Chapter 3
Connor
“This is doable, right?” Even I could hear the hope in my voice, because if she told me that her management wasn’t willing to help, then I’d to go back to my team empty-handed, and that wasn’t an option.
I wouldn’t be the captain who couldn’t pull us through this crisis.
The one who let the Knights become a cautionary tale: great roster, but no fight in them.
My grandad’s legacy would end with me failing, and the club’s reputation going along with it.
We were still the same hungry team; I intended to keep it that way.
The lads needed stability and structure, not chaos and skipped training sessions.
If I walked back to them without a solution, I may as well resign now.
She nodded, and a few strands of hair fell out of her braid as she did, fingers flying over her iPad screen, where I spotted the calendar app open. “Let’s start with training. That takes up most of our time here. What’s your schedule?”
“Uh…” I glanced down at the paper I’d crumpled in my hoodie pocket. “We lift Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Gym from seven to nine in the morning. Usually, PT after. Pitch sessions follow at ten or eleven, but not before game days. Tactical and video every other afternoon.”
Teddy glanced up from her screen, her eyebrows lifting. “That’s… loose.”
I frowned. “It’s structured.”
“Right.”
I leaned back, my eyes bouncing between hers, wondering if she was baiting me here and glad that Micah had stepped out so she didn’t witness my impending dressing down from Teddy. “We adjust based on recovery and what the squad needs. It works.”
“Of course.”
Irritation simmered under my skin at her placating responses. “Come on then, tell me your schedule.”
“We’re Monday to Friday. Gym from 0600 to 0800. Pitch sessions at 0900. Video blocks locked at 1300. Contact work Tuesday and Thursday. Recovery gym on Wednesdays, low impact or yoga only. And our pre-hab slots are set by the med team, non-negotiable.”
“You’re joking,” I gaped. “You guys train five days straight?”
“Welcome to professional sports, O’Riley.”
I let out a low laugh. “Right. Because the rest of us are just winging it.”
“Some of you are,” she said calmly, without looking up.
My jaw ticked at that. “Rest days exist for a reason.”
“They do,” she replied evenly. “We just build a smarter system around them. We rest within a gentle regime.”
Before I snapped back, the door creaked open, and Micah ducked in, her blonde and brown braid swinging over her shoulder as she brought in a tray of protein shakes and dropped it on the side table.
“Peace offering,” she said, glancing between us. “You both okay?”
“Fine,” Teddy muttered.
“I’ll keep the defibrillator on standby,” Micah grinned, then looked at me. “Play nice, golden boy.”
“I’m charming as hell,” I shot back.
“Sure. That’s what they all say.” With a wink, she slipped back out.
“Alright,” I huffed, glancing at my notes. The difference between us was stark, and it left a sour taste in my mouth. I hated feeling underprepared, and this whole day started on the back foot. I wasn’t used to that with Teddy; in college, we were often even keeled.
I could pretend it was the quake that made me look underprepared, but it was probably more than that. “So where does that leave us for gym use? Can I see your setup? Maybe there’s room for a crossover.”
She sighed, lips pressing into a thin line straight after.
For a second, I thought she was going to say no just to make a point.
Instead, she turned the screen of her tablet toward me.
Blue blocks. Rows and rows of them. Timed down to the minute.
Warm-ups, lifts, cooldowns, recovery access, rotation groups.
It looked like a training matrix designed by NASA.
I let out a harsh breath. “Jaysus.”
She shrugged. “We have sixty minutes of active gym per session. That includes movement prep, post-lift recovery protocols, and rotation through equipment stations. If we don’t plan it down to the wire, someone’s standing around wasting time. Or worse—doing something wrong.”
I scanned the screen again. “I thought you said your gym time is two hours? Didn’t you say 0600 to 0800 like a drill sergeant?”
Her eyes fluttered with a little roll. Apparently, I was really good at asking stupid questions. “The second hour is PT for us too. We rotate out but keep loose with equipment while we’re assessed, it rarely runs over.”
“Our schedules aren’t that different. Maybe we should just align everything.”
She tapped the screen once, ready to add another event. “And have my team ogled by yours? No. We can alternate.”
A flicker of frustration burned, because she wasn’t wrong; some of the lads could be idiots. But I wouldn’t let that be the standard. “They’re professional athletes, Teddy. And if any of them forget that, I’ll remind them. Your team deserves the same respect as mine does.”
Her head lifted and those cool blue eyes assessed me, narrowing as she mulled over my words. “Forgive me if I don’t trust your team to be the exception here. But if you keep them in line, then we should be able to work this out.”
I deflated a little at that. Respect from Teddy felt like a huge step in the right direction, but I already knew that we’d have to earn that from her and her squad.
“So when you’re in gym, we’re on pitch?”
“Minimal crossover,” she said.
“Except when we’re both playing games on the same day…” And I knew there was going to be a few, considering our season schedule is almost identical.
She didn’t falter, though. “Yeah, those four clash weekends? Two of them are already confirmed for off-site venues.”
My head reared back. What the hell? “Off-site where?”
“For you,” she clarified, then turned her screen toward me. “We locked in our home fixtures. It was easier to keep ours than yours. You got bumped, like, thirty minutes ago.”
I blinked at her screen in disbelief, seeing mostly Valkyries set up for home games. “Seriously?”
She nodded without apology. “Talk to your management.”
A muscle jumped in my jaw and made my teeth grind, that unfamiliar heat when I was around her was returning with a vengeance, only I wasn’t sure it was her fault.
“Right. Because clearly the solution to one ruined stadium is to give the Valkyries everything.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake.
She looked up, nostrils flaring. “We didn’t take anything. It’s our facilities, our brand-new-for-this-season facilities, and you need help. This is the help, O’Riley. Take it or leave it.”
When everything was up in the air, even the smallest push felt like a shove.
If I wasn’t so hell-bent on dragging us through this with some shred of dignity as captain, I’d consider calling it and begging management to figure something else out.
The odds were not in our favor. But if I quit, what the hell would that say to the rest of them?
I resolved my earlier thoughts and knew I had to step up.
“I know,” I said, though my voice scraped lower than I intend. “It just… feels like we’re being pushed out.”
“You’re not,” she said simply. “You’re being accommodated.”
My jaw was working overtime today, and I huffed a noise that definitely should have stayed inside.
She finally looked up, eyes flashing. The intensity hit me harder than I expected, catching me off balance. I met her glare with one of my own. “You think I asked for this? You think I want my first season as captain to be shared with you?” She spewed the words so familiarly.
“No,” I snapped back. “But it’s a lot easier to stay on top when the system’s already built around you.”
“Let me tell you something, Connor. Nothing about being a woman in sports is built around me. This very situation included.” Her chest started to heave.
“We fight for space, for funding, for respect, for this building. Every damn day. And then we have an inch of space to breathe, we have to prove we belong. Over and over. And if we show even a second of weakness? We’re fed to the wolves.
Not a single thing about this is easy for my team, but I work damn hard to make sure they see who cares about them. So, don’t give me that shit.”
I didn’t say anything at first, I couldn’t.
Because she was right. I’d never had to think about that kind of fight.
Not really. The closest I remembered was my sister played in college years before me and she had nowhere to go after, no career path because she was a woman.
Suddenly, the privilege of being a male in a male-dominated sport felt like something I’d never considered before, and it was an ugly realization.
I’d grown up watching my granddad’s highlight reels, was told since I was a toddler that the game owed me nothing, but in truth, it had given me everything.
Access. Exposure. Respect I hadn’t even earned yet.
Maybe that was why working for it with her felt so new.
Meanwhile, she’d been out here clawing for the same ground I’d been handed at birth.
And I’d just thrown it in her face.
The guilt was a solid weight in my chest—unpleasant and deserved. For the first time, I had to face how insulated my world had been. How much I’d mistaken hard work for hardship.
She was still breathing roughly, fire in her eyes, but the only thought in my mind was how goddamn small I felt.
There wasn’t a damn thing I could say that would be enough. But I couldn’t stay silent.
I exhaled roughly through my nose. “Look, I’m not blaming you, and I’m definitely not trying to make you feel like you don’t deserve the stadium you have.
But my team just lost their pitch, their training structure, and all their gear.
They’re trying to hold it together with what I can provide them as their leader, and every time I turn around, something else is off-limits. ”
She didn’t blink. “Then help them by adapting. Not by resenting what help you’re given.”