Page 3

Colin

M ost people hate Mondays. I, on the other hand, am starting to hate Fridays more.

When my alarm goes off at exactly 5 A.M. I let out an audible groan, my eyelids still heavy with sleep as I reach over and silence it with more force than probably needed. I didn’t sleep well last night. My body aches and there’s a persistent fog in my brain that refuses to go away. I really should petition for rugby practices to be illegal on a Friday from now on, it just fucks up the rest of my weekend. I stew beneath the warm covers for a few more minutes, debating whether I should move or not before I reluctantly pull back the duvet and roll out of bed. I amble over to my cupboard and open it, undressing and pulling on a pair of black running shorts, a long-sleeved maroon jogging shirt and my trainers. Every day for the last five years I’ve gone for an early morning run without fail. Having a bad night’s sleep isn’t about to change that.

Leaving my room, I find the rest of the cottage dark and silent as I make my way downstairs and into the kitchen. One of the many perks of waking up early is not having to deal with any bullshit before 9 A.M. I grab my water bottle from the fridge and head outside, spending a few minutes stretching out my muscles before I break into a brisk, but well-paced jog. Typically, my runs take around an hour to complete, but I push myself harder than normal this morning, effortlessly gliding down Craigavon’s wide streets and passing its still-slumbering residences. My muscles burn and sweat pours from my skin despite the light drizzle and cool September temperatures, but I don’t relent or slow down, relishing in the rush of endorphins that course through me. Forty-five minutes later, I sprint the last hundred meters, coming to a rest outside the cottage once again.

With my hands on my hips, I bend over slightly, sucking in controlled measures of air. My heart thumps steadily in my ears and steam radiates off me like a furnace, but I feel great, having dispelled some of the frustrations still bleeding over from last night. Once my breathing is back to normal, I gulp down the last of my water and make my way inside, heading straight for the bathroom. One hot and much-needed shower later, I stroll into my bedroom again with a towel wrapped around my waist, stopping short when I see my older brother sprawled across the lower half of my bed.

Great.

Why is he here?

“Morning,” I say, eying him warily.

Bryce’s head shoots up, his trademark cheeky grin already in place.

“Well, good morning to you as well, baby brother!”

I roll my eyes and turn away. I’m really not in the mood for his crap this morning.

“Ooo, someone’s a tad grouchy,” He prods, “Bad night?”

“I’m fine.”

I throw on a pair of grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt, keenly aware of the scepticism emanating from my brother .

“You’re fine? Really?” Bryce asks. “Because a little birdy told me you and dad ‘exchanged’ words after practice yesterday evening.”

I shut my eyes, sighing internally.

I’m going to kill Harry.

“It was nothing,” I tell him, avoiding his eyes as I move around my room, gathering up my dirty running clothes and throwing them in the laundry hamper. “He made some comments about my catching technique and I respectfully disagreed with him.”

Bryce chuckles lightly, sporting a knowing smile. “Right. You ‘respectfully’ disagreed with him. Just because he isn’t my coach anymore doesn’t mean I don’t remember what a dick he could be or still can be apparently, based on your sunshine and rainbows mood this morning, but you know he only does it because he –”

“– Wants us to be the best. I know.” I interrupt, both irritated, but also resigned by the reminder.

From the moment my brothers and I showed an interest in rugby, our father took it upon himself to train and prepare us for our futures as professional rugby players. My childhood was spent watching games, running set pieces in the back garden no matter the weather and learning new techniques instead of hanging out with friends on the weekend. As soon as we were old enough, he chose a local rugby club for us to join and he’s been steadily building us up ever since, using various training programmes, skill development regimes and special diets to get us all to where we are now. Currently, both of my older brothers play for The Craigavon Knights and, if everything goes according to plan, by this time next year I’ll be playing for them as well. Unfortunately, the price of our success meant that we grew up with a man who acted less like a parent and more like a surly coach, something which became a full-blown reality for all three of us when we came to Armitage University, where our father is the head coach for the rugby team and my current team; the Admirals.

It was at least still bearable when Bryce was here last year. We’d take the brunt of our father’s strict training methods together and then lean on each other afterwards for support. I’m alone now and if yesterday is anything to go by, I already know this season will be my hardest one yet. At least both of my brothers are still in Craigavon and not some distant part of the country, it would be impossible otherwise.

I understand my father wants to see us succeed. I’ve known that since I was five years old, but it grates on my nerves that he always speaks his mind or finds a reason to criticise something I’ve done. He’s never fully satisfied. Never completely happy with my performance. There’s always something I could’ve done differently or done better. The fact that I haven’t missed a single kick or catch in over ten games means absolutely nothing to him if I go into next week’s match and let one ball slip through my fingers or miss an important penalty kick by just a hair.

I hear Bryce sigh behind me, probably realising that I don’t want to talk about this right now, as he gets to his feet and drapes an arm over my shoulders, offering me a sympathetic smile.

“Come on, let's grab some breakfast, yeah?”

I nod mutely, grateful he came to check on me even though he didn’t have to. He can be as annoying as hell sometimes, but there’s also a great deal of comfort in knowing that he and Graeme will always be there for me if I need them, no matter what. We head downstairs and enter the kitchen together, finding one of my roommates and fellow teammates: Kai Hara already there, chopping up ingredients for one of his infamous ‘health’ smoothies.

“Morning gents.” He says, sounding far too happy, especially given the early hour. “Anyone interested in a kale, celery, peanut butter, banana and wheatgrass smoothie?”

My nose scrunches with disgust.

I honestly don’t know how he drinks that green shit every day. He and his family may have been living in the U.K. for over a decade, but he’s still a Californian at heart.

“Pass,” I say, throwing open the fridge door and cupboards and gathering all the ingredients I need to make muesli pancakes instead.

“Uncultured palate.” Kai mutters at me before shifting his eager gaze over to my brother next, “How about you Brycie?”

“Hara, the last time I had one of those bloody smoothies I was glued to a toilet for nearly two days straight.”

“So that’s a ‘no’ then?”

“It’s a ‘hell no’, mate.”

My brother and I burst out laughing and Kai scowls at the two of us, unimpressed.

“Mark my words, you’ll both regret not drinking these smoothies when you had the chance.”

Maybe we will, but it certainly won’t be any time soon.

He takes the ingredients, dumping them into the Nutri-blender and whizzing them up just as my other roommate and fellow teammate: Mace Madsen strolls into the kitchen, shirtless and sporting a series of fresh hickeys littered all over the skin on the one side of his neck and collarbone .

“Ladies.” He greets casually, heading straight for the fancy, Italian coffee machine he bought for himself and turning it on.

“Jesus Mace, was that girl you hooked up with last night a fucking vampire?” Kai gawks, horrified by the sight of his red, bruised skin.

“Nah, just possessive which, coincidently, is exactly how I like them.” Mace winks at the room like the cocky bastard he is and Bryce leans over, giving him a high-five.

Smirking, I shake my head and turn back to my pancake batter.

Mace has always been, how shall I put it? Good with women? A walking sex magnet? Sex on legs maybe? Women, and even some men, gravitate towards him like comets being pulled towards the sun and he’s more than willing to give them – the woman that is – exactly what they want. No strings attached, of course. For most of the lads on the team, the status and the attention they get, usually from the opposite sex, is the main reason why they play a sport like rugby in the first place. Don’t get me wrong, they love the game as well and probably wish they could play it professionally too, but truthfully, most of them lack the skill and dedication needed to do that. Sacrifices have to be made to reach that level. The kind of sacrifices most people don’t want to make. So, much like Mace, they make the most out of their situation now while they still can. This is an entirely foreign concept to Kai whose been dating his girlfriend; Gwen since he was fifteen. Even with those minor differences though, we’re the best of mates and have been since high school. We have a reputation that precedes the three of us. People have even dubbed us the ‘Golden Trio’ because of the positions we play .

Kai is our outside centre.

Mace is our right wing.

And I’m the fullback.

On the field, we’re a deadly combination that should never be underestimated.

Off the field, we can be just as impactful, but in a vastly different way.

“Speaking of woman,” Mace starts, grabbing his coffee and taking a seat next to Bryce at the wooden table in the middle of the kitchen, “Care to explain what the fuck happened last night, Collie?”

I blatantly ignore the question and that fucking nickname which I detest with a burning passion. Instead, I hold my hand above the pan on the stove, making sure it’s hot enough before throwing in the butter, letting it melt and then ladling in some pancake batter.

“Wait, are we talking about his conversation with coach after practice or the fact that Keira Blake was practically stripping in front of him and he looked about as interested in her as a rock?”

My jaw hardens and I aim a sideways glare directly at Kai and the stupid, mischievous smirk on his face.

That only makes him smile wider.

“The second one,” Mace answers him, turning his attention back on me, “Seriously mate, Keira-fucking-Blake doesn’t do it for you now?”

I shrug a shoulder, flipping the pancakes with ease. “I wasn’t interested.”

Mace’s jaw drops, practically hitting the floor and, despite his monogamous beliefs, Kai looks just as baffled as well. The only person who appears to be more concerned than horrified is Bryce, but I pretend not to notice his frown or questioning gaze as I start plating the pancakes one after the other.

“You’re joking,” Mace says disbelievingly.

“Nope.”

“But it’s Keria Blake!”

“Yup.” And I’m sure she had no trouble finding some other poor sod who was willing to take her home last night.

She never struggles.

I could give them a whole myriad of reasons why Keira-fucking-Blake didn’t grab my attention last night and why she won’t grab it ever again. The fact that she’s been shagging several other guys behind my back might have something to do with it, but the truth is far simpler than that. While Keira was half naked and practically draping herself all over me, whispering that I could do whatever I wanted to her behind closed doors, a pair of captivating, hazel green eyes kept creeping into my mind.

I smirk, my thoughts returning to the ever-intriguing Ellie Simpkins for what feels like the millionth time.

Yesterday when I spotted her on campus, taking pictures with her camera, I couldn’t believe my luck or resist the temptation to go over and say something to her.

Why?

I have no clue.

Admittedly, I was annoyed at first when she bumped into me outside The Arms that night. I don’t like people invading my personal space unless they have a good reason for doing so, but whatever irritation I felt quickly disappeared when she adjusted the hat she was wearing and I got a good look at the face hidden beneath it. Long chestnut brown hair, soft porcelain skin, perfect tits, gorgeous fucking body and a light dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks.

Getting her out of my head has been an impossible task over the last two weeks. Believe me, I’ve tried, but somehow, she keeps sneaking her way back into my thoughts when I least expect her to, so naturally, when I saw her again, I couldn’t help myself. I had to go over and say ‘hello’ and, if I’m being entirely honest, I wanted a reason to keep talking to her and maybe find out more about her in the process, so I made it seem like I was headed the same way as her when I was actually meant to be walking in the opposite direction, which is completely off the reservation for me.

I don’t do that.

Correction.

I’ve never done that.

The fact that it made her all flustered was a bonus though.

She’s cute as hell when she blushes.

The one thing I didn’t anticipate finding out, however, was that she has a boyfriend and that said boyfriend is none other than Marco Andersen.

The Armitage Admirals and the Bancroft Bulldogs have been rivals for decades now, but even if that rivalry didn’t exist, I think it would be safe to say that there would be no love lost between Andersen and me. Our personal ‘rivalry’ started all the way back during our first year when our teams ended up playing each other in the final of the B.U.L.’s or the British University Rugby League. In the dying seconds of the match, I slotted this incredible penalty kick which snatched victory from the jaws of defeat for the Admirals. The Bulldogs were gutted obviously, but Andersen took the loss particularly badly because it was his fault we got the penalty in the first place and, because he’s a twat and a sore fucking loser as well, he made it his mission after that to taunt me and try to upstage me every chance he gets. Though he rarely ever does.

I shake my head at the thought.

How a piece of shit like him snagged a girl like Ellie is beyond me, especially since he’s never come across as the ‘committed dating’ type. I wonder if their relationship is new or how serious it is because, even though it’s probably a bad idea, something about Ellie Simpkins intrigues me and it’s literally been months since I’ve shown even a remote interest in the opposite sex.

Six months ago, if someone had asked me if I would ever get sick of sleeping with women, I would’ve laughed hysterically and called them mad. I’ve never struggled to get girls, having had a steady plethora of opportunities come my way from the moment I turned sixteen, filled out and grew several inches in the height department, and while I may not be as quick to accept those opportunities as Bryce and Mace are, I certainly haven’t allowed too many to slip through the cracks either.

Until recently, that is.

Something Mace is still struggling to grasp apparently.

I take a seat at the table as well and he eyeballs me incredulously as I spoon Greek yoghurt and berries onto my pancakes and tuck into my food, acting like I’ve just told him something ridiculous like Game of Thrones is better than The Lord of The Rings .

“I think you’re touched in the head, mate.” He finally says.

I shrug , shovelling another forkful of my pancakes into my mouth. “Sticks and stones, Madsen. ”

Breakfast passes in a blur and thankfully my sex life, or my non-existent one according to Mace, is dropped from the conversation entirely. Instead, the next hour is spent talking about our opening match against Bancroft next week. Even though Bryce and Graeme technically aren’t our captains anymore, they still take it upon themselves to check in on their former teammates whenever they can, sitting in on practices, giving the lads advice and talking strategy with them. Bryce has a lot to say this morning and Mace and Kai hang on his every word like a couple of awed school boys who’ve just met their biggest hero.

I tune them out after a while.

There’s nothing to say or hear that hasn’t already been said or that I haven’t heard before.

Yes, it’ll be a challenge (because every game should be considered a challenge) but I’m confident we’ll beat them. Of our last four encounters against the Bulldogs, we’ve won three of them. Next week I aim to make it four out of five and what I aim to do on the rugby field, I usually achieve.

It’s as simple as that.

“So, we’ll see you next week then?” Bryce says, pulling me from my thoughts.

Breakfast is over and we’re walking down the narrow dirt footpath outside the cottage which leads to the driveway. Above us, the sky is a dreary grey and the cold I felt earlier on my run hasn’t abated in the slightest.

Another beautiful day in England.

“Yeah, sounds good.” I doubt Graeme will be able to make it with his demanding schedule, but Bryce and Mum will be there and that’ll be more than enough .

“Good and do me a favour, try not to let Dad get to you again or I’m going to have to start charging you for these little therapy sessions of ours.”

I give him the bird and we both laugh, smiling from ear to ear. I expect Bryce to leave then. He normally doesn’t hang around given that he has his own life to get back to, but he stands in the driveway for a minute, a loaded expression on his face.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Col?”

I roll my eyes at him. “Would you stop worrying about me? I promise I’m fine.”

I appreciate his concern, but I don’t need it. When I do, I’ll ask for it.

My brother continues to eye me closely, like he wants to press the matter further, but thankfully, he grins broadly and ruffles my hair, choosing to let it go instead.

“All right. Stay out of trouble, baby bro.”

“As long as you promise not to get yourself into trouble, middle bro.”

He flips me off this time and I smile, watching as he climbs into his swanky, brand-new Range Rover, courtesy of his new sponsorship deal with them, and drives off. Once he’s gone, I go back inside, throw on some jeans and shoes and grab my kit bag. Even though it’s a Saturday and we don’t have another practice scheduled until Monday, I find myself gravitating towards our training grounds located just a short distance away from the university’s main campus. I park my motorbike outside the main facility, shoulder my bag and head towards the front entrance. It’s deserted at this hour and technically no one is allowed to be here, but Gustav, the caretaker, had a spare set of keys made specially for me so I could come and go whenever I pleased. I’m in the changing rooms, in the middle of pulling on a fresh training shirt when my phone vibrates on the wooden bench in front of me. I pick it up, a smile tipping my lips upwards when I see my mum’s standard ‘good morning’ message. I type back a reply, promising to call her later, only to scowl a few seconds later when I see a text from my coach – excuse me – my father waiting for me as well.

I click the screen off without bothering to read it and toss my phone into my cubby.

Whatever he has to say can wait.

Half an hour later I’m out on the open-air field, the wide expanse of freshly cut lawn still damp and muddy from the drizzle that’s been falling on and off all night and most of the morning. I breathe in deeply through my nose, the earthy smells of rainwater and dirt awakening my senses. I love it out here, especially when I’m on my own. I never struggle to settle my thoughts and regain my focus when I need to. Spinning the rugby ball around in my hands a few times, I hold it up vertically and drop it straight down onto the ridge of my foot, kicking it into the air as high and as hard as I can. Keeping my head tipped back, I rush after it, my feet propelling me forward with long, powerful strides. My eyes stay glued on the ball the entire time, waiting for the moment I see it stall mid-air and start plummeting back towards the ground. I position my hands right underneath it and jump once it's close enough, scooping the ball safely into my arms and tucking it into my chest. I land on my feet again with a solid thud, mist bellowing from my mouth as I finally take a moment to stop and catch my breath.

“That was better.”

I glance up, meeting my father’s stern, critical gaze .

He’s standing a few feet away with his arms folded across his chest and his stance rigid. It’s a pose I’ve seen my entire life and it’s one I’m not at all comforted by. Mostly because it’s the same one he usually adopts right before he criticises me.

How long has he been there?

Seeing as his usual black chinos and matching trench coat aren’t that wet, I’d venture to say not long.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

Using my shirt, I wipe the sweat and rainwater from my face before I start marching off the field, but my father grabs my elbow as I pass him, stopping me.

“We need to talk, Colin.”

Clashing eyes with him again, I remove myself from his grip and take a step backwards, putting some distance between us. “Very well.”

My father narrows his eyes, clearly not appreciating my obstinate attitude or tone.

Yeah well, I don’t appreciate his bullshit attitude either. Tit for tat.

“I just wanted to make sure you haven’t forgotten about your meeting on Monday.”

“I haven’t.”

How could I possibly forget when he’s made it abundantly clear how important this meeting is, not once but several times already.

“Good. Make sure you aren’t late either. This season is incredibly important so that includes everything associated with it off the field as well. You need to take this seriously and act like the professional you will be soon. ”

I nod once, biting back a comment about how much I hate being treated like a child. He never did this with Graeme or Bryce, not to this extent anyway, but for some reason, he insists on holding my hand, scolding me or pulling and pushing me in every direction he thinks I need to go in.

“Yes sir.”

My father heaves out an audible sigh. He’s stalling. What he really wants to talk about is the ‘conversation’ we had after practice ended yesterday, but I’m not interested in hearing him try to justify his actions or defend himself again.

If you didn’t argue with me so much, you’d see I’m only trying to improve your game.

You may not like it, but you know my advice will help, don’t ignore it.

When I played, I had to learn new things all the time as well.

Yada, yada, yada…

I’ve heard it all before and it gets rather tedious having to listen to the same inane excuses over and over again after a while.

“If that’s everything,” I say, turning to leave.

“It’s not.”

I pause, not missing the flicker of uncertainty that penetrates his typically steel-like eyes when I face him again and he immediately starts to second-guess himself. I’m not surprised. You could say I’m used to it even. If the great Kenneth Hunt can avoid an emotional confrontation of any kind, he will. Every. Single. Time . Especially if he knows he was wrong and likely needs to apologise. When he doesn’t say anything, I shake my head, wasting no time turning my back on him again .

“Colin?”

I grit my teeth but stop again, barely twisting my head to glance back at him over my shoulder.

“Just…” He trails off and, for a moment, I think he’s going to prove me wrong, but his jaw clenches and that severe, detached look returns, shutting him off from me again, “Just remember to control your descent properly when you land.” He orders.

My hand balls into a tight fist as slivers of disappointment cut through me, but I squash them down with practised ease.

“Yes, coach.”

I carry on walking.

Like I said, I’m used to it.

I just wish I didn’t have to be.