Chapter Thirty-Seven

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As we go into these final six chapters, they'll be written in one perspective per chapter. No particular order to them, but how I see fit. They are NOT in chronological order. They DO go back in through last chapter's ending. There WILL be an epilogue at the end. I WILL cry when I write these. 

***

Will

Coach Lidcombe jerked his head towards the top of the stands, "Do you see the suited men three seats in at the back row?"

I squinted, narrowing my gaze. Eventually, it fell onto two men, both perfectly shaven and suited with ties and blazers to complete it.

I nodded, "Yeah."

"The one on the left is a scout for UCLA," Coach Lidcombe said, "Remember how they said they wanted to watch how you went today?"

I nodded again. 

"The one on the right... is a scout for the Waratahs."

"Waratahs?" I repeated, eyes widening slightly.

"Yep," Coach Lidcombe grinned, "The one for UCLA came overseas just for you. The Waratahs one, however, is here to watch anyone who stands out today. Be warned, there is some tough competition. London Academy has several students who play as well as you do. You need to be at your best today, Will. That includes as captain."

He walked away as if he hadn't just placed bricks of pressure on my shoulders. I didn't even want to be here, right now. 

"Will!" Justin yelled from the field, "We're up, man!"

I grabbed my mouthguard and jogged onto the field to meet Justin, "Thanks. I'm a little out of it."

"Obviously," he frowned.

"Everyone!" I yelled, "Huddle up!"

The boys came into a circle. I turned and gestured for the boys on the bench to get here too. 

Standing together I began, "Guys, these games mark the end of the season. After this... half of us are gone from this team. These are our last games playing as this team. I want to make it worthwhile for all of us. There are scouts here today and we need to play at our best. I know we can do a brilliant job." 

Crappiest pre-game speech... ever.

I screamed, "Who are we?!"

"Eastpoint!"

"What are we?!"

"Warriors!"

"Who we gonna beat?!"

"London!"

"How we gonna play?!"

"At our best!"

The shouts were deafening as we all called out, "1...2...3," before running to our places on the field. If that was meant to enlighten me for the games... it really didn't.

***

"William!" Coach Lidcombe called from the door. I'd just stripped off my sweaty jersey from today.

I turned to face him. He waved his arm, a poker face decorating his, well, face. I jogged up to him, my muscles aching slightly. In just my rugby shorts, I wasn't in the best attire but I needed to cool down. 

He closed the door to the locker rooms behind us before gesturing, "William Hart, meet Sean Jones and Peter Sheridan."

"How you going, Will?" Sean asked, extending a hand. A soft, Southern accent greeted my ears. 

"Good, thanks," I grinned politely, shaking his hand. 

"Nice to meet you, Will," Peter greeted, without extending a hand. 

I nodded back at him, "You too."

I glanced up at Coach warily.

He continued, "Sean's from UCLA. You remember speaking with the other scout?"

I nodded quickly, "Y-Yeah. A few weeks ago, now."

Sean interrupted, "Peter and I want to make a deal with you."

"I'm listening," I replied, though I wasn't interested in the slightest.

"I want to give you a full scholarship to UCLA, as captain of the Bruins, starting next September," Sean explained, "It would be a four-year program, considering the course you want to do. After that, Peter would like to take you back as a Waratahs player for the following six years."

Just like I said. People were planning the next ten years of my life for me. 

Reluctantly I smiled, "That's an amazing offer. Both of you... May I give you my email address so you can follow up there with more information?"

Peter nodded, "That would be appreciated. Let us write this down."

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

***

"Do you see that group by the tree?" Matt gestured to them.

"Yeah."

A group of about six, all clad in jeans and white singlets.

"They're Liking Me," Matt informed, scowling, "They haven't gotten onto the radio like we have or blown up overnight but they do have more than 10,000 followers."

"On Instagram?" I raised an eyebrow. That wasn't too many.

"On Spotify," he corrected with a frown.

They're on Spotify? Holy crap.

"By the way, you stink of deodorant," Matt flicked air away from me, "Did you wash your uniform before coming?"

"I didn't have time to shower," I sighed, "And this is my training uniform."

"How'd you end up going?"

My gaze landed on the people currently running soundcheck. I shrugged, "I should be happy. But I'm not. Not one bit."

Is it wrong that I'm not happy about this? Justin would have been ecstatic. Same with Alex. Same with almost any other guy on the team, yet they pick me. 

Why?

Because I'm apparently your average jock that doesn't give a crap about people pushing him around. 

I'm not what you say I am... but at the same time, I am. 

***

Song: Nothing Else Matters - Metallica.

I love you, Will. I want a Will.

What did you all think about the cover reference in the last line?

xx Sharky. 

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