Page 50 of Pitch Prince

The rain really was pouring down, the mid-February weather really letting loose on Cardiff. It was my last game before I would head back to the hotel in Glamorgan for the Wales training camp for my second Six Nations. It was time to show these Scots what they would be facing from me on the international stage.

My style of rugby was hard to transfer to the weather we were playing in. I was a fast runner and the ground was slippery, making it hard to swerve and dodge. I had to play more confrontational rugby, and trust that the Goliaths around me were going to be even more screwed up by the slipperiness of the pitch. As soon as I had the ball I charged headstrong into the Edinburgh defensive line, offloading to our number ten, who ran and scored our first try. As much as I loved to bask in the glory of a try, I was there to play for the team.

It was strange playing against Edinburgh without Callum there. As our kicker lined himself up for a two-point conversion I shook my head. I had spent the best part of three months moping over Callum. I still wasn’t over him, but I sure as hell could put him out of my mind for one game.

The rain was causing puddles on the pitch, and with the floodlights on the ground I could hardly even see the crowds. They were just a wall of sound whenever we got close to the touchline.

The game felt long and desperate as the rain blinded us, covered us in mud and gunk with every try and made every push for a try feel more like a wrestling match with an octopus than a rugby game. When the whistle finally blew for half-time, we were one conversion — just two points — ahead of Edinburgh Thistle. We trooped off into the relative warmth of the changing rooms.

“Come on, boys! This is our home ground! Our weather!” Garrett shouted into the room as many of us changed into dry kits. It felt like I was at risk of hypothermia as I shivered in my new slightly damp kit, boxers still soaked and plastered to my thighs. I rubbed at most of the mud with a towel knowing I was probably making the problem worse.

I risked a quick check of my phone as Garrett carried on with the pep talk.

Finn: You’re playing amazing - glad I brought my anorak, though, the stadium is leaky as fuck. Can’t believe you’re playing against Callum’s team with him in the dugout!

What? Callum in the stands?I put my phone back in my bag, swallowing my heart as it threatened to erupt from my mouth. Why was he watching? He wasn’t part of the team, not even on the coaching staff as far as I was aware from my late-night scrolling to find out what he was up to.

I took a swig of an energy drink before we ran out to still my shaking hands. Callum or no Callum, I was here to beat Edinburgh Thistle. For anyone else, having their ex in the stands should be a motivation to do better. I knew I had to pummel their side now, no mercy. No weakness. I would show him how well I was doing, and then maybe — and it broke my heart to even think about it — we could move on. Maybe I could find someone else who made me feel that way.

You fool. I knew I wouldn’t. Callum was something special.

The ball was kicked high into the air at the ref’s whistle and despite positioning myself right under it I fumbled it and knocked it forward into one of the opposing players’ way. He took it and barged right through our defensive line, scoring a try for Edinburgh.

As their kicker lined himself up with the ball I sidled over towards the dugout. Through the rain and brightness of the floodlights the figures inside resolved themselves into the recognisable shapes of people. Edinburgh’s eight substitute players, some of the coaching staff…and Callum. Watching me intently with big blue eyes, and despite his position in his old team’s dugout he was still wearing that stupid Cardiff scarf under his coat.

He nodded at me with a small smile on his face, and I immediately ran away.Coward. But I couldn’t face him now. I needed to play, and make up for my stupid mistake. And I would decide on how best - or if, to confront Callum later.

We lined ourselves up to start again, and our kicker started the game off. This time, I rushed toward the Edinburgh players and managed to tackle their player as soon as he had the ball. He offloaded the ball to his teammate but I’d already stalled their momentum by rushing them. Further down the line, George ripped the ball from one of their players and ran to score a try. When our player missed the following conversion, we were at equal scores.

“Come on boys!” I shouted down the line as Edinburgh’s kicker started us off. The clock was ticking down slowly toward the eighty minute mark and I was determined that we eke out a win.

The ball was in our hands straight away, but it was a slow and horrible push to the line through the mud and the rain. As our players wrestled further down the line with their Scottish opposition, obscured by rain and drowning in mud, some instinct told me to hold back. To keep myself separate from the pack.

And then the ball was loose from the maul and sailing towards me. I plucked it from the air and ran towards the wide open gap in Edinburgh’s defence. Somehow, the slippery mud and grass worked to my advantage as I dodged one Edinburgh’s player’s grabbing hands as another slipped off my slick arms like I was covered in oil. The try line was in sight, and I could hear the splashing of feet so close behind me as I dived with the ball into the muddy mess, placing the ball just over the line. The ref’s whistle blew and I was swept up into the team’s huddle before I could even stand by myself. The crowd was screaming my name and singing along to Tom Jones.

It didn’t matter if we made the kick now, with seventy-nine minutes on the clock we were guaranteed the win. As the time ticked past eighty minutes and the kicker finally took his kick, sailing it over the crossbar, the crowd erupted into something crazy. The rain hadn’t dampened their spirits and with a win under our belt it wasn’t bothering us either. We all celebrated for a minute, one muddy and gross mass of men, before heading over to the opposition team. I shook hands with each of their players in turn as their bench of substitutes and coaching staff emerged into the rain to shake our hands too.

I watched that dugout bench as Callum stood up and brushed his hands off before stepping out into the pouring rain. He didn’t shake hands with any other player, just headed straight for me. His features came into sharp focus under the bright white floodlights as the rain poured down on each of us. His skin looked stark white in the light and the rain had plastered his orange hair onto his face. He had a smattering of stubble, orange with little points of grey, and his eyes looked the brightest blue I had ever seen them. He smiled even as I stood still and let him approach.

“Hey, you,” he mouthed. He took my hand and shook it, but held it there for a moment longer.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him. I could sense the whole crowd going quiet as we stood in silence.

“I want you,” he said, and I felt my heart constrict.I can’t do this again, I thought.I cannot keep up this ridiculous charade with a man who won’t even leave the closet door slightly ajar.

I moved to pull away, but his hand’s grip was firm on mine. “Let me go,” I said, my words laced with the double meaning.

“I will,” he said, “if you’re willing to listen for a second. I want you…and I don’t care who knows.”

For just a second I let myself hope. Let myself think that he might stick to that promise. But he had left before, hadn’t he? “Prove it.”

“How?” he asked.

“You…you told me your dream, the one you couldn’t have. You wanted to kiss me on the rugby pitch. You told me you wished that we could be that open about our relationship. But you couldn’t. Prove to me that you want to be with me.”

Callum leaned back for a second, his hand dropped mine, and I was vindicated even as my heart tore into tiny little pieces. But then that same hand looped round my waist and pulled me closer. “Is that what you want?” he asked.

“Yes,” I whispered, and then his lips were on mine in front of seven thousand spectators. His mouth parted mine as we kissed, rain making our face set and slippery. And just for a second I didn’t care. And then I remembered where we were. The crowd was silent as I pulled away from Callum but his hand stayed at my waist.

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