Page 6 of Resilient Love

The whistle blows again, and just like that, practice is over. Coach Dickwad doesn’t offer a word of feedback, let alone encouragement, before turning on his heel and walking off the field. No “Good work, team,” no “See you tomorrow,” just the sound of his grumbles as he saunters away. I stare after him, fury and exhaustion tangling in my chest, and then turn and slam a ball into the back of the net. It thuds hard against the netting, but the weight in my chest doesn’t budge.

I’m not sure how I feel about Rafael yet. He hasn’t been around long, so I’m doing my best to give him the benefit of the doubt, but with every passing minute, the doubt creeps higher.

What he does have going for him is that he’s a beast on the pitch from every match I’ve seen him play, but that’s not really an accomplishment when you’re a rugby player. They’reallbeasts.

Luckily for him, there isn’t much coaching that needs to be done. We are by no means perfect, and we take well to constructive criticism, but overall, we work together seamlessly. If there’s an issue, we’re good about pinpointing it and making the necessary changes.

These women and I have a silent understanding. If he doesn’t get in our way, we won’t make his life any more difficult than it already is for being thrown into this position.One he clearlydoesn’t want.There’s nothing positive that could come out of that, but if he thinks we won’t push back when he’s being a tosser, he’s dead wrong.

We never hesitated to tell Coach Lyon when we didn’t agree with him, and as a result, we kicked ass together—that is, when he wasn’teating ass. The latterprobablyhad something to do with his lax demeanour.

Thankfully, I never got myself into that mess. I’ll admit that he was hot. I’ll even admit that, within reason, I find older men attractive, but he was old enough to be my father, and that never sat well with me, particularly because my father is one of my best friends. To each their own though.

I head into the locker rooms, my teammates' expressions matching that of our new coach’s. Would it kill him to stop grimacing all the time?Wow, Elise, you’re one to talk.How many men have I snapped at for telling me to smile more? Likely more than I can count.

I strip out of my clothes, unashamed of my body, which allows me to continue playing the sport I love, as I grab a towel and head to the showers.

“Your dad didn’t mention that it’d be one ofhisplayers taking over?” Chelsea asks, everyone’s eyes panning toward me for the answer they’ve been waiting to hear all practice.

“Nope, I was as out of the loop as all of you,” I tell them, my tone sharper than I’d intended as frustration at our situation bleeds into the words.

They take that at face value and all get back to showering and changing.Thank godbecause I sincerely hadn’t the slightest fucking clue. Though I know if I had, there isn’t anything we could’ve done about it. And frankly, I’m just happy to have a coach to continue the season with. It does feel a little like my father is babysitting me, and that causes the smallest trickle of resentment to trail down my spine.

I enter the shower and turn the knob to heat the water just below scalding. A reminder of hell, where I came from, according to Noah. If he wants sunshine and rainbows, he should look elsewhere.

We finish up in the locker room, then Adhira, Chelsea, Letty, and I head toward the parking lot, climbing into Letty’s Ford Fiesta.

I can't say squeezing into her car is more comfortable than the rideshare I took to get to practice, but it’s better than walking.

“Any idea why your dad picked him?” Chelsea asks, sitting beside me in the back.

I shake my head. “He’s the team captain, but if anything, I’d think that would make him the least likely option.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t he want his captain fully focused on his own team? I mean, I know your dad loves you, but rugby pays the bills,” Letty points out.

“Or maybe he wants the best for you and knows his captain will keep it in his pants?” Chelsea offers but laughs. “Though I’m not sure about that last part. His eyes were practically glued to your tits.”

“I’d prefer it if you refer to them as ‘incredible tits’ but agreed, they were absolutely burning holes straight into my nipples.” I let out a shaky laugh; the unfriendly reminder of Rafael’s lust-filled eyes on me has my nipples pebbling, the reaction surprising me. I quell the sensation, rushing to redirect my inappropriate thoughts. “He did mention being a footballer at one point, so that's likely why.” I wonder why he'd made the switch. I enjoy both watching and playing rugby, but I wouldn't trade football for the world.

“He seems like he’ll be a decent coach. Not overbearing, and so far, he’s mostly let you take the reins, which I appreciate. I don’t particularly love that we couldn't find a female coach, buthe’ll do,” Adhira says, always the voice of unerring reason. It’s no wonder she’s going into medicine after graduation.

“At least he’s nice to look at,” Chelsea adds.

“Can’t argue with that,” I joke, turning my attention to the small shops we pass outside my window as we head back to our shared house. When my emotions feel like they’re becoming too overwhelming and complex, I’ve learned to pull back and redirect my focus. It’s something that has come with years of therapy and practice, but even now, as my emotions teeter too close to the edge of annoyance, frustration, and confusion, I’m finding it hard not to over-analyse my actions. Maybe I shouldn’t have taunted him earlier? Could I be making things worse for my teammates as a result of my childish behaviour?

Letty’s smooth, melodious tone drags me from my thoughts. “You guys wanna grab lunch before we head home?” she asks.

I groan, my shoulders sagging. “I can’t. I have to study for that sports policy exam I have on Monday.” If it wouldn’t absolutely kill my dad, I’d have dropped out of this program to join the premier league already. I owe himeverythingafter he helped me pick up the pieces despite his whole world crashing at the same time mine had.

“You’re going to do fine; you always manage,” Adhira assures me.

My eyes slide to her. “Only thanks to you. If it weren’t for the three of you drilling me on practice questions before every exam, I’d fail every bloody time. Whoever the wanker was that said sports management was an easy degree was dead wrong, and I’d like to hang them by their bollocks.”

“Maybe if you weren’t being drilled by?—”

Adhira gets cut off by Chelsea. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re almost graduated, and you won’t be using the degree anyway. You’re here for football, and that’s all you need to focus on outside of maintaining a passing grade. When we get home, I’llmake us lunch and we can study,” Chelsea tells me with finality in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am.” I chuckle.

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