Page 25 of Ruck Me Harder

One thing’s for certain; if the last few weeks have taught me anything, it’s that no matter where I go, I can’t escape him. Between his sister being on my team, his brother being teammates with all my friends’ boyfriends, and both of us being professional athletes, we’re surely going to keep running into each other, whether we like it or not.

eleven

. . .

Tony

“This is dumb,” I tell Brody, who grins at me.

“You’re dumb,” he taunts.

Flipping him off, I focus my attention on the field again. Ostensibly, we’re here to see Cari. In reality—and the reason Brody tagged along with me—we’re here to see Vivienne.

Viv.

I can’t call her that. It’s an invitation to intimacy that I haven’t earned. In my head, she’s always going to be Vivienne to me.

On the pitch in front of us, the Boston Revolution are in the middle of a scrimmage, half the team in blood-red jerseys, the rest kitted out in royal blue. Vivienne is the hooker, which means she’s responsible for getting the ball backward to her team in a scrum. Cari is the tighthead prop, who helps support her while she’s fighting for the ball.

I’ll be honest; my sister has played rugby for six years, and no matter how many times she’s patiently explained it, I still don’t really get the rules of the game. While it’s fun to watch, and it’s clear they enjoy playing it, I’m not all that interested in contact sports.

In college, despite having a nationally ranked football team, I only went to two games in all four years. Once, my freshman year, was to see what the fuss was about. The second time, they recognized our gymnastics team in front of sixty thousand people for winning the conference championship the year before.

Our meets were lucky if we had six hundred spectators.

My social circle in college revolved around gymnastics. If I had a social circle nowadays, it still would. But where men’s careers typically take off after college, women’s careers tend to die down. The disciplines require different levels of strength and flexibility between the sexes. While there are still women competing until their mid- to late-twenties now, there aren’t many. Most women training at the national team training center are young, like, still in high school, young. I can’t hang out with them outside of practice without feeling like a creeper.

Brody and I are the oldest guys on the national team. Everyone else is younger. My friends have all moved on. The guys I went to college with gave up gymnastics and found new callings in life. A few of them became bodybuilders or powerlifters and do competitions. Some are “influencers” promoting themselves on social media. And then the rest have settled into their lives, finding jobs and careers and life trajectories.

I’m stuck in limbo. As much as I want to keep doing gymnastics, my body doesn’t. I want to move on to the next stage of my life, I want to go to vet school, but when I think about four more years of school, plus all the debt that will come with it…

I shiver, and Brody raises his eyebrows at me.

“You good, man?” There’s actual concern in his voice.

“‘M fine,” I mutter, zipping up my leather jacket like the brisk wind is the culprit.

We sit in quiet silence for a few minutes, the grunts and noise on the pitch our soundtrack.

“So…” Brody says.

“No.”

“Come on. You’re not even going to try?”

When he suggested coming to watch the practice, to see Vivienne, I balked. I don’t want to do this. I especially don’t want to do this in front of a crowd.

But when he threatened to set me up on as many blind dates as it takes to find someone I can jibe with… I asked Cari for two guest passes.

The coach’s whistle blows, and the group on the pitch dissembles, grabbing water and electrolytes.

My sister bounds up to us, relaxed and perky despite sweating and working on the field for the last hour and a half.

“You came!” Cari gives me a brilliant smile. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up. This is your first time at practice since I signed with the team.”

My stomach churns. I haven’t been supporting my little sister, not in the way I should be. She thinks I’m here for her when I’m really trying to score some points with her teammate.

“You’re looking good out there,” I deflect.