Page 19 of Lord of the Lock

As Wales slowly advanced toward the try line and a Georgian player ripped the ball from one of our player’s arms, Nathan stood up in outrage. “But you said they couldn’t do that!”

“I said they couldn’t take the ball from someone on the ground that they’d tackled. If the player is being held up in the air, then the opposing team can rip the ball out of their hands.”

As we watched that same Georgian player ran the length of the pitch and scored a try. The Welsh home crowd groaned, but nowhere was the disappointment more apparent than behind us. I glanced back at Garrett, who was sat with a face like thunder and talking into his earpiece. “Tell them to get their fucking act together, I could play better rugby than that and I’ve been retired for years.”

“Want me to lace up my boots?” I half joked. Garrett just glared at me like I’d squatted down and shit on his shoe.

“Is Rhys playing? I don’t see him,” said Nathan.

“No, and I’ve already mentioned that to Garrett,” I muttered. Bernie was pacing behind Garrett and muttering to himself too. I had no idea what he was doing there or why he’d been so attached to Garrett recently. Bernie was Cardiff’s head physiotherapist and had nothing to do with the Wales squad.

“What wouldyoufucking do then?” Garrett asked me. I hadn’t realised he was listening in.

I hesitated before answering. He had been my head coach up until very recently, and he certainly hadn’t wanted my bloody opinion then. “…I’d be more defensive, more cautious. It might be really fucking boring to play, to keep passing down the line and hitting a brick wall. But Andy keeps trying to showboat his way past the Georgians and fucking it up for everyone else. Bring Rhys on for the attack, and bring George Reynolds on to be that defensive wall.”

Garrett studied me for a second, and I worried I was about to get the biggest bollocking of my life. But then he pressed a finger to his ear and made exactly the call I’d just suggested. Rhys was one of my best friends, but I knew he was good, and I had no idea why Garrett hadn’t started him. And George was a recent addition to the team who’d been playing away in France before Cardiff had given him an offer he couldn’t refuse. I watched as he ran on, a slower and bulkier player than most modern rugby players. But I knew he could tank a few hits.

And he did. The team played fucking beautifully with my suggestions in place. Even then, I was having trouble keeping a real eye on the game. Nathan seemed extra excited by the fact my play was working, and every now and then he’d grab my arm as Rhys broke through the ranks to score a try, or George kept hold of the ball after another hard hit from one of the Georgian players. Every twinkle in his eye, every cheer, every time Nathan raised that scarf over his head and shouted “Wales!” sent a shock through me. I was so happy to see Nathan enjoying the game.

I watched as Rhys broke through their ranks in the very last seconds of the game and scored a fantastic try, touching down right between the goalposts to make things easier for our kicker. We’d won anyway, and the crowd went wild. Nathan grabbed my arm excitedly and cheered, then leaned in. “We won!! He shouted. “You made it happen!”

And then he pulled me even closer and kissed me. It was quick, in the moment, just a mashing of our lips together in sheer excitement. But in that second the whole crowd faded away.

And then Garrett was punching me on the shoulder to pull me in for a hug and the moment was over. “Fake relationship, huh?” he whispered in my ear.

“Shut up,” I muttered back. Because there was justsomethingabout Nathan that drove me crazy. I turned back to Nathan, who blushed and grimaced up at me.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, so quiet I could barely hear him over the crowd.

“Sorry?” I asked. “Why are you sorry?”

“Y’know, the kiss, and…” he tailed off.

“Fake boyfriends, right?” I asked. “Gotta kiss sometimes. Keep up the illusion.”

“Yeah?” he asked. I gently took his face in my hands and leaned in toward him, giving him plenty of time to back out or move if he wanted to. But Nathan leaned forward into the kiss and our lips met, so gently and so fucking beautifully that I’d have written poetry about it if I was any good at spelling…or rhyming…or had ever read any poetry.

When Nathan did pull away, the blush was still there but he was smiling. “Good fake.”

“Yeah, good fake.”

His hand slipped into mine as the crowd slowly dispersed from the stadium. “Could you both stay for a minute?” asked Garrett.

“Sure,” I said. “You wanting to congratulate me for winning you a game without even setting foot on the pitch?”

“Something like that,” Garrett said. “I’m watching your coaching skills closely, Finn. Just know that.”

“Sounds fucking ominous.I am watching you closely, young Padawan. Strong in the Force you are,”I said, completely failing at my Yoda impression. Nathan laughed, but Garrett was still stony-faced.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Just keep doing well with Pandy and we’ll see if you can make the same jump in coaching as you did playing. OK?”

“OK,” I said, trying not to show any disappointment on my face for what was a very good deal. “Thank you.”

We said our goodbyes to Garrett and Bernie — who was still hovering around Garrett like they were connected with a fucking umbilical cord — and made our way out of the stadium and on to the streets. “Fancy a drink somewhere?” I asked. “Cardiff is busy on game day, but we can see if my face can get us anywhere…”

Nathan hesitated. “Would it be OK if we didn’t? Dad’s been a nightmare recently, and I worry if I get home too late he will have badgered my poor mother half to death.”

“Alright,” I said. “No worries.”

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