Page 8 of Hot Rucking Canadian

I’d had a crush for years as I’d watched the team play. In truth, he was as good-hearted as he was handsome—which made his being straight, and therefore not interested in me—all the more frustrating.

“What lucky bloke?” Roger sauntered into the locker room with a wide grin on his face. He was the opposite of Johnnie—dark hair, dark eyes, and happily married with four kids and a fifth on the way.

Oh, and a wife who should’ve been due for sainthood. Becca attended every game and often hosted some, or all, of the crew for legendary cookouts in their Burnaby home.

We were a respectful bunch.

For the most part.

“No bloke.” We often used the word because Jason bandied it about. And he was from England, so somehow that all made sense.

“Isaiah got lucky last night, and he’s not sharing details.” Johnnie eyed me. “I guess we can be respectful.”

“How’s your shoulder?”

He’d bruised it again in the last match. His previous injury was forever haunting him—even more than the head knocks he took.

Rugby was not for the faint of heart.

“It’s fine.” He rotated it, as if to prove everything was perfect.

I didn’t miss the flash in his eyes. Whether pain or relief there wasn’t pain, I couldn’t be certain. “Okay, so all good to start?”

“Of course.”

Roger dropped his bag in front of his cubby. “Me too. Thanks for asking.” He winked.

I rolled my eyes.

Somehow he’d managed to get through most of last season without an injury.

I tried to be careful—because Mama was always watching—but I still got knocked around pretty good.

The Toronto team was especially nasty to us. Old rivalry. Because we kept beating them.

Québec’s team, based out of Montréal, could also be nasty—but that was because they consistently won when they played us, and they appeared to feel keeping that unbroken record of twelve matches was critical to their self-worth.

Or some shit like that.

Johnnie patted my knee. “You ready?”

I stretched my neck and gave a quick nod. “Yeah.” My uniform, though, would provide little protection from the pouring rain. At least the fans in the stands would be covered.

“Mama coming to the game?”

“Nah. She’s working the late shift at the hospital.” Mama was a nurse who worked at St. Paul’s Hospital in downtown Vancouver.

I worried about her—working with some of the most destitute people in the city, including drug addicts and those living in poverty.

She worried about me—because I regularly got knocked around in a sport I loved as much as breathing.

We did okay.

“Gather round.” Our coach, Lawrence, beckoned us over. He’d give us another rousing speech about teamwork.

I’d remember that I was lucky to be a fullback on the defensive line, and I’d do my damnedest to keep the other team from scoring. We had a solid offense, great kickers, and a defense to be reckoned with. All that being said, we were fallible. A few times we’d blown leads in games we should’ve won. Or wonfluky games where we hadn’t played our best and maybe hadn’t deserved the victory.

What will tonight bring?

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