Chapter 6
Connor
I looked like a moron.
My hair was gelled to within an inch of its life, slicked back, collar starched, lips dry as hell because I’d just spent the last five minutes breathing through my mouth.
“This isn’t a big deal,” I muttered to myself as I stared at my reflection in the locker room mirror.
“It’s a press release. For a shared stadium. That’s it.”
But my hands were still adjusting the collar of a shirt I hadn’t worn since our end-of-season awards dinner last year, and I’d changed socks twice before I’d left my apartment.
For a man who lived in compression shorts and a rotation of Knight training gear, I felt…
overdressed. Or under prepared. Or both. Yeah, definitely both.
Press releases were a part of the job. So why the hell was I hellbent on this playing out without a hiccup?
Maybe it was because I was always representing the legacy of the O’Riley name.
It wasn’t just a surname. Sometimes it felt like a shadow, a reputation built before I was born.
I wasn’t just representing myself and my team today; I was representing a family brand that gave my grandad a legendary status years ago.
It sat heavy on my shoulders, because if there was one thing worse than failing as Connor, it was failing my family.
It meant letting down people who’d built their identities around the path laid out for me.
Right here, right now, all I wanted was to get through this press release without looking like a fraud.
Jake popped his head around the corner. “Hey there, sexy.”
“Not now, dude.”
He came in anyway, holding a travel mug and a smug grin. “You do realize the world already knows you’re hot, right? You don’t have to sweat over this.”
“I’m not sweating.”
He looked at my pits, and it made me check too. Thank fuck, they were dry.
“You’re an arsehole.”
He chuckled.
I grabbed the media brief from the bench beside me.
I’d read it three times already, but apparently, I liked suffering.
Hashtags glared back at me. #Sharedturf was at the top, and I glazed over the others.
Photo ops. A thirty second quote about unity and sportsmanship that I’d memorized last night.
Followed by a five-to-ten-minute live stream with—
“Is she here yet?” I asked, cutting off my own brain.
“Not yet. Think you scared her off?”
I rolled my shoulders and tried not to scowl. “Unlikely.”
“Yeah, well. Try not to flirt on camera. Or do. Depends how viral you wanna go.”
I flipped him off as he left, then turned back to the mirror. My neck felt stiff. And I’d be lying if I said it was just nerves about the press.
Because I didn’t want to just show up and smile. I wanted to prove I wasn’t some lazy, cocky golden boy winging it through leadership.
I wanted to show the world that I was capable of doing this my way and not fumbling.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway outside. Micah’s voice filtered in, followed by another familiar one.
I stepped back from the mirror, just as the door creaked open.
This time, it was Teddy who walked in, braid neat and draped over her shoulder, expression already halfway between get this over with and say one wrong thing and I’ll break your femur.
And she looked good. Fuck me. That navy dress made her eyes even bluer than normal.
The material skimmed over her thighs and pulled in at her waist like it had been made with her in mind.
But it was her posture that got me, shoulders back, chin set, every inch of her radiating unshakeable energy.
She didn’t just look beautiful, she looked strong.
She owned the damn room the second she stepped into it.
Her eyes flicked to mine for a heartbeat, catching me staring at her, but she looked away just as fast, leaving me with very little air to breathe.
“Good morning.” I tried not to let my voice wobble.
“Is it?” she replied, not breaking stride as she dropped her water bottle on the bench and slipped off her heels. “I haven’t had coffee, and I agreed to this under mild emotional duress.”
“I’m with you on that,” I chuffed a sound, understanding her frustrations. Neither of us wanted to do this, yet here we were.
She glanced at me then, just long enough to clock the starched shirt and suit. Her eyebrows twitched upward. “You look like you’re running for office.”
“Good,” I said. “I’m trying to win the vote of the Valkyries front row.”
Her lips twitched—barely—but it was there. A crack in the armor.
Then the PR assistant poked her head in. “You’re both needed in five. They’re setting up the mics now.”
“Thanks, Daphne.” Then Teddy turned to me, exhaled, and for a second, the tension slipped.
“Ready to go play nice for the cameras?” she asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
***
We were ushered out onto the small media stage in the Valkyries’ room, the same one Teddy and I negotiated in this week.
Except it had been converted for the morning with a branded black backdrop, lights, mic stands set, and a semi-circle of local press, league reps, and a few social media staff crouched with phones, ready to go live.
Teddy took her spot on the left side of the chairs without looking at me.
I took mine on the right.
The PR manager—a chirpy blonde woman with a headset and lots of confidence for eight a.m.—stepped up to the mic. I’d already forgotten her name, and I added another thing to my never-ending list: make sure you know everyone’s names in the Valkyries’ office.
“Thank you all for joining us this morning. As you know, due to recent earthquake damage, the Knights stadium is undergoing significant repairs. At this time, we don’t have a timescale for when it’ll be back up and running.
It’s an unfortunate event, but the Valkyries have kindly offered to share facilities for the foreseeable future.
We’re excited to launch this joint campaign that will highlight unity, resilience, community, and hopefully, in the future, we will be able to host a fundraiser for those affected by the earthquake. ”
She gestured to us.
“Captains Sloane and O’Riley have come together to represent both teams as we enter this new chapter. They’ll each say a few words, then we’ll open for questions.”
She stepped back. The silence stretched like a cable ready to snap, but it was brief because Teddy took a half-step forward, confidence oozing from her like it usually did.
“Thank you for being here,” she said, clear and calm.
“We know this season comes with unique challenges. Sharing a stadium isn’t ideal for either side’s schedules, but it’s an opportunity to show what collaboration in sports can look like.
The Valkyries are proud to host. We’re committed to making this work, for both teams and the city. ”
Polite applause. A few camera shutters clicked.
She made it look easy. Like saying all the right things was just another drill she’d already mastered.
It was annoying. And impressive as hell.
And everything that made my blood boil when we were in college together.
There was nothing Teddy loved more than getting the upper hand on me.
It didn’t happen that often; my fragile youthful ego wouldn’t allow it, but there were times I missed that challenge with her.
Seeing this perfected version of the girl I knew is definitely making me feel… something.
I straightened and adjusted the mic in front of me. Tried not to sound like I was still thinking about the way her voice had just filled the room.
“Right.” I cleared my throat. “Uh, she said most of it better than I could, so I’ll keep it short…
The Knights are grateful. This year didn’t start the way we planned.
But having the Valkyries’ support—especially during their own first season prep—means a hell of a lot.
We’re not just teammates within our own squads anymore. We’re rebuilding together.”
More applause.
Teddy turned just enough to glance at me, a flicker of surprise in her expression. Maybe she thought I’d show up and wing it. Truth is, I’d spent all night rehearsing that short speech.
“Great, thank you both. Now, let’s take some questions…”
Hands shot up, and the first question was selected. “Teddy, is there concern about tension or clashes between the teams?”
She didn’t flinch. “We’re adults. Competitive ones, sure. But we know how to work toward a common goal. We’ve been doing it our whole careers. So, no.”
“Connor, you and a lot of your team have a reputation within certain social circles… Do you feel as though training with the Valkyries will serve as a distraction to you and the rest of the team?”
I wasn’t crazy about that accusation. A lot of male athletes were held to some kind of standard where we were either playboys for dating or assholes for not dating. The media loved to spin shit either way, but my guys were worth more than that. So were the women we were sharing this space with.
I held the reporter’s gaze and kept my voice even. “As Teddy has said, we’re professional athletes. We’re here to train, not screw around. And anyone on my team who forgets that won’t be on the pitch come game day, but I guarantee I’ll have a full squad from day one.”
A few heads nodded. Someone scribbled something in a notebook. I didn’t care if it made headlines—I meant it.
The questions kept coming, some surface level, some digging. A few tried to bait conflict, asking if Teddy was prepared for her first season as captain, or if the team could be outshined by the Valkyries’ newer stadium.
Teddy’s fists clenched more than once, but we danced around them cleanly until one reporter asked, “Teddy, with women’s rugby still growing in popularity, do you worry that hosting the Knights will overshadow your team’s season?”
Teddy’s response was all too familiar to me.
For as long as I’d known her, she always let questions like that take up space, let the echo of them hang in the air for just long enough for everyone to recognize how ridiculous they were.
Almost as if she was giving the room a chance to hear the subtext out loud before she cut it cleanly in half.
She lifted her chin, the slightest inhale steadying her.
“No. The only people who worry about being overshadowed are the ones doing the underestimating. We know who we are, and we know how we play. Sharing a stadium doesn’t threaten our season.
If anything, it puts more eyes on a sport that deserves them.
We’re hoping that the Knights can become allies, which is a much more positive outlook on this situation.
Don’t you agree?” Her head tilted toward the reporter with a take-no-shit look that blew right through the whole room.
There were a few nods and smiles, mostly the beacon of red emanating from that one reporter as though he’d been berated in front of everyone outside the principal’s office.
“Anyone who’s actually watched the Valkyries train wouldn’t ask that question,” I said, meeting the guy’s eyes. “The Knights are proud to be here.”
Another ripple of camera clicks.
Teddy didn’t look at me, but I didn’t need her to, to feel that spark ignite between us. We’d spent years being on opposite sides and now we were on the same team. Those sparks didn’t travel back and forth; they festered between us. Even after a few days, they were simmering.
By the time the press part ended, my shoulders had started to relax.
Then the PR rep said, “We’ll now do a short photo call with the captains. Please stand closer.”
She stiffened beside me, I’m guessing because the request to be closer wasn’t her idea of a good time this morning. I got it. No one likes being told to fake chemistry in front of a dozen cameras. Especially not her.
Still, like the pro she was, she didn’t argue. Just inhaled slowly through her nose and took the smallest step toward me. I followed suit, careful not to crowd her. Careful not to let the press see what I knew to be true—that even standing this close, she was miles away from wanting it.
But it didn’t matter, as soon as I got close enough, whatever she used in her hair, something fruity but clean, took me right back to being in college, swapping insults with her in a classroom, pretending it didn’t set my blood on fire at all. Like right fucking now.
The photographer gestured. “Little closer.”
Teddy didn’t move, so I did. The side of my dress shoe met her heel, it was only half a step, and I kept my arms folded behind my back as I angled toward her.
My shoulder brushed hers lightly, more out of necessity than choice, but she held her ground.
She didn’t flinch or shift away from me.
Then the side of her jaw ticked, and I would’ve missed it had I not been so close.
I leaned in slightly, just enough that my voice would reach her without anyone else hearing. “You can punch me after,” I murmured.
Her shoulders eased a fraction, the ghost of a breath catching in her throat as she muttered, “I’ll hold you to that.” Maybe it was a laugh. Maybe not. But whatever it was, she didn’t pull away. And for now, I’d take that.
Then the camera flashes hit.
We stood together in unity.
And I tried really fucking hard not to think about how her shoulder felt pressed against mine, or the way her shampoo still lingered twenty minutes later.