Page 20 of Playing the Field

I’m not.

There’s a long pause before her next message comes through, and I can practically hear her screaming through the phone.

ANA. WHAT THE HELL???

He’s my boss.

WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?! Tell me everything. Right now.

I don’t reply. Not because I don’t want to. But because I don’t know where to start.

Instead, I set my phone down and stare at the folders in front of me, willing myself to focus. Whatever history Graham and I share, whatever hurt I’m carrying from the way he brushed me aside—it doesn’t matter. This job is a chance to rebuild. To focus on the future.

And if Graham Callahan wants to pretend we’re nothing more than professional acquaintances, fine. I can play that game too.

But as I pick up the first file and try to immerse myself in the details of the players’ medical records, one thought refuses to leave my mind.

If he can pretend Cape Town didn’t happen, why can’t I?

The locker room smells like sweat, deep heat, and the kind of focus that turns ordinary men into warriors. It’s a scent I’m used to, one that, oddly, soothes my nerves rather than winds them tighter. But today, my heart is hammering against my ribs, my brain a swirl of exhaustion, exhilaration, and something I really don’t want to name. It’s been twenty-four hours since he looked me in the eye and pretended I didn’t exist. Since he shook my hand like I was nothing more than a business acquaintance instead of a woman he’d once held like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. So far, I’ve managed to avoid him for most of the day. It helps that I’ve been drowning in medical files, assessments, and a barrage of questions from trainers who—thankfully—care more about the players’ physical well-being than office gossip.

But the evening game means I won’t be able to avoid him forever.

It also means I get to witness something incredible.

I take my first real break of the day just as the team finishes up warmups. A fresh rush of excitement crackles down my spine when I step into the stadium and take in the sight of the field. The grass is impossibly green under the stadium lights, the players a blur of movement as they pass, tackle, and sprint like they were born to do this.

Because they were.

For a moment, I forget everything else.

The weight of the past, the sting of Graham’s indifference, the overwhelming uncertainty of what it means to be here—all of it vanishes under the sheer joy of watching professional rugby players in their element.

I grew up watching this sport, analyzing it, breaking it down into its most intricate parts. And now? I get to be part of it. A real part of it.

A grin tugs at my lips, and before I can stop myself, I let out a quiet, breathless laugh.

This is my dream.

“Didn’t peg you for a rugby fan, Doc.”

I startle slightly, glancing over my shoulder to find Dominic Carter, the team captain, standing a few feet away, arms crossed, watching me with curiosity.

“I love rugby,” I admit, tucking my hands into the pockets of my team-issued jacket. “Played for a bit growing up. Not full contact, obviously. It would also be weird if I didn’t like it, considering I applied for this job.”

Dominic lets out a low chuckle. “That explains why you’re watching like you’re about to start coaching.”

I flush slightly but don’t deny it. “I can’t help it. Their formation needs tightening. And that inside pass was sloppy. The ref would have given the opposing team a penalty for sure.”

His grin widens. “You are a rugby fan.”

I shrug, but my smile stays. “You have no idea.”

The truth is, I could talk about this game for hours. I could analyze plays, break down strategies, and dive into the biomechanics of every movement. But instead of launching into a full breakdown, I nod toward the field. “How are they looking?”

“Sharp,” he says, but his expression darkens slightly. “No Novak, which is already an improvement.”

A pang of satisfaction flickers through me at the reminder of Graham throwing him off the team. It’s quickly followed by something more complicated.