Page 22 of The Goat in the Bedroom
I'd never felt more alive.
“Fraser, that was textbook,” Coach Maher called out as I rolled to my feet after the tackle drill. “Show them again how to use your momentum instead of fighting it.”
I jogged back to the line, ignoring the ache in my side. This was what I lived for. The moment when everything clicked, when my body did exactly what I trained it to do, when I felt like the athlete I'd worked my whole life to become.
The LA Elite Rugby Center was nothing like the makeshift fields and borrowed facilities I'd trained on in college. Everything here was designed for excellence, the pristine pitches, the state-of-the-art recovery equipment, the coaching staff who'd played at the highest levels internationally. Being here meant I was serious about my Olympic dreams, and everyone around me was equally committed.
“Again,” Coach called. “This time, Katrina, I want you coming in harder. Fraser's not going to break.”
Katrina grinned at me from across the drill setup. She was built like a brick house with arms that could probably bench press a small car, and she'd been eyeing me since I joined the team like she was trying to figure out if I could keep up.
“You sure about that, Coach?” Katrina called back. “She looks pretty delicate to me.”
I snorted. “Try me.”
What followed was two minutes of the most beautiful violence I'd ever been part of. Katrina came at me like a freight train, but I read her approach perfectly, redirected her momentum, and took her down clean while securing the ball. We both hit the ground hard, but I popped up first with the ball tucked safely against my ribs.
“Again,” I said, offering Katrina a hand up.
This time she really brought it. So did I. By the end of the drill, we were both grass-stained and grinning, and I had a new bruise forming on my shoulder that I'd wear like a badge of honor.
“Nice work, Fraser,” Katrina said, slapping my back hard enough to rattle my teeth. “You might actually survive training camp.”
“Might?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Ask me again in six months.”
This was what I'd missed during the college off-season, training with people who understood that rugby wasn't just a sport, it was a way of being in the world. Here, my size wasn't something to apologize for or try to minimize. It was an advantage. My strength wasn't intimidating, it was exactly what the team needed. My body, which had spent so many years feeling too big, too much, too intense for civilian life, fit perfectly into this world of elite athletes.
“Team meeting,” Coach Maher called out. “Recovery and strategy session.”
We gathered in the team room, twenty women who'd earned their spots through years of dedication and natural talent. I was still getting used to being surrounded by athletes who matchedmy intensity, women who understood the particular kind of hunger that came with Olympic dreams.
“Alright, ladies,” Coach began, pulling up footage on the wall screen. “World Cup highlights. I want you to study how these teams move the ball, how they support each other, how they make decisions under pressure.”
For the next hour, we analyzed game footage with the kind of detail that made my accounting brain happy. Rugby was chess played at full speed, and I loved the strategic element as much as the physical challenge.
“Fraser,” Coach said as we were wrapping up, “stay after. I want to talk about your role.”
The rest of the team filed out, and I settled back in my chair, suddenly nervous. Individual attention could mean anything from praise to criticism to being cut from the squad.
“You’ve been a center for a long time, right?” Coach asked.
“Yes, ma'am.”
“I've been watching your interactions with the other girls on the team, and I’d like to see you take on more of a leadership position. Think like a number eight in fifteens. Your tactical awareness is excellent, and you've got the size and speed to be very effective.”
My heart jumped. Number eight was a leadership position, one of the most important spots on the field. “I'd love the opportunity to take on a role like that.”
“Good. We'll start working on it next week. And Fraser? You're settling in well with the team. Keep it up.”
I practically floated out to the parking lot. Leadership position. That meant serious Olympic potential. This was everything I'd worked for.
My phone buzzed with a text from Gryff as I was loading my gear into the car.
GRYFF
How was practice? Still have all your limbs?
