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The email had arrived earlier that afternoon. DJ had pointed out a term in Liam’s contract, one he’d hoped would be ignored. No such luck. There was no room for argument in the man’s email. Liam knew it was for his own good, but he wasn’t happy about it. Liam had two options—re-enrol in his degree or find something else to pursue outside of football. If he didn’t, he’d be benched.
He wanted his business degree, but actually reactivating his enrolment was like asking him to climb Mount Everest. He knew that climbing a mountain began with a first step, but taking that leap—even the barest of shuffles forward—made his heart beat faster and his palms sweat. Liam hated failing at anything, and this degree seemed to be designed specifically to break him. He was good at words. Reading and writing were all good. He could spin a story like the best of their media people. But numbers? They were a foreign language swimming on the page and blurring together into something that was a senseless mess. He’d already flunked his introductory statistics class, so a repeat was necessary. Assuming he passed it the second time around, his reward would be the advanced statistics class.
It was times like this that he wished rugby was more like pro-football in the States—getting his degree out of the way while he played university level football sounded so much better than the path he and the other rugby players took. It was a grassroots community sport relying on volunteer coaches and fundraising. He was lucky—he’d been picked up by a feeder club early on. But like everyone on those teams, he needed something else besides football—something to pay the bills.
He'd still been in high school when he was playing for the feeder club, and then he’d been drafted to the pro-league after he’d graduated. Players were paid well as pros, but injuries, poor performance, bad media coverage, or anything similar could see a player get shunted back down to the reserve level. It happened all the time. Contracts were only renewed if the player was worth it. Caps on the maximum amount a team could spend on player salaries kept the competition between the least and most popular clubs as close to par as possible, but it also meant teams had to pull their limited purse strings tight to get the best outcomes. His and every other players’ reality was that they needed a backup for after their playing career ended—a qualification, a business, whatever—because that career could be short. So for the younger players like him, the teams often wrote a condition into their contract requiring them to study or do an apprenticeship to give them a chance at a life once they were no longer playing.
Liam supposed he could get a security licence or maybe even do a personal training course to get them off his back, but he hadn’t wanted to settle. He had dreams of what he wanted life after playing to look like, and those plans involved a business degree. He wanted to be a player agent, to negotiate deals, look after media engagement and strategy, PR, and marketing after he’d retired. But to get the degree, to get the career, he had to climb Mt Statistics.
“S’pose I just need to suck it up,” he muttered, eyeing the university app that still taunted him every time he unlocked his phone. He was such a masochist.
Before he could rethink things, he opened it, reactivated his enrolment, and sent an email to his advisor. With any luck, he’d be starting classes in a few weeks.
Eight
Liam
Three months later - September
L
iam grabbed a hold of the towel still around his neck and leaned his head against the wall of his cubbyhole in the locker room. He banged it, the sound a dull thud in the nearly empty room. The team had gone into the game with a string of wins, the longest streak in the club’s history. But they’d choked when it counted.
He’dchoked.
A hand clamped on Liam’s shoulder and squeezed. “You did everything you could, mate. Don’t beat yourself up. This shit happens,” Daz, the team captain, said. He was a good bloke and an even better captain. He knew just what to say, but the truth was undeniable. It was right there in front of them, the final score the written proof.
If he hadn’t hesitated, if he hadn’t flicked his gaze sideways to see how much space he had to move, they would have won. He would have carried that football over the try line and they would have been five points up, rather than one down. He’d snatched defeat from the hands of victory. Letting the team down killed him. One metre—three feet—was all that separated them from their season ending, and then progressing into the final rounds. And he’d fucked it up.
Daz’s footsteps faded, leaving the room silent. Nearly everyone would be on the bus already. If he hung around long enough, they’d leave him there and he could make his own way back to the hotel. It would be a relief not to have to face them, but it would only be delaying the inevitable. The team would eat together that night, a buffet of some sort in the function room; they always hired out when they went to Parramatta for their games. Liam didn’t have an excuse for flaking on them, and even if he did, the thought of being alone was worse.
“Get a move on, Masters,” Coach called out. “We’re waiting on you.”
“Go on without me. I’ll find my way back to the hotel.” His voice sounded thin, like the wall holding back the tide of emotions was about to crumble. He blew out a breath and blinked, willing away the tears that were ready to engulf him.
Footsteps came closer, Coach’s rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the polished concrete. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, Masters, but you did good out there. This loss is not on your shoulders. It was the fifth tackle, and the other team were just in the right place at the right time. The way you ran for that ball was inspiring. The whole stadium saw how much you wanted it. But no matter how close to the line you were, five guys landing on you is gonna stop you in your tracks.”
He turned to face the man who he respected probably above any other. He’d been one of the football greats in his time, and was an even better coach. He deserved the truth. “I hesitated. I looked to see where they were instead of diving for the line. I lost us that game, and no matter which way you sugar-coat it, it’ll always be on my shoulders.”
“So, you’re the only person on that field, hey?” He raised a brow and passed the ever-present football from hand to hand. Gripping the ball, he raised it and pointed his finger at Liam, staring him down. “Lock could have passed in the other direction. Hayes was open. More open than you. Fuimaono was just behind you and closer to Lock. If he’d run half as fast as you, he would have intercepted the ball and those defenders would have had to pivot and stop him. But he didn’t. Neither did Lock.”
Coach spread his arms and tilted his head as if waiting for Liam to acknowledge his words. But he couldn’t. The fact was that his teammates had relied on him to get the ball over the line and he’d failed. Liam dropped his gaze and shook his head, and Coach passed the ball to his other hand again and nudged Liam with his foot.
“The decisions your teammates made have as great an impact on the outcome of the game as your decision to catch the ball and try to make the play. You just happened to be the unlucky bugger who had possession on the buzzer. From my vantage point, you got there first, you caught that ball, and you didn’t slow down. I’m proud as hell of the effort that you’ve put in this season. Now come on, get dressed and let’s go get a feed.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He pulled on the suit jacket their sponsors required them to wear to and from games, and trudged along the deserted hallways to the player entrance. The mood in the bus was subdued and as Liam slipped into the empty seat just behind Coach, Rogers ruffled his hair. He ducked out of the way and brushed him off, not in the mood to fuck around.
Rogers laughed and teased, “Aw, don’t be like that, Masters.” He was one of the team veterans and probably only had a year or two left before his retirement, but he was the biggest doofus out of all of them. How his wife managed to keep him and their seven children in line he would never know. “You did good, bud. I know it feels like it’s your fault but not one of us think that.”
His phone vibrated and the bottom fell out of his gut. He knew who it would be before he even saw the caller’s name. It wasn’t only the team he’d let down, but everyone else too. His father, no doubt, would be reminding him of that.
Liam slipped it out of his jacket pocket, tossing up whether to ignore it or deal now. They’d only keep calling if he didn’t. But the relief that hit him almost knocked him sideways. It wasn’t his father. He huffed out a shaky laugh and swiped to answer.
“Those bastards,” Lij yelled through the phone before he’d even had a chance to speak. “It was pure-arsed luck that got them the win.”
The beginnings of a tentative smile curled Liam’s lip upward. “Hello to you too, Lij. I suppose that means you caught the game.”
“When do I not catch the game? Dude, you were on fire.”
