Page 3 of Thunderstruck
I blink, slammed back to reality by the irritated voice of my teammate, Gator. He’s scowling at me as the noise of the crowd rises around us. It’s nowhere near as frenetic as a hockey arena would be, given we’re outside and the LA Thunder are one of three Major League Rugby teams in Southern California. Rugby is a growing sport in the US, but it doesn’t get the same attention as a bunch of dudes with sticks and a puck.
Those guys get the crowds and the girls, apparently. That’s what all of Sage’s favorite books would indicate, something she never failed to tell me whenever she read a new one.
“Don’t call me Rihanna,” I growl, as angry with Gator as I am with myself for getting hung up on my ex.Again. I swallow my frustrationand shake out my arms as we move back into play. We paused for an injury on the Jackals’ side, which gave me too much time to think. Praise the heavens we’re gathering up for a scrum to resume play and I can shift my focus back to the match against Dallas’s MLR team. We’re only down by five, and there’s enough time on the clock for us to get a try if we keep possession of the ball. If one of my teammates can get the ball over the line, I can attempt to get a kick for two extra conversion points.
I could use a good kick to something.
This is not a hockey romance. If it was, I could get into a fight in the middle of this game and be praised for it rather than penalized. I’m not a violent person, but Sage’s unexpected appearance at my door last night threw me.
I knew things were over between us the night she broke up with me over the phone.
Why would she come all the way to California just to remind me?
Gator tucks his arm around the hooker, Tink, as they get set up in the huddle. “You don’t want me to call you Rihanna, then stop acting like a diva,” he snaps and ducks down, disappearing into the scrum.
I roll the ball into the scrum as both sides fight for forward movement, and it ends up kicked back to me. I grab it, quickly assessing the Jackals’ defense, and toss it behind me to the fly-half, Moxie, who immediately hands it off to one of the centers, who makes a break for it. He goes down halfway to the goal, thanks to two Dallas players, but I’m quick to grab the ball and toss it to the outside center, who throws it back to our fastest wing, Bean.
Bean barely avoids a tackle and dives for the try-zone, planting the ball on the grass with triumph.
Thank goodness. Though I feel the pressure building as I get set up to kick the conversion, my determination rises right along with it. After last night, I really need a win.
Though we’re farther from the center of the field than I’d like, I settle the ball just how I’d like it. I take a breath, tuning out the sounds of the crowd, and then I kick, breathing a sigh of relief when the ball sails through the posts only moments before the clock runs out.
The rest of my team swarm the pitch in celebration, leaving me on the edge, and the small pleasure I feel for our win is only momentary. Seems like a lot of things are momentary lately, and the sinking pit in my gut as I join the rest of the Thunder in the locker room feels like a bad sign.
I’m blaming it all on Sage, but that excuse is only going to last for so long. This is ameproblem. One I don’t know how to fix. I haven’t been the same since the phone call that ended our four-year relationship, and I feel like I’m slowly sinking deeper and deeper every time I try to pull myself out of the dark pit she threw me into.
“Drinks?” Moxie, our fly-half and team captain, sits himself down on the bench next to me once I’m showered and dressed. I was working up the courage to go back home to that stupid wedding announcement, but I waited too long if he thinks I might actually go out with the guys tonight.
I huff a laugh. “No thanks.”
Moxie kicks his legs out, crossing one foot over the other as he reclines against the wall behind him. The rest of the team are goofing off as they slowly filter out of the locker room, all of them ignoring my corner like they always do. I may have earned the game-winning points, but that doesn’t change their opinions of me. At this point, I don’t think anything will.
“This is why none of them like you,” Moxie says.
“I don’t play to be liked.” I wasn’t the team’s favorite person to begin with, coming from the NFL—football is an inferior sport in their opinion—but this whole thing with Sage has set me back when it comes to being accepted by the Thunder. I was starting to find my place back in October, but the last seven months have…sucked.I’vesucked. I don’tblame them for hating me. “As long as I play well,” I mutter, “it shouldn’t matter what they think of me.”
I’m pretty sure my skills on the pitch are the only reason I’m still here. If Moxie ever gets better at distance kicks than me, I’m done for.
Chuckling, Moxie rolls his eyes and pats me on the shoulder. “I know this league is still new, but some of these guys are shooting for the national team. The Olympics. International contracts. They need wins to do that, and we play better when we’re bonded as a team.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Did they make you captain because you’re so motivational, or does that part come with the gig?”
“Chicken and egg, my friend. Come out for a beer.”
I shake my head. It’s as much because I generally don’t drink and because I know I won’t be good company. My surly mood will only make the rapport worse; I don’t have the energy to swallow my teammates’ insults, and I’m likely to retaliate. “Next time.”
Moxie scoffs but heads out, calling back, “You say that every time, Rihanna.”
I really need to kill that nickname.
My phone rings when I finally head out to catch a ride, and the tightness in my chest eases when I see that it’s Freya. If someone had told me half a decade ago that I would become close friends with a literal princess, I would have laughed. Or maybe not. At the time, I was pretty much on top of the world, so I might have thought a friendship like that was inevitable. But I’m glad we’re friends, inevitable or not.
I could use her big sister energy right now.
I swipe the answer button as I start walking down the sidewalk. I’ll walk off my remaining adrenaline from the match until the conversation is over and I can snag a ride through my app. “Hey, Peach, it’s early.” It’s early morning in Candora, her island home.
Freya clucks her tongue. “For you it is late, Cole. I expected you to be home, but you are not.”
