Page 25
Colin
T he training ground is mercifully empty tonight, though I suppose it would be at ten o’clock in the middle of winter. Wind howls through the empty stands, the bitter cold biting at my exposed skin, but I don’t care. It feels good to feel something, even if that ‘something’ isn’t the most pleasant sensation in the world. Chills wrack my body and the desire to give in and call it a night tries to win me over again, but I shake it off, keeping my pace nice and steady as I jog around the perimeter of the field. I breathe evenly, in and out, paying very close attention to my knee the entire time.
No pain so far which is good.
I shouldn’t be overworking it. My physical therapist would probably smack me on the back of the head if she saw me right now, but the final is next week and I can’t sit around idly in my room anymore. If I do, then I start to think and if I start to think, then I start to feel and then I start to hurt all over again. Most days, I work myself almost to the point of exhaustion just to get a decent night’s sleep. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I need to drift off immediately, otherwise, I’ll be consumed with thoughts of her. Of the memories and moments that I’m trying to keep buried. If I can’t then something as basic and necessary as ‘sleep’ becomes impossible.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
None of this was .
Even though it’s rather pointless now, I keep going back to that conversation we had on New Year's Eve. She was so concerned for my safety. She tried to warn me. Tried to get me to take the threat seriously, but I arrogantly thought I knew better. I thought I could predict Marco’s actions and read him like an open book. I let my guard down. Got complacent and it almost cost me my future. Now it’s cost me one thing I never wanted to lose.
Don’t get me wrong, in hindsight, I know none of this is my fault, just like I still believe that Ellie isn’t to blame for any of this as well. She only feels accountable, because she cares and because she’s trying to keep me safe. There’s only one person who should take the blame for all of this and if I could get my hands on him right now, I’m not sure if I’d be able to restrain myself.
I should’ve listened to her.
If I had then she would still be here and I wouldn’t feel like this.
When I told my parents who I believed attacked me, my father immediately reported it and opened a full inquiry into the incident, but I knew doing that would be a futile effort. This isn’t the first time a Bancroft player has resorted to dirty tactics to win and it won’t be the last either. Besides, Marco Anderson is rich and well-connected, which means that he’s protected. He wore gloves when he hit me, resulting in a stunning lack of physical evidence, and although people heard the attack and ran over to help, no one saw him, meaning the allegations were dropped not long after they were made. So, despite my father’s efforts, Andersen essentially got off Scott-free which is exactly the outcome I anticipated. I’ve tried not to dwell on it or let it upset me. I need to focus on getting better and getting myself match fit again. My team needs me and my future as a rugby player depends on it.
Everything else can wait.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”
I stop running and lift my head, casting my gaze over to where Graeme is standing on the sidelines, his tall, commanding presence impossible to miss under the bright glow of the floodlights.
“Who told you I was here?” I ask him, “Mace or Kai?”
“It was Harry actually.”
I sigh internally.
Fucking rookie promised he wouldn’t say anything when he left an hour ago. I make my way towards my older brother, ignoring him even as he watches me with stern eyes already begging for a confrontation.
“He called me because he’s concerned Col and, frankly, so am I.”
“Well, thanks for your concern, but I don’t need it or anyone else’s for that matter. I’m perfectly fine.”
I push passed him, but Graeme spins on the balls of his feet, staying on my heels. When I reach down to pick up the mesh bag of rugby balls so I can practice my kicking, his hand shoots out, grabbing me by the shoulder and pulling me back.
“What?” I snap harshly, turning and trying to pull out of his grasp. “Just leave me alone, Graeme. I said I’m fucking fine, all right!”
“No, you aren’t fine!” He states firmly , the full force of his anger hitting me as he crowds my space. “You’re pissed off, distracted and hurt right now and you’ve been channelling that into your training as a coping mechanism to try and work through it, but if you keep pushing yourself like this, you’ll only end up exhausting y ourself or worse, you’ll hurt yourself again, only this time it’ll be a lot more serious and then your career really will be fucked, Colin! Just because the match has been postponed and your PT cleared you to train doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods with your knee. You need to be fucking careful!”
Grinding my teeth, I glance away from him.
It’s the last thing I want to hear right now, but I can’t deny that he’s right either. What other choice do I have though? It’s not like the alternative is any better, especially when it comes to my mental game.
Graeme heaves out a quiet sigh before he releases my arm, taking a small step back.
“Look, I’m sorry.” He starts to apologise, but I shake my head, stopping him.
“Don’t.” I murmur, relaxing my jaw and expelling my own anger with a sigh as well, “I know you’re just looking out for me.”
I’ll never admit it, but he hit the nail on the head with what he said a moment ago. It’s no secret that I’ve been…Off since the day Ellie left me at the hospital. I’ve been quiet. Distant. Distracted. Running on nothing, but auto-pilot and an unwavering goal to play in that final against Bancroft even if it kills me. Watching her leave like that, knowing how she felt. Seeing her cry and blame herself for what happened and being utterly powerless to stop her, hurt a lot more than the injuries Marco inflicted or any tackle I’ve ever taken during a game. That includes a shoulder charge I took the head once which hurt like a bitch at the time and gave me a concussion.
I wish I had a concussion right now, maybe then I wouldn’t have to think about any of this shit .
“Have you heard from her at all?” Graeme asks quietly, the look on his face sombre, guarded.
I press my lips into a thin line and shake my head from side to side, the ever-present tightness in my chest growing again until my ribs ache.
It's been fourteen days and I haven’t heard a thing from her.
Fourteen days of unanswered phone calls and texts.
Of trying to extract as much information as possible about how she’s doing from Liv and Natalie.
Fourteen days of being pissed off at myself.
Of feeling worried, sad and lonely.
So, fucking lonely.
I’ve tried to figure out how to fix this fucked up situation and make things better, but nothing seems right. I need to figure something out soon though because I miss her. I miss her so much, it fucking kills me just to think about it. Last I heard she wasn’t doing well. According to what Liv told me, she doesn’t leave her room. She hardly eats. Barely sleeps or says much of anything.
Honestly?
I wanted to be mad at her at first. I really did. I wanted to channel everything I was feeling at the time; the hopelessness, the agony and the fury at something just to get rid of it, but I couldn’t bring myself to aim it at her, because as much as I hate that she wouldn’t listen to me, I can’t blame her for believing that she’s responsible either. If our positions were reversed and Marco hurt her instead, I’d feel the same way, but that doesn’t mean I believe that her being in my life or that our relationship was the sole motivation behind Andersen’s actions .
There must be more to it than that.
Marco has hated me (or felt threatened by me) ever since I intercepted one of his passes and scored a try off it during our first game against each other two years ago. He was humiliated and acted like I showed him up on purpose or something, which wasn’t the case. I was just playing the game. If one of his other teammates had made that terrible pass, I still would’ve done it, but he took it personally and I’m convinced he wants to see me fail during this final as some form of payback.
If there’s one thing, I’m sure of, it’s that.
He knows how important this is to me. Just like I know it’s important for him as well and what better way to exact your revenge than to weaken your greatest opponent on the field so that you look better by comparison. He couldn’t do it through skill alone so he had to resort to cheap tactics.
The ferocity I saw in his eyes when I kissed Ellie back at the Christmas market flashes in and out of my mind. That may have even been the tipping point that sent him over the edge and compelled him to act. Had I known he would’ve reacted like this, I probably would’ve been more careful.
I still would’ve kissed her though, because fuck him and his jealous, over-controlling bullshit.
None of this would be happening right now if it wasn’t for him.
“She asked for space,” I tell Graeme, snatching my kit bag off the ground and heading inside the training facility. “That’s what I’m giving to her until she decides to call me.”
If she decides to call me .
Graeme remains silent as he follows, but I can feel his annoying, probing eyes boring into the back of my skull the entire way.
“And you’re worried she isn’t going to call, is that it?” He asks, folding his arms across his chest and pressing a shoulder against the door frame once we’re inside the changing rooms.
I dump my bag onto one of the wooden benches, scowling at him while the invisible hand of fear chokes my thoughts.
Yes, that’s what I’m worried about.
Initially, when I tried calling and texting her and she didn’t answer, I told myself she was too upset to talk to anyone. That she needed time and space to process things properly. To cool her head and settle her thoughts. After a week of radio silence though, I spiralled and started to think the worst.
What if she never calls?
What if this is all too much for her and she’s struggling to cope?
That’s why I kept trying to contact her. I just wanted to make sure she was okay and I also (foolishly) hoped that maybe if she took one of my calls, I could’ve convinced her to end this suffering for both of us. Obviously, that didn’t happen.
By the time, Monday morning rolled around and I was no closer to resolving our dilemma, I decided to back off and give her what she asked for.
Time.
Fucking time.
I haven’t called her once for over this past week even though I’ve literally been dying too. I haven’t texted her either. I love her with everything I have. Even if I haven’t said those words out loud yet, I feel them deeply, but if this is what she needs, then I’ll give her all the time she asks for .
I just hope I won’t lose her permanently in the process.
“Maybe it would be better if she didn’t call.”
What?
I lift my head, studying Graeme incredulously.
How could he think that being away from her would be better for me when I haven’t been myself for one second of the time that we’ve been apart?
“What I mean is,” Graeme continues, taking slow, cautious steps towards me, “Maybe being in a serious relationship isn’t what you need right now, Col. You should be focusing on your career. Think about it, if everything goes well in this final, you’ll be signing a contract with a new team and your whole life will change dramatically after that. Everything you’re used to will be uprooted overnight. It all happens so fast. Believe me, the last thing you’ll need is an unnecessary distract –”
“– You sound just like him, you know.” I interrupt my jaw and gaze hardening.
“I know you haven’t always agreed with everything Dad says,” Graeme counters, “But he isn’t wrong about this. Maybe she’s realised that too.”
My brows pull together with a deep frown and my eyes narrow suspiciously, not missing the subtle shift in his tone when he says that last bit. Almost as if he knows more about that than he’s letting on.
“And did you help her realise that?” I question, the accusation clear in my voice.
Graeme doesn’t say anything, but the fact that he can’t look at me is all the answer I need. I can practically sense the guilt radiating from him. Everything around me seems to slow and I stare at him with my mouth skewed, disappointed beyond words .
I knew he was worried about Ellie. Deep down, I could see it written all over his face as soon as he saw her, but I never imagined he would interfere like this.
“You know, I always expected something like this from Dad, but I never expected it from you.”
“Colin, please –”
“– But let me make one thing clear,” I cut him off, biting out each word in an effort to contain my flourishing anger, “Ellie is the furthest thing from a distraction. We’ve been together since Christmas, fucking Christmas, Graeme! and I’ve been playing the best rugby I’ve ever played in my life. In case you haven’t fucking noticed, being away from her is a distraction, because I miss her! I can’t stop thinking about her! I fucking love her, Grae!” I shout, “You and Dad may think you know what’s best for me, but clearly you don’t have a fucking clue and now, because of you, I may have lost her for good, but hey! At least I’ll have my head screwed on straight before the final, right?”
Shoulders tense and seething, I stalk passed him without saying another word or stopping to listen to any of his excuses – if he has any.
I don’t care what he or anyone else has to say anymore.
This is my goddamn life. MINE . It’s not fucking theirs and after Saturday is over and done with, whether we win or lose. Whether I get signed or I don’t. I’m going to do everything in my power to get the best part of it back.
No matter what.
My fists clench as I storm out of the building and into the parking lot. I need to get home, have a shower and maybe hit the punching bag a few times to clear my fucking head, but as I round the corner, I stop dead in my tracks, spying someone leaning against the seat of my bike. Narrowing my eyes, I crane my neck, trying to get a better look at whoever it is, but it’s too dark and he has his back to me. I keep walking, eventually seeing his head turn in my direction when he hears me coming.
I go still.
Marco.
What the fuck is he doing here?
He lets out a low whistle, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Damn, that shit looks like it still hurts.” He comments, a wicked smile playing across his lips as he stands up straight.
He’s referring to my black eye and busted lip. A week ago, the bruises were deeper and the skin was swollen and tender to the touch. Now I can barely feel them, but they still look pretty bad. He approaches me, but I don’t move any closer, afraid that I’ll do something stupid like knock his fucking lights out if I don’t keep a safe distance between us. Thankfully, he has enough common sense to stop just out of my reach.
“How’s that knee, by the way? Any pain or weak points I can exploit perhaps?” His slimy gaze moves down, taking in the athletic tape strapped around my leg.
I glare back at him, my skin going taut against my knuckles. Fucking prick.
“Is that why you’re here?” I ask, “To spy on me? Admire your handiwork maybe? Or to finish the piss poor job you tried to do the first time around?”
I’m right here if he wants to take another swipe at me, but he won’t get as close as he did in the park. I won’t let him or his fucking friends sneak up on me like that again. He’s not here to fight me though. He’s trying to intimidate me and get inside my head before the match. Luckily my mental fortitude is a lot stronger than he realises.
I wonder if his is as well?
“Or maybe you’re scared.” I taunt, smirking. “Is that it, Andersen? Did you hear that I’d been cleared to train and now you’re worried your cheap shot at me didn’t do nearly as much damage as you hoped it would?”
I may not be in top physical form like I was earlier in the season, but I’ll still run circles around him and he knows it. Everyone does.
On paper, I’m the better player.
On the field, I am as well.
The stats don’t lie.
Marco’s jaw bunches like I’ve hit a nerve, but he chuckles a moment later, brushing it off. “Nah, I’m not worried, but I thought I’d come here and wish you luck all the same. I figured you’d need it.”
“I won’t.”
He grins, shaking with more silent laughter, and I go tense when he moves closer, placing himself right in front of me now.
I don’t move. I don’t even flinch.
“Whatever you say, Hunt. Just remember to keep telling yourself that when I make you look like a fool in front of everyone, including her.” His eyes zero in, turning dark with hatred. “She’ll regret choosing you, I’ll make damn sure of that.”
In your wild fucking dreams, you prat.
“Drop the fucking act, Andersen. You don’t give a shit about Ellie. You’re the one who broke up with her and now you’re acting like our relationship pisses you off, because what? She’s not crawling on her hands and knees, begging you to take her back? She moved on and found someone better and you can’t fucking stand that, can you? So, stop trying to pretend this is about her and not about you trying to prove that you’re better than me.”
He’ll get his chance during the final, but I won’t roll over and make it easy for him that’s for sure.
“I don’t need to prove anything to anyone!” He seethes, baring his teeth, “I am better than you!”
I smile smugly. “Ooo, now it seems I’ve hit a sore spot.”
Marco snarls and lunges forward suddenly, rearing back to throw a punch my way, but I step into him and hook my foot behind his ankle, using my weight to trip him up and slam him down to the ground as hard as possible. The move and knock he takes to the back of his head stuns him completely, long enough for me to come down on top of him, pinning him in place with my knee pressed firmly on his chest. He tries to move, but I grab him by the collar and ball my fist in his face, pulling him in close so I can see him flinch with fear like the little pussy he is.
“Whatever’s left to say between us will be said on the rugby field,” I tell him, my voice low, but the threat and promise in it no less loud or clear, “And, trust me, Andersen you’ll need all the luck you can get.”