Page 1 of Red Card
CHAPTER 1
Cillian
Welcome to Prescott University,asshole.” The bloke wearing a Prescott Rugby Football Club jumper snickers, checking my shoulder roughly as he walks past me. I recognize him from the team roster I memorized on the plane ride from London.
I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome from my new teammates. I knew better. I’d learned early on in life to set the bar low and that way you’ll never be disappointed. And judging from the interactions I’d had so far, these wankers clearly don’t want me here almost as much as I don’t want to be here. Pretty fucking unfortunate for us all since we’re going to be playing together for the next two years whether any of us like it or not.
“Yeah? Thanks for that. There a problem you want to discuss, mate?” I say, turning to face him. “Wanna have a talk about it?”
The laughter from his friends standing beside him dies down before he whips around. “Yeah,mate, let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about how you’re the fuckingcharitycase that walked on to thisteam while everyone else earned a spot because no one else would take your fucked-up ass.”
“Seems like you’rethreatenedor something. Worried I’ll take the spot your mummy bought for you?” I smirk tauntingly and step forward, now toe to toe with the arsehole who’s running his mouth.
Even though I know this is exactly what this wanker wants—to rile me up and make me react, to get me off the team before I even have a chance to prove what I’m capable of—hot tendrils of anger lash through my body, my temper rising by the second. My hands fist at my sides as I try to tamp it down. Lock it away. Stay in control of the situation so I can stay in control of myfuture.
Before he can respond, the door to the athletic building flies open and a tall, burly man with salt-and-pepper hair busts through.
“Cairney… my office.Now.You’re late,” he spits out before turning and disappearing back inside the building.
Goddamn it. Of course, my new coach would see this shit.
Less than twenty-four hours in this shithole, and I’m already regretting stepping foot on campus.
“Toss off,” I mutter, my shoulder hitting his roughly as I brush past him toward my new coach’s office.
I can’t afford to start off on the wrong foot with Brody St. James. I can’t afford any missteps, which means I can’t let this happen again.
Not when my old coach, Coach Thomas, pulled so many strings to make this happen. Not when my shot in America is riding on me being a model player and staying the fuck out of trouble. If I don’t, I’ll be on a one-way ticket back to London, and mylast chance at playing rugby professionally is gone. I can kiss my dream of playing professional rugby goodbye. Forever.
No more chances.
Simple as that. It’s the same thing I’ve been repeating to myself over and over since I stepped off the plane. I’ve run out of chances, and playing at Prescott is a last-ditch effort to hold on to my rugby career.
I can’t fuck this up. I won’t. If not for myself then for Aisling and her future. My sister’s all I have left, and I can’t let her down.
All of this is in my hands. My responsibility.
The doors of the athletic building are painted a deep, rich burgundy, and the heavy wood creaks when I swing it open to step inside. It doesn’t take me long to find the coach’s office at the end of the trophy-lined hallway, with a bronze plaque outside the door inscribed with the nameBRODY ST. JAMES.
My knuckles rap against the heavy wooden door twice before the voice on the other side calls me in. When I step inside, my new coach is sitting behind a large mahogany desk with a tight scowl on this face. I’ll admit, he’s pretty fucking intimidating.
Or maybe that’s simply because this is the man who holds the strings to my future in his hands. Either way, it’s a feeling I’m not accustomed to experiencing. I’m the player who the sports reports have deemed intimidating because of my aggression on and off the pitch.
And now… the tables have turned.
“Coach.” I walk to the front of his desk and extend my hand. He looks down at it for a moment, his eyes dragging over the dark ink on the top that trails up and disappears into the sleeve of my jumper, before shaking it. “I’m sorry about that out ther—”
He drops my hand, cutting me off. “Sit. I’ve got ten minutes before practice starts.”
Without hesitating, I drop down into the worn leather armchair across from him.
Coach leans forward and rests his forearms on the desk. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m particularly happy to have you here. I’m not going to bullshit for the sake of feelings. It’s not how I run my program. Stay long enough and you’ll see that. You messed up in London, and you’re here because I owed a favor.Youare now that favor, Cairney.”
I grit my teeth together so hard that a deep ache forms in the muscle of my jaw. The old Cillian, the one who fucked up and landed us here in the first place, would’ve told him to fuck off and walked out of his office without a backward glance. Maybe thrown out a few more choice words. But I can’t be that guy anymore. Or at least I’m trying not to be.
The guy who acts before he thinks. Who lets his temper, and grief, control him.
I’ve just got to keep it together, put my head down, and focus until I graduate and get the hell out of here. Until I can get back to London and play rugby. Really start my life.
