Always and Forever: Rugby Brothers, Book 3

by Tiara Inserto

  “On paper, I’m good. I’m covered by two capable assistants. And it’s just for one semester, right?”

  “Yes. And thanks. I really appreciate the support,” Eden said quickly as if to prevent the conversation from continuing. “Mano? Good to see you again.” She shut the door quietly behind her, but Alistair continued to stare at it for a few seconds.

  “Sometimes, it’s just not clear what’s the best thing to do,” Alistair muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  “Sorry,” Alistair said, unwrapping his legs and moving to his side of the desk. “I’m trying not to think ahead of myself, that’s all. I hate surprises, but isn’t life just full of them? Anyway, I can’t thank you enough for accepting our offer. You’ll add some extra credibility to the program. Some of the boosters will be interested in meeting you.”

  “You’ve mentioned that in your email to me. That’s not a problem. I’m used to representing the sport off the field. All I ask is that I’m given ample time to prepare for these meetings.”

  “Of course. And you’re okay with the list of interviews with the press we’ve set up? Great. Eden will have those dates for you. I hope you understand why we’re going to take advantage of your credentials.”

  Mano nodded. “Your email was clear. I appreciate that. And I’ll do what I can.”

  “I owe Liana Murphy.”

  Mano allowed himself half a smile. “She said she trusts you.”

  “She did?” Alistair sighed. “I’ll always think of her as the one who got away.”

  Mano’s smile disappeared. “She’s happily married.”

  Alistair waved his hand. “No, not in that way. I’ve met Mitch Molloy. He’d have my head. I was hoping I’d have her join us as the head of the soccer program. I’ll keep trying though. Just let her know how much you love living in California, and maybe, eventually, I’ll win her over!”

  Mano asked Alistair about rugby’s history in the American college system. He knew firsthand how vital traditions and history were in his sport. If none existed, then it had to be built. He also noticed that Alistair was very selective with what he said of Brett McKenzie.

  “He has been key in the development of both Men’s and Women’s Rugby at the club level for the last five years,” Alistair continued. “I’m sure you both will get along.”

  Mano nodded but refrained from adding his thoughts. Until he met the man, he’d reserve his opinion about how well they’d work together.

  “Have you seen much of the campus? No? I’ll have Eden show you to your office. She’s a good tour guide. Charms everyone. I think one of our top basketball recruits decided on St. Anne’s because of her.”

  They reentered the front office to see Eden talking to a young woman with bright purple hair and a tall student with a pair of trainers slung over his shoulder.

  “Hey, Derek,” Alistair said. “Could you give me five minutes? I just have to make a phone call. Eden? Do you have time now to show Mano where he’s going to work?”

  Eden nodded. “Mano, may I introduce you to assistant-extraordinaire, Sarah, and this is Derek Wilson. Derek is the starting center of our basketball team.”

  Sarah waved her greetings while Derek broke into a grin. “Hey! You’re the new rugby coach everyone’s talking about. Nice to meet you, man! There’s a picture of you in my dorm room. My roommate, Carter, will be playing for you this season. He’s a big fan, man. Said he met you when you were in England for some championship or something.”

  Or something? The World Championship, mate… Years of controlling his expression in front of the media was proving to be useful as a private citizen. “I’m here mainly as a consultant. Not as a coach. But I look forward to meeting your roommate. Carter, is it?”

  Derek nodded his head vigorously. “Yeah, Carter Holmes. Big dude who runs like the wind. Man, I told him he could have been playing football at some top ten college or something. The dude has some speed! But he’s obsessed with rugby and wants to play for our country. Didn’t even know we had a national rugby team. What are they called? Vultures?”

  “Eagles.”

  “Yeah! That’s it, man! Eagles!” Behind Derek, Mano saw Eden and Sarah exchange glances of amusement. But the basketball player remained focused on him. “You used to play for your country, right? Do you guys have a name for your national team?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like Kangaroos or something?”

  Mano tensed. “What makes you say that?”

  “Isn’t that the national animal of Australia?”

  “Oh, Derek,” Eden said, shaking her head.

  “What?” Derek asked. “I’m pretty sure it’s a kangaroo. It’s on their planes, isn’t it?”

  “The red kangaroo is the national animal of Australia. But I’m not from Australia. I’m from New Zealand.”

  Derek’s eyes widened. “Dude, sorry! We have a lot of Australians play tennis here, and you sound just like them.”

  “Bet I’m going to hear that a lot,” Mano muttered.

  Eden threw back her head with laughter and surprised Mano by putting her arm through his. “You need to work on your geography, Derek. That was terrible. Anyway, I’ll show Mr. Palua to his office.”

  He had to fight the urge to reach for her hand when she pulled away, the sudden loss of her touch felt acutely. He stared ahead, mildly hearing her. She was stopped every few minutes, a student or another staff member asking a question or offering a greeting. She never forgot to introduce him to faces and names he wouldn’t remember. His attention was still on the place where she first touched him today.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Eden asked.

  He gave her a side-glance as they walked down the long hall, anonymous voices echoing. “I’m fine. Why?”

  “You seemed preoccupied.”

  She didn’t pursue the matter further, knocking on the door before waiting for a response. Two men looked up immediately.

  “Eden!”

  “Hey, stranger!”

  The shorter, stockier man turned to him. “I don’t need an introduction. It’s just an honor, Mr. Palua. I’m Jackson Fleming. Assistant coach to Brett.”

  “Please, call me Mano. We’re colleagues.” He turned to the older man who now stood next to Jackson.

  “And I’m Harry Winters. I coach the women’s team. Saw you play in Chicago last year. I’m looking forward to picking your brains. In exchange for a home-cooked meal, perhaps?”

  “Of course. No home-cooked meal necessary.”

  “Nonsense,” Harry said. “My wife will be thrilled. She couldn’t believe it when I said you’d be here. Apparently—and I don’t quite believe her—you walked right past her in Chicago, but she was too nervous to say ‘hi.’”

  Eden handed Mano a file with an apologetic face. “Some new paperwork that the college is requiring. I’ll need to get these back from you by today. Sorry. It is a bit of a rush. Give the office a call if you have any questions about them. And I’ll see all three of you at the department meeting later. Don’t be late!”

  Jackson sat on the corner of his desk. “Sarah said you’re cutting your work hours. Dare I think it’s because you’re going to give it a go?”

  Harry crossed his arms. “Give what a go?”

  “Don’t you read the faculty newsletters? Alistair’s efficient assistant broke the Masters record in the 50 Free. Just a couple of seconds off the qualifying times for Nationals.”

  Harry whistled. “Eden Pak! That’s fantastic! Congratulations! Are you sticking with the Beavers?”

  “Well….”

  “You’re seconds away,” Jackson repeated. “You gotta go for it, Eden. Beavers are great, but you’ll need to up your game to not just qualify for but to reach the finals. Is it going to be Berkeley or Oakland?”

  “Berkeley or Oakland?” Harry looked at Jackson, frowning. “I don’t get the question.”

  “Besides the university teams, Berkeley and Oakland have two swim clubs that send swimmers
to Nationals every year. Swimmers who get on the podium.”

  “Why do you know so much about swimming, Jackson?” Harry said.

  Eden rolled her eyes. “You really don’t read the faculty newsletters, do you, Harry? Jackson’s family are local legends in the swim community. All four of his sisters had county records. Their house has ribbons everywhere….”

  “But none of them were able to beat Eden Pak.” Jackson grinned. “The summer you dominated I heard your name so often it haunted me. Now that we’re working together, I can see that my sisters totally exaggerated about you. You’re not the cold, calculating swim-machine they said you were!”

  Mano lost himself in Eden’s laugh: full, free, and fearless. Her eyes sparkled as she swatted Jackson’s arm with the other file in her hand.

  “You’re the one exaggerating!” she said.

  Jackson smiled. “They’re keeping up with your times, you know. Mia’s even talking about getting on a Masters team now.”

  “Well, if she does, I look forward to lining up against her again.” Eden offered Mano one last smile before leaving him to his new colleagues.

  “She’s very nice,” Jackson said with a twinkle in his eye. “Still single.”

  Harry stifled a cough. “Uh, so Brett has you working at the corner desk. You’ll find a couple of binders already on there. They’re summaries of our last season for both the men’s and women’s teams.”

  Mano appreciated the change in subject. Getting his mind back to the world he knew so well was a welcome relief from the unexpected distraction of Eden. Fortunately, Harry’s lack of interest in the comings and goings of his fellow faculty members didn’t translate to Mano. Harry dominated the conversation for the next hour, quizzing Mano about his experiences as a rugby player.

  The rest of the morning went by fast as he finished the requested paperwork, set up his faculty accounts—sending a quick email to Connor and Mitch in the process—and finally meeting Brett McKenzie, the head coach of men’s rugby.

  He was tall with a shaved head; Mano pegged him for a lock in his playing days. While not unfriendly, Brett viewed Mano suspiciously. “Pleased to meet you, Mano. Must say I was surprised when Alistair said we had someone with your professional history coming to our little college.”

  Do you see me as prey or predator? Mano cracked his neck, stopping that sneer that threatened to erupt from his lips. “It’s good —"

  Brett continued as if he didn’t hear Mano. “A former captain of New Zealand rugby? Here at St. Anne’s? Wow. What a surprise.”

  Behind him, Harry shook his head in disapproval.

  Mano inched his chin up slightly, meeting Brett’s gaze. He wasn’t going to be interrupted again. “I’m honored to be here. Just let me know what I can do.”

  Brett nodded slowly. “I will.” He glanced over Mano’s shoulder. “Jackson, will you show Mano around? I’ll catch up with you guys at the department meeting.” He held up a folder. “Eden’s going to have my head if I don’t get these forms done before it.”

  Jackson gave Mano an apologetic look but ignored the subject of the head coach as he led Mano out of the building. Mano blinked when they emerged from the cool white adobe halls. The fog that shrouded the campus when he arrived earlier had evaporated, replaced by sunshine and a cloudless blue sky. The quiet, empty campus he had walked through on Sunday was now bustling with energy: people were walking in all directions; cars maneuvered through tight parking lots; the presence of trucks, buses, and other service vehicles added to organized chaos.

  “It’ll settle down after the first month,” Jackson said. “The first few days are always a little crazy. New students, new staff, new rules. Kinda fun! From here, you can see our field. Your binder will have all our pitch assignments for the year, including practices and home matches.”

  From a distance, he could just see two players on the pitch Jackson had pointed to. A ball sailed up in the air, its trajectory falling short of a goalpost he knew instinctively would measure the same as those found in any field back home. His throat caught. If he weren’t here today, he’d probably be in Connor’s backyard tossing the ball around with Fred.

  Liar. You’d be locked in your room tearing up whatever photos you have left of Margot.

  He remained silent as Jackson recited facts and anecdotes with practiced ease that suggested this wasn’t the first time he was told to show people around campus. For what constituted a small campus by American standards, it was a minor labyrinth of buildings and open spaces. Turning a corner revealed an unexpected quadrangle where a few people were lying out in the sun. They turned another corner and were greeted with wall-to-wall plastic bottle containers.

  Jackson grimaced. “Oh yeah, forgot this was going to be here. We have installation art pop up every semester, and I didn’t check….”

  “Let me guess,” Mano interjected, “the faculty news.”

  Jackson grinned. “It’s all in there!”

  They finished the informal tour with a stop in the locker rooms where he met the affable equipment manager who hailed from Frimley, Surrey.

  “Just like Jonny Wilkinson,” said Tom Morris with a wink.

  “Yeah.” Mano nodded. “Know Jonny quite well. Last time we were on the pitch together, Connor Dane broke his record.”

  “Was Connor watching when Jonny got it back in South Africa?”

  Mano smiled. Tom Morris knew his rugby. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Palua. I’ve watched you play for years. People talk about Molloy, Dane, Stanton. But you’re solid. No team wins without people who play consistently like you. Nothing fancy; just solid rugby. That’s the best kind of rugby, in my opinion.”

  It’d been a long time since he reacted to flattery. His career was dotted with accolades and criticism. It was healthier to ignore what others thought of his game. But, occasionally, like today, when it came from someone who knew the sport, it humbled him. “My friends call me Mano, Mr. Morris.”

  Tom Morris said the department meeting was the only time in the year they’d see everyone in the Athletics Department. Once the academic year began, it was full steam ahead to keep training on course while managing the “student” part of student-athletes.

  “St. Anne’s is really tough about our kids doing well here at college,” Tom said. “It’s no secret that while sports bring in the boosters and investors, the nuns of St. Anne’s will pull the plug on any or all the programs if we don’t pay equal attention to education. It’s how we lost the swim program, but we’ve kept the pool. Everyone has access to it, if you ever fancy a swim. Always heated.”

  “The nuns?”

  “Oh yeah. Didn’t you see the convent up on the hill yet? Very nice, if I do say so myself. St. Anne’s used to be a convent. Then a fire tore through Seven Hills, sparing only the chapel. To have the funds, they started a small college to help pull in some money. It started as a women’s college, and the girls who went here were among the first women athletes anywhere.”

  “I thought some president in the ‘70s….”

  “Oh, yeah. Him. Yeah, he took it to the next level and added new programs. St. Anne’s now has athletes competing in thirty inter-collegiate sports. But the nuns started it. Don’t mess with the nuns. Even the Jesuits are afraid of them. A good bunch of them still teach. One of them, Sister Michael, is a professor of Theology and coaches volleyball.”

  “Interesting combination of expertise.”

  Tom grinned. “Welcome to California!”

  Mano caught Eden sneaking into the half-filled auditorium just as Alistair took to the podium.

  Despite the unconventional manner in which they had met this morning, it was clear Alistair knew his stuff. Handouts were in bullet points. He provided links to resources for major topics he addressed. When introducing all the new members of the department, he did so in alphabetical order and with no more than five lines of bio per introduction.

  There was structure in Alistair’s pres
entation. He didn’t veer from his scrip: a joke, a visual presentation, statistics, an anecdote of a student-athlete or coach, followed by another visual. While far from rapt, his new colleagues were taking the requisite notes. Harry asked a question. A few others took snapshots of the visuals with their phones. They were engaged though not inspired.

  They were all there to work. No bright-eyed, inexperienced coach-trainer in this room.

  Mano let his gaze return to Eden. She sat in the front row, her back to him. But he recognized her neck now. She’d reached for her earlobe often, a nervous action, he guessed. She greeted everyone by name, and judging by the hugs and smiles exchanged, she was popular with the staff.

  “I don’t usually do this, but we’re very fortunate this year to have two professionals be part of the St. Anne’s family for at least part of the year. They bring with them an extraordinary amount of experience and insight into being and working with the world’s top athletes. Since they’re both here, let me introduce you to them,” Alistair said.

  Mano stiffened.

  “We have a highly respected sports psychologist joining our team. Dr. Chen, where are you? Welcome! She’s worked with athletes from the college-level to the pros, all over the world. Most recently, she just completed a one-year contract travelling with a couple of the tennis pros ranked in the Top 10. If you Google her, I’m sure you’ll see a photo of her in the players box at Roland Garros. Please encourage your athletes to take advantage of Dr. Chen while she’s here.”

  Applause came up on cue.

  Mano tightened his grips on the arms of his seat. A rush of adrenaline swept through his body, blocking out sound and image. He shut his eyes, trying to make sense of the pounding that was relentless in his head. Alistair’s voice drilled through the haze that had engulfed him so suddenly.

  “…he’s one of the legends of rugby with too many accolades for me to list. We are truly honored he has agreed to spend the next few months with us. From New Zealand, former captain of the national rugby team and two times world champion, Mano Palua.”