Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Graham
I should have stayed.
I should have pulled Anastasia back into my arms, kissed her senseless, and promised her we’d figure this out together.
But instead, I left.
Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that words mean nothing without action.
And this—what’s between us—deserves more than whispered assurances in the dark. It deserves something real.
Which is why, the second I slide into my car, I pull out my phone and dial Brooke.
She answers on the third ring, voice groggy but alert. “Graham?”
“I need a meeting first thing tomorrow morning,” I say, starting the car. “You, me, my office.”
There’s a beat of silence before she exhales heavily. “I assume this has something to do with the rumors?”
“It has something to do with the truth.”
Brooke mutters something under her breath. “Do I even want to know?”
I grip the steering wheel tighter. “I’m in a relationship with Anastasia.”
Silence.
Then—
“Well, shit.”
I almost laugh. “That about sums it up.”
She sighs. “I’ll be there at seven.”
“Make it six-thirty.”
Another pause. “I hate you.”
“You’re the best,” I say, hanging up before she can argue.
I sit there for a moment, staring at the empty street, before shifting into drive.
I have a plan.
Now I just have to make sure it works.
I’m in my office before dawn.
A cup of coffee sits untouched on my desk as I sift through the documents in front of me, flipping past clauses and terms until I land on the section I’m looking for.
The no fraternization policy.
It takes me less than a minute to read.
And when I do, I let out a slow breath, relief settling in my chest like a weight being lifted.
The policy only prohibits relationships between players, team doctors, and other colleagues.
Nothing about the team owner.
I run a hand down my face, sitting back in my chair.
That means whatever happens between me and Anastasia—officially—isn’t a violation of her contract.
It doesn’t mean people won’t talk.
It doesn’t mean this won’t still be a problem.
But it means the only reason she’s being considered for this permanent position is because of her work.
Not me.
Not us.
And I can work with that.
The door to my office opens, and Brooke walks in, looking far too put-together for someone I dragged into a six-thirty meeting.
She crosses her arms, leveling me with a look. “This better be good.”
I slide the contract across the desk. “Anastasia’s offer.”
Brooke lifts a brow but doesn’t sit. “You’re really doing this?”
“She’s the best person for the job,” I say simply.
She studies me for a long moment before exhaling and sinking into the chair opposite me. “So what’s the play?”
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the desk. “We control the narrative. We get ahead of the rumors before they spin out of control.”
She lifts a brow. “You’re going public?”
I nod. “The truth, Brooke. You, me, and the team’s PR department—we spin this exactly how it happened.”
She smirks. “Which is…?”
I exhale slowly.
“Anastasia and I met while I was in Cape Town. We connected there—before either of us knew she’d be working for me.”
Brooke watches me carefully.
“We reconnected in Toronto, and yeah, we tried to keep things private, but that became harder once I took over the team. I’ve been under more scrutiny since stepping into this position, and that put us in a difficult spot.”
Her smirk fades. “You’re really serious about her.”
I don’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
Brooke sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You know this is still going to be a mess, right?”
“I know.”
“Reporters will twist it. People will talk. Some fans are still pissed you bought this team in the first place, and this—this—will only give them more fuel.”
“I know,” I say again.
She shakes her head, muttering under her breath. “You’re a pain in my ass, Callahan.”
I smirk. “That’s what you signed up for.”
Brooke glares but grabs the contract, flipping through it. “She’s going to take the offer.”
“I hope so.”
She glances up, brows raised. “She doesn’t know yet?”
I shake my head. “I want to tell her myself.”
Brooke leans back, eyeing me like she’s trying to figure out if I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
But if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s Anastasia.
She’s the best damn doctor this team could ask for.
And she’s the only woman I’ve ever wanted like this.
I just need to make sure I don’t screw this up.
Because this isn’t just about the job.
This is about us.
And I’ll be damned if I let anyone—including myself—stand in the way of what we could be.
The second Brooke closes the contract folder, I say, “Find Anastasia. Bring her here.”
Brooke blinks, caught off guard for the first time this morning. “Right now?”
I nod. “Right now.”
She mutters something under her breath about needing a raise before standing and straightening her blazer. “If she tells me to go to hell, I’m blaming you.”
“Duly noted.”
Brooke gives me one last long-suffering look before heading for the door.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling.
This is it.
No more secrets. No more hiding. No more avoiding the inevitable.
Anastasia deserves the truth—about her position, about us, about everything.
And she’s about to get it.
When Brooke returns with Anastasia, I can already tell she’s bracing for something.
Her expression is guarded, her posture stiff.
I don’t blame her.
I push back from my desk, standing as she walks in, her green eyes locking onto mine with wary determination.
Brooke closes the door behind her and moves to lean against the window, giving us space but making it clear this is not a private conversation.
Anastasia doesn’t sit.
She crosses her arms, watching me carefully. “What’s going on?”
I take a slow breath. “Have a seat, Ana.”
Her lips press into a thin line. “I’m good standing.”
I huff a quiet laugh, shaking my head. Stubborn as ever.
“Fine,” I say, leaning against my desk instead. “I wanted to talk to you about your future with the Tigers.”
Anastasia stiffens, her fingers curling against her arms.
I nod toward the contract on my desk. “That’s your official offer for the permanent team doctor position.”
Her breath catches.
I watch her carefully. “You earned this, Ana. Not because of me. Not because of us. But because you’re the best damn doctor for this job.”
She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t speak.
I can see the war happening behind her eyes—the part of her that wants this, wants it so badly, battling the part that’s terrified of what people will say.
I push forward, needing her to understand. “I went through the contract myself. The no-fraternization policy applies to players, colleagues, and medical staff. Not me.”
Her eyes snap to mine, sharp and searching.
“There’s nothing in this contract that says you and I can’t be together,” I continue, voice even. “Nothing that jeopardizes your position. Nothing that makes this look like some kind of backroom deal.”
I let that sink in before I say what I know she needs to hear.
“If you sign this contract, it’s because you deserve it.”
A beat of silence.
Then—
Anastasia exhales, her arms finally loosening.
“You checked,” she murmurs.
I nod.
She swallows, shifting slightly. “I didn’t want to ask.”
I nod again, softer this time. “I know.”
For the first time since she walked in, some of the tension drains from her shoulders.
Then, because this isn’t just about her job—because this is about us—I add, “I also want to be honest about the PR side of this.”
Her brows furrow. “PR?”
Brooke finally speaks. “We’re getting ahead of the story.”
Anastasia glances between us.
Graham exhales. “We’re not hiding anymore, Ana. I want to spin this the way it really happened.”
Her lips part slightly.
“We met in Cape Town. We reconnected in Toronto before either of us knew we’d be working together. We tried to keep things private, but because of my position, because of the scrutiny I’m under, that wasn’t easy. And now?”
I hold her gaze, unwavering.
“We’re done pretending there’s nothing between us.”
Anastasia blinks.
I can see her mind working, can see her cataloging every possible consequence.
Then—
“And if I don’t want the job?” she asks, voice quiet.
The question shouldn’t gut me, but it does.
Because for the first time, I see just how deep her fear runs.
Just how much this means to her.
I inhale slowly. “Then don’t take it.”
She looks up, startled.
I hold steady. “If you want to walk away from the Tigers, if that’s what’s best for you—then do it. But don’t walk away because of me.”
Her throat bobs.
“Don’t let this be the thing that stops you from taking what you’ve earned,” I say, my voice softer now.
She lets out a slow breath, her fingers twitching at her sides.
“I don’t want to walk away,” she admits.
Something eases in my chest.
“I want this job,” she continues. “I love this job. And I—” She hesitates, cheeks flushing slightly. “I want us.”
Something warm spreads through me, like a knot unraveling.
Brooke sighs dramatically from behind us. “Thank God, I thought I was going to have to suffer through another month of broody Graham.”
Anastasia almost laughs.
I shake my head. “You’re not out of a job just yet.”
Brooke rolls her eyes. “I’ll prep the PR strategy.”
She moves toward the door, then pauses. “You good, Bellows?”
Anastasia exhales, meeting my gaze before nodding. “Yeah. I think I am.”
Brooke gives a satisfied nod before slipping out, leaving us alone.
For a moment, we just stand there.
Then—
Anastasia shifts, glancing at the contract on my desk. “Do I have time to read it?”
I smirk. “Take all the time you need.”
She nods, her lips curving slightly, and I know?—
This isn’t just about her job.
It’s not just about me.
It’s about us.
And for the first time, I think we might actually figure out how to move forward.
Together.
The moment Anastasia leaves my office, I shift gears.
She has her decision to make.
And I have a team to run.
The Toronto Tigers are heading into a brutal matchup against the Houston Sabercats—the top team in the league.
A team that’s been steamrolling their way through the season, crushing defenses, and running a strategic attack that’s nearly impossible to counter.
But nearly impossible isn’t the same as impossible.
And I don’t intend to lose.
I push away from my desk, grab my notebook, and make my way toward the coaching offices, my mind already analyzing every possible angle.
By the time I walk into Coach Brandt’s office, he’s at his desk, reviewing footage from the Sabercats’ last match. He barely glances up before muttering, “You’re late.”
I smirk. “I own the team, Brandt. I can’t be late.”
He grunts. “Tell that to Houston when they run us over on Saturday.”
I drop into the chair across from him, cracking open my notebook. “That’s not happening.”
He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “They’re a problem, Callahan. Their forwards are the best in the league, and their scrum-half is lethal.”
I glance at the screen where their number nine—Luis Rivera—is picking apart a defensive line like it’s a training drill.
“Rivera’s dangerous,” I agree, eyes narrowing. “But not unbeatable.”
Brandt scoffs. “Oh yeah? You planning on shutting him down yourself?”
“No,” I say, flipping a page in my notebook. “But that’s why we’re bringing in Bodhi Donovan.”
Brandt pauses, giving me a considering look. “You think he’s ready?”
I nod. “I wouldn’t have signed him if I didn’t. He reads plays faster than most veterans. He doesn’t have Rivera’s speed, but he’s smart, he’s quick on his feet, and he doesn’t back down.”
Brandt grunts. “He’s young.
I smirk. “So was Rivera once.”
Brandt leans back, rubbing his chin. “You want to throw him in against the Sabercats?”
I nod. “Let him get a feel for the league. See if he can disrupt Rivera’s tempo. If we can control the breakdown, we control the game.”
Brandt studies me for a long moment, then huffs. “You might not know rugby like I do, but you’ve got good instincts.”
I smirk. “High praise.”
He snorts. “Don’t get used to it.”
I chuckle, leaning forward. “We need to shut down their rolling maul before it builds momentum. That’s where they break teams. If we let them dictate the tempo, we’re screwed.”
Brandt grunts. “Agreed.”
We spend the next hour breaking down film, running through lineups, and adjusting defensive strategies to counter Houston’s attack. When I finally push back from the table, the day has nearly disappeared.
Brandt rubs a hand over his jaw, shaking his head. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
I smirk. “Nothing worth winning ever is.”
By the time I make my way to the medical wing, most of the facility is quiet.
The halls are empty. The weight room’s lights are dimmed.
But Anastasia’s office light is still on.
I lean against the doorframe, watching her.
She’s tired. I can see it in the way she rubs at her temple, in the way her shoulders curve inward slightly as she scans the medical reports in front of her.
But she’s focused.
She cares about this team, about these players.
I knock lightly, and she looks up, surprised.
Then, just like that, her expression softens.
Something shifts in my chest.
“You’re still here,” I say.
She smirks. “So are you.”
I step inside, glancing at the reports on her desk. “What’s the verdict?”
She sighs, leaning back in her chair. “A few lingering injuries, but nothing that’ll keep anyone off the roster. Dominic’s knee is holding up, but I still don’t love the way it swells after contact.”
I nod. “Brandt’s keeping him on limited minutes. We need him for the full season, not just this game.”
She nods, looking up at me. “You ready for Houston?”
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. “As ready as we can be.”
Anastasia studies me. “You think we can win.”
I smirk. “I know we can.”
Something flickers across her face. “You really believe that?”
I tilt my head. “You don’t?”
She exhales, shaking her head. “I don’t know. Houston’s a machine.”
I step closer, resting my hands on the edge of her desk. “Machines break, Anastasia.”
Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t look away.
I tap a finger against her desk. “This team is stronger than people think. They’re hungry. And now? They have something to prove.”
She exhales slowly. “So do you.”
I nod. “Yeah. So do I.”
A beat of silence.
Then—
She studies me, something unreadable in her eyes. “You really love this team, don’t you?”
I let out a quiet breath. “Yeah. I do.”
Her lips part slightly, something soft and almost vulnerable flickering across her face.
And for a moment, I want to kiss her.
I want to lean in, close the space between us, remind her that this isn’t just about rugby or strategy or contracts.
But I don’t.
Because this isn’t the moment for that.
Instead, I push off the desk, my voice quieter now. “Go home, Bellows.”
She raises a brow. “That an order, Callahan?”
I smirk. “Consider it strong advice.”
She exhales, shaking her head, but there’s something lighter in her expression now.
Something that tells me maybe—just maybe—we’re finally figuring out how to move forward.
I turn to leave, but before I step through the door, I pause.
“You coming to the game?” I ask.
She lifts a brow. “That’s part of my job, isn’t it?”
I hold her gaze. “That’s not what I asked.”
Her lips press together. Then, slowly, she nods.
“I’ll be there.”
I smirk, nodding once before heading out, already thinking ahead to Saturday.
Because this game?
This is going to be the test.
Not just for the Tigers.
Not just for the strategy we’ve built.
But for me and Anastasia.
And for the first time, I feel like maybe—just maybe—we’re ready for it.