Page 51 of Pitch Prince

Other than the sound of the rain splashing into puddles at our feet, the silence in the stadium was intense. And then there was one clap from somewhere high in the stands. Seconds later came another, then another, quicker and quicker until I could hear the whole stadium in applause. Callum gave a cheery wave as I stood stock still. Who was this man so confident in his sexuality and where had he come from?

“I’ll meet you at the flat,” he said, and then he was striding away through the rain toward the Edinburgh dugout until he was just a shadow in the lights. All that kept me from realising that it wasn’t a dream was the taste of him on my lips.

There was a clap on my back and I looked up at George, who was stood with a wide grin on his face. I didn’t know what the kiss from Callum had really meant, but I knew that it had meant a seismic shift in everything we were.

25

Epilogue

Callum

The crowd was roaring at Murrayfield Stadium, and for once I wasn’t on the pitch to play or to help newer players understand the atmosphere and plays. I was here to talk about rugby. The build-up in the stadium was electric.

My fellow pundit, Gavin, an ex-Wales player, had made me feel right at home in the stands with a mic as we spoke to Annie, the BBC’s foremost rugby presenter.

“So, boys, who are you hoping is going to win today?” she asked.

“Wales, obviously,” said Gavin. “Though with how Scotland are playing they’ve got their work cut out for them.”

“And you, Callum? I imagine the decision is going to be made rather more difficult by your association with a certain Welsh player…” Annie’s words were laced with double meanings, but I’d known the question was going to come up.

“My old, patriotic heart is with Scotland. But of course I hope Rhys plays well for Wales,” I said. “He’s going to be Scotland’s biggest threat as they just don’t have anyone as fast as him.”

“Not showing any bias there?” she asked.

“Come on,” replied Gavin. “He’s right. No player can match Rhys Prince for speed. He’s like a whippet.”

“Thank you, that’s all we have time for. Please join us for more coverage at half-time.” Annie dismissed us both with a wave of her hand and the production team took our microphones.

“Thanks for that,” I said. “I knew the question as coming but I didn’t know she’d push it.”

“No worries,” said Gavin. We both walked down toward the seats that had been reserved for us in amongst the players’ families and friends. “You were right. But then I guess you’d know all about how fast Rhys Prince is.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and I cuffed him on the arm. Gavin was old-school Welsh rugby - tough, no-nonsense and nothing was off limits. I was just glad he hadn’t said it in front of the cameras.

I took a seat between Finn Roberts and my kids. “They were great, no trouble at all,” said Finn. I wouldn’t have trusted him before but something seemed to have changed in him. He seemed more put-together than I’d ever known him but still hadn’t started playing for Cardiff or Wales again.

“Finn let me have a sip of his beer!” Logan said with a smile, dispelling any notion I had of Finn as a responsible adult. I looked at him with my bestI am a Dadface and he just laughed.

“Tell me you weren’t drinking beers in the park by thirteen,” Finn said.

“He’s eleven!” I countered.

“Start ‘em early, that’s what I always say,” he grinned.

“Idiot.”

“Can I have a beer, Dad? Finn just saidyouwere drinking at thirteen,” Olivia asked slyly.

“Behave and you can have a sip of shandy.At home.” I added as Finn went to pass his drink over to my thirteen year old daughter. He grinned sheepishly.

Behind us, Garrett Gray and Wesley Peterson were gossiping like two old women. Wesley had announced his retirement not long after me, and was taking Wales through this one last Six Nations tournament. Garrett was lined up as his replacement, being promoted from head Coach of Cardiff’s club team to Wales’ regional team. Finn kept glancing over his shoulder at Garrett. For some reason Bernie, Cardiff’s physio, was here too, pacing behind Garrett and muttering to himself.

The whistle blew, and the game started. And I only had eyes for one man on that team.

Rhys played like a whirlwind. He said he had always looked up to me. Well now, in my retirement, I could say I looked up to him. He was a legend of the British game already. I wanted people to forget I had ever played, wanted every eye in the stadium just on him. If his bright light made the rest of us look dim in comparison, then he deserved it.

“Is Uncle Rhys staying over tonight?” Logan asked.

“I don’t know how many times, Logan. He’s not your uncle. He’s Daddy’s boyfriend.”

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