Page 38 of The Fullback
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hunter
There were veryfew things I loathed about playing rugby, but getting weighed and measured was the worst by far.
Standing on scales, having my skinfolds pinched with callipers, and being measured in every single way possible was enough to bring me out in a cold sweat and send my brain spiralling.
I knew it was important because it allowed the coaching team and our nutritionists to optimise our performance and adjust our training and dietary plans to help us succeed. And if I wanted to keep playing professional rugby, then it was something I had to deal with three or four times a year. But that didn’t mean I wanted to go through it.
Once upon a time, I’d practically starved for two or three days beforehand—from after our last match until the tests—and then poured over the results until I went dizzy, overanalysing everything and finding faults with as many things as possible before throwing myself at the gym.
I probably still would if I was allowed to see the results.
I was fifteen when I’d first really started to notice how much taller I was than everyone else and that I wasn’t as muscular. At the time, I was told I needed to eat more, eat certain things, exercise more, gain more muscle, and force my developing body to conform to the standards set by my coaches.
Back then, I thought it was what I needed to do, but in hindsight that was the start of my descent into orthorexia and an exercise obsession. It was easy to disguise as dedication, and I was praised for my work ethic and appearance. But all that did was feed the monster living in my brain.
It went unnoticed for years, and all the while I obsessively counted calories, tracking macros and micronutrients until my head spun, and spent hours in the gym until I was two seconds away from collapsing. On some level I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t stop myself. Because I’d only ever been praised for my fixation. And if my coaches were telling me it was good, then how could it ever be bad?
The only reason I’d gotten help was because of Bailey.
We’d been friends for a while then, both young, both hungry for a professional career, both willing to do anything. But Bailey had realised my behaviour went beyond the realms of healthy and had encouraged me to get help.
It hadn’t been easy, and I’d fought him at first, arguing there was nothing wrong. But, in hindsight, I was so relieved he’d pushed as much as he had, planting his feet against the storm of my anger and fear and waiting for me to wear myself out. Until I was finally ready to listen.
After that, I’d clung to him for dear life, and he’d been my light in the dark, offering me support when I was drowning in broad daylight, invisible to everyone else. He’d seen my pain and my struggle, and he hadn’t abandoned me when I’d tried to push him away.
I owed him everything. And I doubted I’d ever truly be able to put into words what his actions meant to me. Whathemeant.
When everything had come to light, it had been decided by Clive, the other people who knew about my history, and me that I wasn’t allowed to see anything and any discussions about changes were done with Wayne, the club’s sports psychologist, present. I also didn’t know when the testing was going to be done, because I knew if it was in my calendar, I’d fixate on it.
I might be in recovery, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have to fight against my brain and the casual suggestions that threatened to consume me. And on days like these, they were louder than ever.
“Okay, Hunter? How’re you doing?” Stevie asked. He was the strength and conditioning coach responsible for doing all of this, and a more understanding person I couldn’t have asked for.
“Fine,” I said tightly, keeping my eyes fixed on the far side of the gym wall and resisting the urge to look down at the iPad in Stevie’s hand.
“Are you going to be honest with me?”
“Not if I don’t have to be.”
“Sorry, mate, I need you to be honest, please. Do you need me to get someone?”
I shook my head. “No, I’ll be fine. Just want to get it all over.”
“Totally understandable, we’re nearly there.” He smiled at me encouragingly. “Did you do anything nice on Sunday?”
He was trying to distract me, and I appreciated his efforts. “Not really,” I said, my mind suddenly wandering back to the afternoon. When Aiden had stopped by to see us on his way back to Leicester. It was only meant to be a quick visit, but the three of us still ended up in bed, covered in sweat and cum. A tiny smile curled across my lips as the memory slowly enveloped me.
“A friend dropped in to visit me and Bailey,” I said casually. Then, before he could start asking questions, I added, “And I started playingHades II.”
“Yeah? Is that good? I enjoyed the first one. Hoping I’ll get time to play it soon, although Mia recently started crawling, so I doubt it.”
I chuckled, remembering all the dads in the locker room talking about when their kids had started becoming mobile. “Yeah, I really like it. It’s similar enough to the first one that it feels familiar, but it’s really fresh too. A few new gods, new boons, new dungeons, new weapons—all that cool stuff. And the main character is cool as fuck!”
“The design in the first one was awesome. I’m gonna have to find a way to play it, even if I’m doing runs at, like, eleven when everyone’s in bed. My girlfriend really enjoyed the first one too, so she’d probably be pissed if I started playing it without her.” He smiled fondly as he tapped something onto the iPad. “I’ll get two copies. She’ll probably beat it before me, same as last time.”
“Bailey likes yelling at the screen while I play,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “I think he thinks he’s being helpful.” He’d watched me last night too, waving at the TV whenever things appeared and telling me which doors he thought I should take when there were options. “He always tells me to pick Aphrodite’s boons. Or Ares’s.”
