As the teams took their positions for the restart, Peter glanced over his shoulder at the hockey match taking place on the Astroturf, just beyond the frozen lacrosse pitch. A disconcerting shudder rattled down his spine. Images from the horrific, icy cold, November evening he'd spent as Manson's prisoner flashed before his very eyes. As the terror filled moments in which he'd almost died replayed in his head, it was all he could do to hold back the tears. Immediately a comforting arm slinked around his shoulders, pulling him in close.
"It's alright Pete, it's over. Manson's gone, never to be seen again. You know that," whispered Richie, understanding exactly what Peter was feeling.
Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffing as he did so, he felt so... embarrassed... ashamed... frightened. Knowing he'd caught the attention of the other spectators, he decided he just didn't care.
"Sorry Rich," he finally managed to splutter. "Seeing the pitch again, it just brought everything flooding back."
"You don't have to apologise Pete. It frightens me to think back and realise that we could have lost you that night, despite the fact that you were only a stone's throw away from both me and Muscles over there. Looking back on things and knowing what we know now, it makes me feel weak, helpless and vulnerable, knowing that there was nothing I could have done to stop you going through all of that. I've felt for a while that it should be me apologising to you, for not knowing that you were in danger. Despite all Manson's special talents, I still should have been there. I'm pretty sure Tank feels the same way, you know."
Peter wiped even more tears away from his wet, chilly face.
"It's like a nightmare Rich. I thought I was over it. I had a few bad dreams for a couple of weeks after, but since then, I've not really thought about it, but just seeing the pitch again was enough to trigger a reaction. Everyone keeps reiterating that it's over and that's the end of it for me, but is it really? Somewhere in the back of my mind there's a little niggling voice that keeps telling me I'm still in some way connected to it all and that I might get dragged back into whatever's going on. Sometimes it makes me want to go and live wholly underground, and I never thought I'd hear myself say that."
Richie pulled back from Peter, flabbergasted.
"My God Pete, I hadn't realised it was that bad."
He just nodded, not knowing what else to say or do.
With more warmth than the hottest of dragons, she embraced him, pulling him close to her with both arms. As she did so, she whispered very quietly into his ear.
"It WILL be alright. You will ALWAYS have Tank and I, and the way things are going, I'd say a human girlfriend... result!"
A smile spread across his sad face, all thoughts of his ordeal banished, for now at least.
"You always know the right thing to say," he declared with a wink.
Richie nodded, before both friends returned their attention back to the third member of the trio, eager to see how the rugby match was panning out.
It didn't take long to figure out that the whole match had been turned on its head. Salisbridge were very much on the back foot, with Tank limping as he ran to catch up with the ball, Peter noticed, sorry for the interruption his outpouring of emotion had caused. Richie leant over and chatted to the spectators further along, returning to inform Peter that the score was now 7-6, with the opposition having scored from an open play drop kick, as well as a penalty kick. On top of which, they'd been using some very underhand tactics. Both friends continued to watch Tank hobble about, knowing that not only was he suffering with an injury to his leg or ankle by the looks of things, but that he was almost certainly outraged at the opposition resorting to a whole catalogue of dirty tricks. They both knew their friend would give everything he had to turn things around on the pitch, much as they would in either of their respective sports.
With the opposition having a clear foothold in the game, Salisbridge seemed to capitulate more and more as the half wore on. Tank found himself on the end of a couple of nasty uppercuts from the opposing prop while in the scrum, twice in succession, both of which were missed by the officials. Peter shook his head when the score reached 7-20, barely able to watch the action, if that's what it could be called. Thankfully for the players and spectators alike, the referee finally blew for half time, allowing the Salisbridge players a much needed rest and revision of tactics, whilst the freezing spectators found respite from the cold and were able to top up their drinks.
Staring out through the windows of the cosy clubhouse, queuing at the bar with Richie, Peter watched as the bedraggled band of Salisbridge rugby players got a right royal rollicking from their coach. Deflated was the only word he could think of to describe them right now. To a man, they all looked ready to throw the towel in, even his man mountain of a friend, Tank, who was usually the most optimistic and upbeat person he'd ever met. Part of him couldn't blame them... freezing cold, covered from head to toe in mud, bleeding from legs, arms, head, fingers, etc. They were a mess. Peter, very selfishly he realised, really did not want to go back out to watch the second half and witness his friend get the beating, not just in terms of score, that was so obviously coming his way.
Tapping him on the shoulder, Richie handed him a fresh drink.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Better watch out though, babe magnet," mocked Richie, nodding in a certain direction.
Turning to look in the direction Richie had indicated, he had but one thought.
'Ah Janice.' Richie stepped back a little as the gorgeous bar worker nuzzled up to Peter, whispering to him as she carried a near impossible amount of glasses.
"Still okay for that drink later?"
"Of course," he replied.
"Good," added Janice, smiling profusely, before pecking him on the cheek and disappearing into the crowd.
Just as Richie opened her mouth to say something, he beat her to it.
"Not a word, not one single word."
Richie just grinned, pleased deep down to see her friend happy. Both of them joined the rest of the supporters and headed back outside, sensing more than a little pessimism amongst the crowd, mainly made up of home fans. So wanting Tank to do well, realistically Peter just couldn't see it happening. As the chaotic crowd slowed up to squeeze through the double doors that led outside, a very grumpy and stressed looking figure forced his way through from the outside, bumping into people heading in the opposite direction, spilling a couple of drinks without even a hint of an apology, showing absolutely no manners whatsoever. Peter could see Richie about to take the rude man to task. Instantly, he grabbed her and stopped her from doing it, allowing the man to pass unhindered. She was not happy at his intervention.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?" she demanded.