19. Alex Sebring
Chapter 19
Alex Sebring
The roar of the crowd washes over me, and it’s like stepping back in time. The scent of fresh-cut grass and the charged hum of anticipation stir memories I thought I’d buried, now rising to the surface with startling clarity.
I settle into the stadium suite, my eyes drawn to the field below. Familiar faces surround me—former teammates and industry big shots—laughing, sipping drinks, and swapping stories. Once, this was my world. These were my people. But now, the suite feels more like a fishbowl, their polite nods and sidelong glances tightening a knot in my chest. They all know why I’m not out there anymore—or at least, they think they do.
Most chalk it up to bad luck—a freak accident or the inevitable toll from brutal years on the field. But the truth is far uglier. Tyson McRae ended my career with a single calculated, dirty shot. That moment didn’t just shatter my body—it unraveled everything I’d worked for. And no one understands how a betrayal like that rewires everything you thought you knew about loyalty, the game, and yourself.
I can’t breathe.
I cannot fucking breathe.
I school my features and wear the mask they expect—one that says I’m fine, and I’ve moved on. But every cheer from the stands, every familiar sound, every faint hint of fresh-cut grass is a sharp reminder of what’s gone.
And of how much I’ve lost.
“Good to be back, yeah?” My old teammate Nate nudges me with a grin, his easy demeanor a stark contrast to the storm inside me. “Like the good old days, eh?”
No, Nate. It’s not at all like the good old days.
I manage a small smile. “Yeah, good to be in the stadium again.”
He nods, taking a sip from his drink, his eyes scanning the field below. “It’s different, though––watching instead of playing.”
“Quite.” The word slips out sharper than I intend.
“I get it, Sebring. I retired on my terms. My body gave me a few warnings, and I knew when it was time to call it quits. But you––” He glances at me, the rest of his thought hanging unspoken between us, clear without him needing to say it.
“No, I didn’t get a choice.” Bitterness claws at the edges of my words, threatening to break through.
Nate nods, giving my shoulder a quick clap. “That’s rough, mate. I don’t envy that.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Memories flash through my mind—grueling recovery sessions, sleepless nights, and the endless frustration of knowing everything I’d worked for was ripped away. But I shove it all back down, unwilling to let it surface here.
Nate leans back in his seat, his gaze distant. “Still, it’s good to see you here.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I’d be sitting here as a spectator this early in life.”
Nate gives a small nod, his lips pulling into a half smile. “At least you had a good run. A great run actually.”
“It was good.” A part of me can’t fully embrace the words. “But it didn’t end the way it should have.”
The players charge the field, their cleats striking the turf with a rhythm that feels alive, each movement sharp, deliberate, powerful. My eyes follow the action until they land on him—my replacement. He’s good, I’ll give him that. Strong, fast, disciplined. But he’s still missing something, the finesse, the instinct that only comes with time.
My thoughts drift as I watch him, unbidden memories pulling me back to those first days after the injury. The crutches, the endless cycle of physical therapy, the constant ache that dulled with time but never truly disappeared. And the questions—always the questions. Would I recover? Could I come back? And the hardest one of all—what would I do if I couldn’t?
Nate nudges me, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Been a while since we caught up. You probably haven’t heard, but Julia and I are expecting! It’s a boy.”
“That’s brilliant.” I manage a genuine smile for him. “Congrats to you and Julia.”
He grins, practically radiating pride. “Thanks, mate. Wasn’t exactly planned—getting pregnant right before the wedding—but hey, it happens.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “That’s one way to keep things interesting.”
Nate laughs, the sound easy and unbothered. “You’re falling behind, you know. Time for you to find a missus now that you’re retired. Gotta get some sons while you’re still young—so we can turn them into rugby stars before we’re too old to keep up.”
I smirk, shaking my head lightly to brush off the comment though the thought persists, heavier than I want to admit.
“If you spot a missus for me running around out there, let me know.”
Nate chuckles, turning his attention back to the game. My gaze is fixed on the field, but a quiet thought sneaks into my head—what would it be like to have a son out there one day? To pass on everything I know. The idea tugs at something deep, but it’s quickly joined by another image—a daughter. A little girl I’d protect with everything I’ve got, who’d no doubt grow up tougher than I could ever imagine. Especially if Charleston were her mum. That kid would be steel-willed, no question.
The game wraps up, and before I know it, I’m swept along with Nate and a few others to one of the usual post-match gatherings. It’s the kind of scene I used to thrive in—music, laughter, drinks flowing, a blur of teammates, fans, and women eager to be part of the celebration. The kind of night where everyone blends together into one big, buzzing, chaotic family.
But now it feels different. Off. Like I’m watching it all from behind glass. The laughter, the clink of glasses, the hum of conversation—it’s just noise, amplifying the realization that I don’t belong here anymore.
I sip my drink, barely tasting it, scanning the room out of habit. The women flirt and laugh, leaning into conversations with the guys who soak it all up, the kind of easy, carefree attention I used to enjoy. But now? It feels hollow, like a version of myself I’ve left behind.
And then, through the blur of movement and noise, I see her. Across the room, she catches my eye, and everything else fades.
Celeste. She’s dressed to be noticed, her smile sharp and deliberate, cutting through the room like a blade. Our eyes meet for a fraction too long, and that’s all the invitation she needs. Her gaze locks on to mine, predatory intent in her eyes as she moves through the crowd. The room seems to part for her as if she commands it. Every step, every glance, is calculated—charm wielded like a weapon, designed to get exactly what she wants.
“Alex.” She draws out my name, her hand grazing my arm—a touch I don’t want.
I stiffen, polite but distant. “Hello, Celeste.”
Her smile widens as her gaze sweeps over me. “Oh, come on, Alex. Don’t be like that. We’ve always gotten along, haven’t we?”
“‘Gotten along’ might be a stretch.”
She laughs softly, seemingly unfazed. “We had some good times, didn’t we?” Her hand slides down my arm, her touch deliberate, testing. “And I’m sure you must miss what only I can give you.”
It’s just like Celeste to think she has a magical pussy.
“Celeste, some things are better left in the past. You’re one of them.”
Her confident smile falters for a moment before she smooths it over, charm snapping neatly back into place. She steps closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur, clearly aiming to create an air of intimacy. “Maybe we should slip away for a bit. I could remind you of what you’ve been missing.”
My patience thins. “Not interested.”
Her smile tightens, a crack in her polished exterior starting to show. “Why not?” She tilts her head as her gaze sharpens. “Are you seeing someone?”
The question hangs between us, her eyes probing for a reaction.
“Does it matter?”
She narrows her eyes, her forced casualness slipping. “Guess that’s a yes then.”
Now is the perfect moment to end this conversation. “Celeste, I really should get going.” I step around her, heading toward the edge of the room.
And then I see him.
Tyson McRae.
He’s across the room, laughing with a group, his demeanor as casual and carefree as if the past had never happened. The sight of him makes my pulse spike, anger surging through me in a wave so intense I can barely breathe.
My heart pounds with every bitter thought, every reminder of what he stole from me. Seeing him so at ease, so smug, while I’m haunted by the aftermath of his actions, twists something deep in my gut. My fists curl tightly before I even realize it.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, something cold flashes across his face. Then his mouth curves into a slow smirk. He starts toward me, his steps deliberate, his confidence rolling off him like a challenge.
“Sebring, didn’t expect to see you here. Finally grew the balls to stop hiding, did you? So, tell me—what’s it like watching from the stands, mate? Tough luck, eh?” Every word drips with mocking sympathy.
My jaw tightens, the muscles in my neck straining as I fight the urge to respond. Every instinct screams at me to wipe that smirk off his face with one solid blow, but I force myself to stay still. I can’t give him what he wants.
He leans in closer, his words dropping to a near whisper that carries a serrated edge. “Should’ve been more careful out there on the field.” His smirk sharpens into something outright malicious.
A flash of rage blinds me, my fists clenching so tightly that my nails bite into my palms. Every nerve in my body screams to shut him up, to silence his smug arrogance with one decisive move. But I breathe through it, steadying myself. I won’t let him win—not like this.
But fuck , it takes everything in me to hold back.
I step away, forcing myself out of the moment before the anger consumes me. As I push through the crowd, the noise swells, the space feels tighter, and the walls seem to close in around me. Memories and fury twist together, coiling tighter with each step until it feels like my skin might split from the pressure. Each breath comes harder, heavier, the burn beneath my skin refusing to fade no matter how hard I try to shake it off.
It’s overwhelming—every ache of what I’ve lost, every sneer and memory stirred up by being here, by seeing him. I stop, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to steady myself as my pulse races. The edge feels dangerously close, sharp and impossible to ignore.
And then, cutting through the haze, one thought steadies me with startling clarity.
Charleston.
Her name alone shifts something inside me, steadying me in a way nothing else can. She’s the only one who could pull me back from this. Before I fully realize it, my fingers are already reaching for my phone. I tap the microphone icon and bring my phone to my mouth. “I hate it here. I wish you were with me.”
I send the text, my heart pounding. Hearing from her is the only thing that might pull me from the anger and regret consuming me.
Her response comes almost instantly, and the tightness in my chest begins to ease as her words appear on the screen.
Are you okay?
No.
I’m here for you. Come to the penthouse when you leave… if you feel like it.
Simple.
Unassuming.
Exactly what I need.
The breath I’ve been holding slips out, and the rage begins to ebb, the tension loosening its grip. She’s the pill that takes away my pain. For the first time since stepping into this stadium, I feel something steady, something real. Just knowing she’s there for me pulls me back to myself.
Without a word to anyone, I leave. An Irish goodbye feels fitting—no explanations, no farewells. The cool night air greets me as I step out of the after-party. The tension in my shoulders persists, knotted and tight, but Charleston’s message dulls its edge. The hum of the city surrounds me, a quiet rhythm that steadies my thoughts as I take a few breaths. Slowly, the anger settles, receding piece by piece.
Celeste and Tyson don’t get to have this power over me anymore. They’re relics of the past—parts of my life I need to leave behind if I’m ever going to build something real, something good. The life I want? It doesn’t exist here, tangled in a world I’ve outgrown.
With each step, my resolve hardens. The past doesn’t define me anymore.
On my way.
The penthouse is still when I step inside, a sanctuary from the chaos of the night. I move quietly toward the bedroom, pushing the door open to find Charleston already in bed, her hair spilling over the pillow like a chestnut halo. She stirs, turning toward me with sleep-heavy eyes and a soft, welcoming smile.
“Hey, big guy. Everything okay?”
The sight of her undoes the last of the tension in my shoulders, and I exhale deeply. “It is now.”
I strip off my shirt and pants, letting them drop to the floor, and slide into bed beside her. Pulling her close, I fit myself against her, the warmth of her body soothing me like nothing else ever could. In her arms, I find a sense of ease I haven’t felt in years.
She shifts slightly, her hand finding mine and resting over it. “You’re sure everything’s okay?”
For a moment, I hesitate, unsure if I should even bring it up. But the thought of keeping it to myself feels heavier than it should, and I know talking to someone as understanding as Charleston is exactly what I need. “I ran into my ex tonight.”
She rolls over to face me, her eyes sharpening with curiosity and concern. “Did something happen between you two?”
“She flirted a bit. Made some suggestions.”
Her brow furrows. “What kind of suggestions ?”
I let out a dry chuckle, the memory more irritating than amusing. But the slight edge of jealousy I catch in Charleston’s voice…… I can’t deny liking it. “She wanted us to slip away so she could remind me of what I’ve been missing.”
Charleston’s eyes narrow. “What exactly was she wanting to remind you of?”
“Exactly what you’re thinking.”
Her expression grows unreadable, the pause stretching a beat too long before she finally responds. “Of course she wanted to hook up. Why wouldn’t she? The sex is amazing.”
Sensing her growing jealousy, I feel the need to make things clear. “I left and came here. My ex doesn’t mean a thing to me. You know that, right?”
Her eyes search mine, her features softening. “I believe you.” Her words are heavy with something unspoken, something that reaches beyond the surface. “I know we haven’t known each other long, and I don’t have any right to tell you who you can or can’t see, but––” She pauses, drawing in a breath. “I can’t stay in this if you’re interested in being with anyone else. I should’ve said it sooner, but this is new to me. While I’m really enjoying this—us—I won’t share you with anyone else while we’re together.”
I won’t share you with anyone else. The quiet intensity of her words strikes me, vulnerable yet firm, sinking deep in a way I didn’t expect. I like hearing it—more than I probably should. Knowing she cares enough to set that boundary is reassuring, giving me a sense of certainty I didn’t realize I wanted. With her, it’s not about control. It’s about clarity. She’s drawn her line, and I respect it. Hell, I admire it.
There’s a shift between us, something sharper, clearer than before. “I’m not interested in that life anymore. I’ve done it—juggled dates, spread myself thin, kept everything casual. That’s not what I want right now.”
I pull her closer, brushing a kiss against her forehead. “You’re the only woman in my life, Charleston.”
Her hand finds mine, her fingers threading through, her touch warm and sure. “And you’re the only man in mine.”
Charleston tilts her head, studying me in the dim light. “You still seem upset. Is that all that happened tonight?”
I take a breath, steadying myself. She deserves to hear it all. “No. The guy who caused my injury—Tyson—he was there too. He taunted me, got up in my face and tried to push every button he could find.”
Her eyes flash with a sudden fierceness, and her grip on my hand tightens. “This guy injures you, ends your career, and then has the nerve to taunt you about it? That’s a fuck ton of horse shit right there.”
My jaw tightens as the memory resurfaces. “It took everything in me not to lose it. I wanted to knock that arrogance right off his face, but everyone was there. If I’d retaliated, it would’ve only made things worse.”
“I don’t think he confronted you in public because he felt safe there. I think he wanted to provoke you, to make you react and look bad in front of everyone. This asshole’s not done messing with you.”
Her words hold an unsettling clarity. I’d assumed Tyson taunted me there because he knew I wouldn’t risk a scene, but maybe she’s right. Maybe he wanted me to snap.
“Why does this jerk have it in for you?”
“I took his job. The… organization wanted me because I was better at the job, and he got transferred. Simple as that.”
“So he was settling a score by injuring you? Like, if he couldn’t have the job, then neither could you?”
“Exactly.”
She sighs, her expression softening. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that tonight. Are you okay?”
The warmth in her words and the genuine concern in her eyes touch something deep within me. “I am now. Talking to you makes it manageable. My anger doesn’t feel so overwhelming.”
Her smile softens as she brushes her thumb over my cheek, the slow, calming motion easing what’s left of the tension inside me. “I’m glad,” she whispers, leaning her forehead gently against mine. “You deserve peace.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel peace. With her beside me, the anger fades into something smaller, quieter, easier to manage. I close my eyes, letting her presence wash over me—the very thing I’ve been needing and looking for even when I didn’t fully understand what it was.