Chapter 47
Dylan
Itakeadeepbreath of the crisp morning air as I step onto the field. My teammates are already running drills, their shouts and grunts mingling with the thuds of rugby balls. I try to focus, but my mind keeps wandering back to last night.
The scrum half’s whistle pierces the noise. We line up for one of the most important drills—the scrum. As a hooker, I’m crucial to making this work. I bend down and brace myself against the opposing hooker’s shoulder, my hands wrapped around my props’ heads.
“Crouch, bind, set!” shouts the scrum half.
My mind flashes back to strong arms around me, soft lips on my neck. In my mind, all four of the men’s faces blur into one. The ball shoots into the scrum but I’m too late engaging. Our scrum creaks and shifts as their prop surges forward.
“Dylan, get it together!” shouts my teammate. “We need you solid in here!”
I grit my teeth and push back, stabilizing the scrum. But it’s too late—their scrum half has broken away with the ball. “Sorry,” I mutter, shaking thoughts of last night from my head. I have to focus. My team is relying on me. No more distractions. Rugby comes first.
The assistant coach blows the whistle, calling a timeout. She gestures for me to come over. I jog to the sidelines, bracing myself for the inevitable lecture. “What’s going on with you today, Morgan?” Coach asks, her voice stern. “You seem distracted. Your head’s not in the game.”
I open my mouth to explain, but she holds up a hand.
“Word is you’ve been spending a lot of time with the guys’ team lately. In particular, there are rumors you’re involved with several members of the men’s team.” She raises an eyebrow. “Now, I’m not here to judge how you spend your personal time, but you’re a contracted professional rugby player and we have standards, rules and protocols. Dating around isn’t why you’re here. You need to figure out your priorities and right now, or there’ll be someone waiting in the wings to immediately take your place. Do you understand?”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Is that really what people think of me?
“Sorry Coach,” I say quietly. “It won’t happen again.”
She nods curtly. “See that it doesn’t. Otherwise, you’ll be on the bench or off the team for good.”
As we return to the scrum drills, I catch the disappointed looks from my teammates. Their doubt stings more than the coach’s words ever could.
Great. Now I’m the team distraction. This isn’t who I am. I need to sort this out quickly.
I set my jaw with determination. No more distractions. For the rest of practice, rugby is my sole focus. It’s time to show them what I’m really made of.
I’ll figure out the guy situation later, because unlike rugby, that can wait.
I throw myself into the rest of practice with renewed intensity. During tackling drills, I drive into opponents with focused aggression, using perfect form to take them down. When it’s my turn to be tackled, I twist and evade, refusing to go down easily.
In a one-on-one drill, I’m matched against Torres “Tornado” Helmswood, one of our biggest forwards. She charges toward me, her massive arms outstretched. At the last second, I feint left then dart right, leaving her grasping at air. Before she can recover, I tackle her around the thighs, driving her to the ground.
“Nice hit, Morgan!” Tornado laughs as she gets up. “Glad to have you back.”
I grin, exhilarated. This is where I belong—on the field, giving it my all. No more distractions.
When practice ends, the others head to the locker rooms, chatting and joking around. I linger on the field, waiting for the coach.
“Hey Coach, got a minute?” I ask.
She turns, eyebrows raised.
“I just wanted to apologize for today,” I say sincerely. “I let personal stuff get in the way of rugby. It was unprofessional and it won’t happen again.”
Coach regards me for a moment, then nods. “Apology accepted. Just remember why you’re here, Morgan. You’ve got real talent—don’t waste it over dicks. Trust me, I’ve been there, and it doesn’t end well.”
I thank her and head to the showers, feeling motivated. I’m ready to focus completely on rugby again. No more drama, no more distractions. It’s time to show everyone—including myself—what I can really achieve.
After my talk with the coach, I decide to stay late and work on my scrum technique. A few teammates stick around to help.
We set up and I take my usual position as hooker. As the scrum half feeds the ball in, I drive forward with all my might, keeping my bind tight. We hold the scrum steady, no collapsing this time.