Page 27 of Every Move You Make

Let me know what you’re thinking.

Cheers,

Kermit

Kermit and I have been tossing around the idea of starting an East Coast training program for rugby teams that need temporary, dedicated support. Whether that means conditioning or coaching, we want to help teams build on what they have. Think of us as rugby team consultants, if you will. We would come into teams, identify areas that need support, and help them repair and build.

It started out as an idea when we’d been drinking years ago, but the more we thought about it, the more we loved it.

Now, I’m not so sure. I like my job with Alliance Security, but it would be nice not to work nights anymore. The harsh reminder that I can no longer play full-contact rugby comes roaring in like a bulldozer once again. Being back around rugby, running this training program, could scratch that itch.

But there’s also—no.Don’t even think about it. I’ll jinx it.

Ughh, but it’s impossible not to. The head coach job with the USA Valor has been at the forefront of my mind for the last couple weeks. Thanks to the internet sleuthing on my burner account, I saw Robyn’s post about her team needing a new head coach. I’ve never applied to something faster in my life. I reached out to my old coach with the London Hornets and received a glowing recommendation letter along with a phone call from him telling me I’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity. I’ve been through two rounds of interviews so far and have been studying the team harder than ever.

Being head coach of a professional team is the dream of most retired players. With so few opportunities in the United States, it’s a big fucking deal. The sting of never being able to play rugby again would certainly ease if I was offered this position.

The job won’t pay very much, in fact, significantly less than what I’m currently making as the manager of a security company, but it’ll be worth it to be near her again. Near her in a way that will feel safe. I won’t be able to touch her the way I’ve dreamed of, but I’ll be closer than ever and able to watch her. I’ll be part of her life again.

I considered reaching out to Robyn to see if she would put in a good word for me, but thought better of it, wanting to earn this position on my own merit. Plus, I’d feel so shitty asking for something like this when I’ve been actively avoiding her for years.

After leaving London and playing professional rugby, I moved back to Philadelphia. I could have called her up and hung out the way we used to—Lord knows she was trying to get my attention. But by that time, she was cemented in my brain as my person, my future. I dedicated myself to rugby, to my dreams,for her.I had ourfuture planned, and chilling with her as just friends felt entirely wrong. Butwhen this coaching opportunity came up it created the perfect reason for me to be around her again in a way that fits in with my plan. Our plans.

So as much as I love the idea of working with Kermit on the training program, the opportunity to be head coach of the USA Valor is too tempting.

Hey Kermit,

Can I get back to you in a couple weeks? I have some irons in the fire and I’m trying to see what happens. If nothing comes of it, I’m fucking ready.

Cheers,

IceMan (Cumeth)

Alright, so some people just call me Cumeth.

Ruggers are a disturbing bunch.

The message is sent and I climb out of bed, throwing on a pair of discarded gym shorts. I head downstairs to get a pot of coffee brewing before I shower and start my day. But when I get to the main floor, I’m greeted by Rugger and Yogi, my brother’s two giant Great Pyrenees dogs.

I groan but scratch their enormous heads. “Why are you here?”

Yogi gently holds my wrist in his mouth and pulls me toward the kitchen as Rugger follows.

“You know I’m not livestock, right?” I grumble, but find Jonah rifling through my cupboards. I repeat the same question to him. “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t even look at me as he continues his search. “I’m out of cereal at my place. Where’s yours?”

“I don’t eat cereal.”

“What? Everyone eats cereal.”

“Wrong,” I mutter, grabbing the ground coffee bag and filling the machine. “You do, because you’re a man-child.”

Giving up, he shuts the cupboard and peeks over towatch me fill the coffee maker. “How much are you making?”

“Enough for me.”

“Can I have some?”

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