That got his attention. “You look demented.” But a little of the tension drained from his face, and he thrust his free hand through his hair. “I have a meeting with my coach on Monday. The kind of meeting no player wants to have.”

Catie thought of her earlier concerns about a secret injury. It was true Danny wasn’t playing his best, but there was no question that he was still holding his own. “It’ll be fine. You’re the best winger in the country, probably in the world.” It was impossible to be around the Esera clan and not pick up on rugby news, so she knew that Danny had been on many lists of the “Best Wingers in the World.”

“I was,” Danny muttered as they headed for their gate. “I’m not anymore, and the team can’t keep ignoring that. I’m screwing up over and over.”

Catie frowned. “No team is going to cut a brilliant player over a few bad games.”

Snorting, he said, “It’s not just a few bad games. My entire season has been shit.”

“But you guys are at the top of the league.”

“No thanks to me. The fact the rest of the team is turning in stellar performances is hiding some of my sins, but not from the guys. They see it and they’ve been fucking legends covering for my errors.” He pressed his lips together. “Dead certain I’m not going to be selected for the national squad.”

She’d never, not once, heard Danny sound so defeated; playing for New Zealand’s world-beating national team had been his dream since childhood—and that hadn’t altered after he first made the squad at only nineteen. He treasured every single second he spent in the iconic black jersey.

“Have you spoken to Jake and the others?” His brothers and family were his staunchest supporters. “You know they’ll help you figure it out.”

“That’s just it,” he said quietly. “I keep on standing on their shoulders—and even with all the advantages that’s given me, I’m still screwing up.” His jaw worked. “My entire family set it up so my path was the easiest of them all.

“How many people have the fucking Bishop as their advisor on field strategy? How many people train on their off days with the vice-captain of the national team? How many people have a brilliant rugby mind as their father? I’ve got no fucking excuse.”