A Bronco is without a doubt the hardest drill you’ll ever have to do on a pitch. A series of sprints that leaves you nearly puking from a combination of exertion and exhaustion. It’s fucking brutal. This might be the only way to get the lot of us to work together because not a single one of us wants to run a Bronco, no matter how much we can’t stand to be around one another.
“Brooks, you’re captain, you get first pick for your team and… Ezra, you pick the other team. Once you’ve split up, we’ll briefly run through what each station’s objective is. After that you’ll be on your own. The coaching team and I will be keeping time, and an eye to make sure everyone’s participating and playing fair. Remember guys, the purpose of this is to build trust and to learn to work better together. That includeseveryperson on this team.”
Brooks laughs darkly under his breath as his gaze locks on to mine, the corners of his lips curling into a sinister smirk while he lifts a brow tauntingly.
And then it begins.
One by one they pick guys for their teams until there’s no one left on the try line but me.
I’m not surprised, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t piss me right off. I catch Rory’s eyes, and she sighs defeatedly before shaking her head and turning to Brooks, then Ezra. “Really?”
They both shrug, Brooks with that stupid fucking smirk that I want to wipe clean off his mouth.
“Cillian you’re with Brooks. Let’s go.”
Only then does the self-satisfied, arrogant expression on his face slightly falter, and nowI’mthe one smirking.
Arsehole.
It’s clear that he and his dickhead of a friend are going to do whatever they can to ice me out and that’s perfectly fine by me, because if there’s one thing about me, it’s that I don’t give up. I might be keeping my head down and walking the straight and narrow, but that sure as fuck doesn’t mean that I have to lie down and let these guys walk all over me as if I don’t deserve a chance to prove myself on this team just the way they have.
Slowly, I walk over to Brooks’s side of the pitch and stand next to Fitz who glances over and gives me a small curt nod. At least he acknowledges me, unlike the majority of the team.
The indoor training pitch has been turned into a series of obstacles sectioned off with fluorescent yellow rope and bright orange cones.
“Station number one, wave passing. Make a formation and pass the ball down the line. This drill is going to focus on precise, accurate passing, so I need to see everyone working together. You can move on to the next drill after completing four successful passes from one end of the line to the other.” Rory instructs with her hands on her hips and that damn whistle hanging around her neck. Thank God she ditched the damn clipboard. “Next up we’ve got shadow running, and then partnered sprints where you’ll carry another player to the try line and back before the opposing team. C’mon, guys, let’s do this.”
The first drill goes exactly the way I expected it to—the guys begrudgingly passing the ball my way because they have no other choice in order for us to actually complete it and move to the nextstation. When it’s over, we pause for a water break before moving on to the next drill, and I step off to the side. Grabbing my water, I squirt a stream into my mouth, watching as Brooks walks over to Rory and tosses his arm around her shoulder like it’s something that he’s always done. He says something near her ear and then pokes out his lip like he’s pouting, and she elbows him in the side, pushing him off with an eye roll.
He’s smirking, clearly comfortably going back and forth with her. A few other guys from Ezra’s team join in, and I sit back, watching the exchange.
These guys are friendly with her and not just in a “coaching” kind of way like I originally thought. In afriendshipkind of way.
A loud, shrill whistle floats through the air. “All right let’s get back to it.” Rory says, putting space between her and the guys. “We’ve got a lot of work to do today and no time to waste.”
The rest of the guys from my team filter back over one by one, and Ezra’s with them. My eyebrow curves up when he grins, but then he shoulder checks me hard as fuck, knocking my water bottle out of my hands and onto the ground, where it bursts open, soaking my feet through my rugby boots.
“Might want to watch where you’re standing, Cairney. Wouldn’t want our newstarplayer to end up hurt. Would be pretty tragic.” His head tilts, lips curling into a smirk as amusement flashes in his eyes. Except there’s nothing funny about it. His voice is low, so that only I can hear him, and I know it’s because he’s trying to pull this bullshit so no one from the coaching staff or Rory know he’s mouthing off.
I roll my tongue across the top row of my teeth, counting backward from five.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
I add an extra second just for good measure so I don’t do something stupid like beat the shit out of him.
For fuck’s sake.
But that is exactly the response he’s looking for, and I’m not going to give it to him. Especially not with the entire team as an audience.
I don’t say a word as I bend and retrieve my water bottle, not until I’m twisting the top back on. “Yeah, thanks for that, mate. Way to look out for your teammates.”
