The Other Sister (Hawke Brothers Series- Book 1)

05: The charity note.

Queensland, Australia.

September 23rd 1992.

Age 13.

Lachlan.

     The sprinkle of the early morning spring air dances down my skin with each step up the field.

     Sweat beads sling down my damp hair, landing on my cheeks when I turned to face the rising sun. The chill in the air nips at my nerves when a slight breeze whooshes past, letting me have a break from the humidity in the air.

     You'd think because of the summer like heat and random chilly waves of wind, I'd hate morning practices. But you couldn't be farther from the truth. Because in reality, I loved it, if it meant I could play rugby, I'd play in whatever weather the world threw at me.

     It was mid-season for the junior team, undefeated in every game, and possessive of our top spot. The team just meshed. We all worked so well together that any team that came against us, were doomed from the first whistle. We were forces to be reckoned with, dominating the pitch with height and muscle. Although most junior teams were the same fitness as us and had the same level of ability, it didn't matter in the end, because we were better.

     I loved the power I felt by being on the junior team. The responsibility and determination I felt when I stepped on the pitch. I loved all of it. Mostly because it meant I could play rugby. But also, because I loved the burning sensation I felt in my quads when I sprinted past an opponent out on the wing, with the ball curled into my side. I loved looking back at the other team trying to catch up to me in a big herd. But they could never do it. Because once I got past their tackled wall, there was no stopping me. I was too fast.

     That was another reason why coach Anderson loved having me on the team, I was fast. Faster than any other guy on the team. Hell, coach said if he ever put me against a senior, I'd beat them by a landslide. But we wouldn't ever find that out, because I was only a junior. Well, not really. I'm actually only an eighter. An eighter who made it onto a niner and tener team with flying colours.

     And that felt great to know, because in the end, I didn't really need the Brye connection Kev offered me. All I needed was my outrageous fast legs and the 'Hawke' name plastered on the back of my blue and green jersey, and coach Anderson handed me a spot without hesitation.

     Although I loved playing rugby on the junior team, it wouldn't stop the burning pit dropping in my stomach every time I stepped onto the pitch. Every time I looked over to my fellow teammates and coach. Because it was a deep depressing pit telling me that the only reason I made it onto the team, was because of the name and fame my father had given my family. That I wouldn't be on the team if it wasn't for the girl I was dating and who she was related to. The pit knarred into me head telling me that, the only reason I was here was because everyone was too scared to say no to a young boy whose father held so much power.

     And I loathed the self-doubting feeling I always got in my chest because of it. I hated the way my chest tightened every time I looked at my team, wondering if they thought I was only on this team because of my status.

     So, that's why I trained extra hard. Practiced and melded my body every morning and afternoon. Studied the game till my eyes hurt from focusing. Watched how the other team play, corrected their mistakes in my mind, reminding myself what to do and not do. I lived and breathed rugby every day like it was my own brand of oxygen. After all, it kind of was. I just hoped that in the end, everyone saw that too.