We huddle for a few moments in our little group of six and formulate strategies. Everyone has a turn to tender their ideas, yet Eggo hangs back, barely contributing. Eksteen’s in the middle of the pitch with his notepad in his hand, watching.
Always fucking watching.
“We’ve got five seconds to decide what play we’re doing,” I say to the rest of my team of bib wearers, but I’m mainly speaking to Eggo.
I throw another glance over my shoulder to check for Eksteen, and he’s right there, as ever, sucking his teeth like he’s been eating corn on the cob.
My future co-captain’s not forthcoming with an answer, so I jab him in the hip with my thumbnail.
“Ahh, fuck. Um, let’s try blindside decoy?” he suggests.
We nod our agreement and line up again.
Darby has the ball to start, and as we planned, he passes to Abs, but Gadget’s on Team No Bibs, and in real time I see him figure out what our next move will be. He’s already calling on Snatch to reposition.
Eggo hasn’t seen what I’ve seen. “Abs, on this side!”
But I’m in the perfect position to take a switch.
“Here!” I yell.
Harry hops from his left foot to his right and whips his head round, and time slows. His eyes flick to Eggo, then to me. I’m closing in on the opposition, and a beautiful gap opens between Gadget and Snatch, but neither Abs nor Eggo sees it.
“Abs!” Eggo yells.
“No, Abs, switch!”
He’s panicking. His eyes are wide. Instead of throwing it to either of us, he clutches it tighter to his chest, turns, and runs, but he’s met with Gadget’s adamantine six-five form, and crashes unswervingly into him.
Abs’s temple kisses Gadget’s squared shoulder, and his head snaps backwards. Less than a second later, he’s on the ground cradling his skull.
A whistle blows.
“What the fuck was that?!” Eksteen shouts, jogging over. “This is supposed to be a non-contact drill.” He drops to the turf and puts his arm over Abs. A medic runs over.
“I’m okay,” Abs says, but even he sounds shocked.
“Take him off for an HIA,” Eksteen says to the medic.
“I’m fine, though.” But Abs is ushered off. As he goes, he glares at me.
He knows this was all my fault. I should have just let the play run as we’d agreed, but yet again I let my stupid overthinking brain get in the way, and now my friend might be injured.
“What happened?” Eksteen says, his hands on his hips. “We’re practicing passing, not giving each other fucking concussions.”
I open my mouth to tell him how it was all my fault, that we’d planned to run things a certain way but I’d tried to change it at the last second and confused him. Over Coach’s shoulder, I catch Eggo shaking his head and mouthing, “No.” I snap my jaw shut.
“Get your shit together, boys.” He blows the whistle. “Right, lads, come in tight.”
The other groups of guys jog over.
“Okay, we’ll have a ten-minute break, and we’ll move to scrums,” Eksteen says. He looks Eggo and me up and down, then puffs out the world’s longest sigh.
“We fucked that up,” Eggo says, as we run to the side to grab our drinks.
“Yeah, we did. Shit.”
Chapter 2
