Connor
The umbrella shifted again and cut the sun straight across Edward's face. He looked tired. Not the hungover-from-tasting-wine tired from this morning. The other kind. The kind that sat on his shoulders and in the line of his mouth.
"I've got 31 caps," he said. Quiet. Like he'd been waiting to say it.
I blinked. "What?"
"The RFU rule," Edward said. He finally looked at me. "The 25-cap rule. I qualify. I can leave my club and still play for England."
The wine in my glass went sour.
Right.
Of course he'd already looked it up. Of course he'd already done the math. That was Edward. He didn't throw out bombs like 'I'm thinking about leaving rugby' without having three legal loopholes and a PR statement ready.
31 caps.
My Soul.
"That's why you're so serious," I said. My voice sounded distant, even to me. "You actually can do it."
