No,” Jack said, seeming completely unbothered by it. “Harper gave it to me.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“We made avoncado for dinner.”

“Avocado?” I asked as I strode towards the kitchen, trying to work out what the hell avocado had to do with a plaster. But this was how conversations with Jack worked: I asked a question, he answered a completely different one, and I spent twenty minutes trying to play detective.

“Yeah,” he said happily. “I helped.”

“That was nice of you,” I said, slowly trying to piece things together but coming up with nothing. “What did you do to help?”

He spread out his hand and held it up. “I put this much sweetcorn. And… um… and chicken.”

“He was very helpful,” Harper said as he looked up at me and smiled from the other side of the kitchen island where he was wiping the surface down.

I didn’t know why he was smiling, though, because he had a lot of fucking explaining to do.

My child had a huge plaster on his finger and I hadn’t heard anything about it.

How hard was it for him to send me a message?

Or leave me a voice note? What if Jack’s cut needed stitches instead of a plaster?

Harper said he had first aid training, but what did that actually cover?

Did we need to go to hospital? Jack might not have seemed bothered, but he wasn’t even three!

His opinion had to be taken with a huge pinch of salt.

“Yeah? Want to tell me what happened to his hand? Or were you just going to leave out that my son has been injured?” I pointed at the plaster, which Jack was stroking and smiling at. Harper was staring at me like he was trying to figure out if I was being serious.

“I get that you’ve only just started with us,” I said, trying to keep my tone level because I really didn’t want to yell.

“But how hard is it to send a message? Did it happen at nursery? At home? What did he do it with? I know he said he was helping with dinner but did that include playing with knives?”

“First of all, good evening, I hope you had a good day,” Harper said coolly. He was still smiling but it now didn’t reach his eyes. “And thank you for asking. If you’d let me explain before jumping down my throat, I’d be able to tell you that nothing actually happened.”

I stared at him, mouth half-open. Did he know who he was talking to? This was my son and I was his boss. How dare he say that nothing happened! “Excuse me?” I growled out as Jack slid out of my arms, heading off to find whatever toys he’d left lying in the kitchen.

Harper raised an eyebrow behind his glasses and held up his hand.

There were two large plasters on his fingers.

“I cut my fingers while making poke bowls for us because I’m not used to your knives and I was distracted helping Jack slice some avocado with the toddler knives you provided and said you were happy for him to use.

Jack felt bad that I’d hurt myself and insisted I needed lots of plasters.

Then he wanted one too because he thought it would make me feel better if he had one as well. ”

“O-Oh,” I said, because fuck me. Once again I’d opened my mouth and put my fucking foot in it. At this rate, I’d be giving Danny a run for his money.

All the wind went out of my sails and I felt myself deflate.

Good job, Graham. Harper had been here for two days and I’d already fucked it.

Christ, what the bloody hell was wrong with me?

“Er, I’m sorry,” I said as I glanced down at my feet, almost wishing the tiles would open and swallow me up. “I should have asked first. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you. And I appreciate your apology.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Look,” Harper said, quietly but firmly as he moved around the island.

“I understand you’re worried about having someone else here to look after Jack, and it can be scary when you think your child has injured themselves, but please let me be clear that I will not accept being spoken to like that.

If there was a problem, then I would let you know, and I need you to trust me. Or try to at least.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I, er, yeah. I get it. And I’ll try to be less of an arse.”

He looked at me with those beautiful, piercing grey eyes. “Thank you.” His smile brightened and I felt a little wave of relief rush through me. It seemed like he’d forgiven me for now, but how many times would that happen before he decided I was too much to deal with and left?

I really needed to get a handle on myself before I once again did something I’d regret.

“Now, Jack helped me cut up some strawberries, if you’d like some? I don’t know if you’ve eaten or not, but we did quite a few. And I promise I’ve removed the ones that got a bit too squashed for human consumption.”

It was an obvious peace offering, a chance for us to put everything behind us.

And I was very happy to take it.