2

RICHARD's POV

RICHARD's POV

The drill was simple. Hit the pad, reset, rotate.

I hit the man holding the pad instead.

Not the pad. The man. My shoulder drove through his chest and I felt him leave the ground before he came back down hard. Legal contact. Textbook form. I stood over him for exactly one second and then walked back to the line like nothing happened.

"What the hell, O'Reilly."

His name was Marcus. Starting prop, probably used to being the biggest thing on the field. He got up slower than he wanted to and I could see it in his face. The embarrassment sitting right underneath the anger.

"Pad drill," I said. "Hit the pad."

"You hit me, not the pad."

"You were behind the pad."

He opened his mouth. I looked at him and he closed it again. Smart.

We rotated and I hit the next one just as hard.

Coach ran us through the rest of the session and I did everything asked of me. Every sprint. Every set. I was never late, never sloppy, never out of position. Whatever anyone thought of me I was not lazy. I had never been lazy a day in my life.

After the whistle Marcus found me in the middle of the field while I was still catching my breath.

"You got something to prove or what?" he said. He had his helmet off and his jaw was set. Two of his boys drifted up behind him without being obvious about it. "Because that's twice today."

"I play physical," I said. "That's not a secret."

"There's physical and there's dirty."

"I didn't break a single rule out there."

"You know what you did."

"I know I hit you clean and you didn't like it." I pulled my mouthguard out and held it loose in my hand. "That's a you problem, Marcus."

"We're on the same team here, bro," he said. "Save that energy for the opposition."

"Hopefully, they hold a pad better than you." I responded, my voice casual.

His boys shifted behind him. Marcus took a step closer and dropped his voice. "You think because Briggs vouched for you that you can come in here and do whatever you want?"

"I think Briggs vouched for me because I'm good at rugby," I said. "Which is what we're all supposed to be doing out here."

"You're not good at rugby." His jaw was tight. "You're good at hurting people. There's a difference."

I smiled at that just barely. "Is there?"

He stepped forward. I didn't step back.

The whistle cut through the air so sharp it stopped everything.

"O'Reilly." Coach's voice tore through the tension. "Walk with me."

I held Marcus's stare for one more second. Something about taunting him felt satisfying and it didn't even matter that we were on the same team. Then I turned and walked to the sideline.

Coach Briggs was a compact man in his fifties with a face that had seen everything twice and was bored by most of it. He walked with his hands in his jacket pockets and didn't say anything until we were far enough from the rest of the team.

"How are you settling in?" he said.

"Fine."

"Still commuting from your uncle's place?"

"Yeah."

He glanced at me. "You know the program offers housing. You'd have your own room in the athletic dorms. It's not a bad setup."

"I know," I said. "It's just better for everyone if I come from home."

He nodded slowly like he was filing that away. "And your uncle. He giving you any trouble?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

He looked at me for a second longer than I wanted him to. Then he let it go. That was one thing about Briggs. He knew where the lines were.

"You've got a check-in Thursday morning before the game," he said. "You know that."

"I know."

"Nine sharp. Don't be late."

"I'm never late."

He glanced at me sideways. "I know you're not." He slowed his walk. "Richard. This program took a risk on you. I took a risk on you. You understand what I'm saying when I say that?"

My jaw tightened. "Yes sir."

"I need you to keep it clean. On and off the pitch. Anything that puts your status here in jeopardy." He stopped walking. He waited until I looked at him. "Anything that sends you back to you know where. That's the end. For all of us. You understand?"

There it was.

I hated the way he said it. The careful way he didn't say the actual words, like I was something fragile that needed to be handled. I was not fragile. I knew exactly what I was and where I had been and I didn't need it dressed up in soft language.

"I understand," I said.

He searched my face for something. I gave him nothing.

"Good." He started walking again. "Thursday. Harley versus the Tigers. Andre Williams."

I said nothing.

"You know who he is?"

"I've seen the clips," I said.

"Then you know he's good."

"He's undefeated," I said. "There's a difference."

Briggs looked at me. "I need sportsmanship, Richard. Cameras are going to be on this game. People are going to be watching you specifically. I need you to give them nothing to talk about except the rugby."

I nodded.

He studied me for another second like he wasn't sure if he believed the nod.

He was right not to be sure.

We walked back toward the building and I kept my face neutral and my hands loose at my sides. But inside I was already done with this conversation. Already done with being managed and warned and handled like something that needed to be kept on a leash.

I thought about the gameplay clips Briggs had shown me earlier in the week. Andre Williams reading the field two seconds faster than everyone around him. Making cuts that shouldn't work and making them look inevitable. He didn't just play the game, he played the people in it. You could see him clocking defenders before the ball even moved, filing it away, using it three phases later. Smart. Calculated. And when contact came he absorbed it clean and came up looking like nothing had touched him. That easy confident stride. The way he looked at the camera after a win like the result was never in any doubt. Proud. Polished. Untouchable.

Thursday felt like a long time away.

"I'll keep it clean, Coach," I said.

He nodded and peeled off toward his office.

I stood at the edge of the field. The last of my teammates filtered inside. The air was cold and I could feel my heart still going from the session. I needed to wipe that smug smile off Andre Williams face if I had any chance of growing here. Good thing I knew exactly how to handle that.

If there was anything I knew how to do, it was knocking golden boys down a few pegs.