Orla
I received the weirdest text from Gwen last night. Vague as hell.
Gwen:
Me:
What?! Why?!
Gwen:
Better if you don’t ask questions until after you meet them.
Brilliant. Cryptic Gwen was the worst Gwen. I tossed the phone on the counter and swore at it under my breath, like that might make her materialise with some answers.
I wasn’t even scheduled to see Tyler today, so I couldn’t ask if he knew anything—not that I even officially had his number, that was locked in my clinical notes back at the centre.
Which was probably for the best; the way things were going, one text from him and I’d end up in the HR handbook as a cautionary tale.
So here I was, walking into one of the office buildings at the NTC, heading toward a mystery meeting with God-knows-who about God-knows-what, clutching a file like a bloody job applicant.
Part of me was terrified, bracing for some kind of disaster.
The other part of me was secretly hoping Tyler was on the other side of the door I was about to locate.
The corridor was stark and hummed with fluorescent light, a sterile tang of polish and old coffee in the air.
My trainers squeaked against the vinyl floor.
I felt ridiculous, like the kid who turns up to the wrong classroom with all the wrong books.
Every door looked the same. I scanned the numbers until I found it: 2C.
I took a deep, steadying breath, gripped my file, and knocked.
“Come in,” an American voice I almost recognised called.
I turned the handle. Standard meeting room. Green carpet that was probably older than me, magnolia walls and a long oak table. To my surprise, Ted sat on one side, smiling warmly. Next to him was a sharp-suited man I didn’t recognise, I didn’t think I’d ever met him before.
“Orla, hi,” Ted said. “Come take a seat.”
“Hi,” I replied cautiously. “Wasn’t expecting to see you, to be honest. Gwen’s message was… vague.”
Ted chuckled. We’d only really spoken in passing during Tyler’s treatments, but he seemed decent.
He had a warm personality that immediately put you at ease and judging by how long he’d stuck with Tyler, he also must have the patience of a saint—either that or he was heavily medicated.
I glanced at the other man: mid-forties, slicked-back hair, clean shave, expensive suit.
Professional looking and slightly intimidating.
“This is Alan Etheridge,” Ted said. “He’s a manager-slash-agent for a few of the guys, Tyler included.”
Alan stood to shake my hand with a firm grip and polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Orla.”
“You too,” I said, still completely in the dark. “I’m… not totally sure why I’m here.”
“Don’t worry,” Ted said quickly. “It’s nothing bad.”
Alan leaned forward. “Tyler’s injury. What’s your current assessment?”
Ah. That explained it.
“Well,” I said carefully, steadying myself.
“I’m seeing him tomorrow morning for a follow-up.
He’s certainly aggravated it, but I don’t think it’s serious.
I’ve booked him an ultrasound to assess if there’s a tear, but I’d say it’s grade one at most. In the meantime, I’ve built a treatment plan but he needs someone working with him consistently if he’s going to recover properly and prevent aggravation. ”
Alan nodded. “That’s exactly why you’re here.”
“Oh?”
Ted took over. “Tyler was a beast in that semi-final. Even with the hamstring, he held his own. He’s close, so close, and we don’t want this to set him back.”
Alan folded his hands. “Sponsors have agreed to fund a full-time physio to join him on the U.S. tour.”
I blinked. My pulse stuttered.
“In fact,” Ted continued, “we’re putting together a small physio team for three players Alan manages. Three physios, one lead.”
Alan’s gaze held mine. “We want you to lead that team, Orla. Everyone here speaks highly of you. Tyler clearly trusts your work. And the salary will be supplementary to what you’re earning here. This can continue to be your base.”
Trust? God, I hadn’t realised how much I needed to hear that.
Heat crept up my neck. My grip on the file went clammy, like my palms had forgotten how to behave. Lead the team? U.S. tour? My heart hammered so loud I was half afraid they could hear it across the table. Then a thought occurred to me.
“Wait,” I managed. “Did Tyler… tell you to approach me?”
Ted grinned. “Actually, it was Gwen.”
Of course it was Gwen. Bloody Gwen.
“This is… big,” I breathed. “So I’d be working with Tyler?”
“Well you’d get to take on another two physios of your choosing but yes, he would be one of the three players,” Alan said smoothly.
My stomach dropped. That was going to complicate things.
“Okay. Well. I’m flattered. Thank you. Would it be alright if I took some time to think it over?”
“Of course,” Alan said. “But we’ll need a decision soon. We’ve got a tight timeline. Here’s my card, happy to talk through logistics if you’ve got questions. Travel, accommodation, insurance, all covered. This could be a career-changer, Orla.”
I took the card with unsteady fingers. “Thank you. I’ll let you know by tomorrow evening.”
I stood, left the room and closed the door gently behind me.
For a moment I just stood there, confusion still whirling in my mind. What had just happened?
A job offer. A tour. Him.
The excitement almost drowned out the fear for one irresponsible second.
Which in itself was terrifying. Could I do this?
Professionally, absolutely. It was the kind of prestige people killed for.
But personally? Constant proximity to that man.
After last night and after that near kiss and the way he looked at me.
Shit.
I pulled out my phone and fired off a message. There was only one person who’d have the audacity to pull strings like this and call it a favour.
Me:
Gwen, Are you free this evening? I need a drink.
Gwen met me at the Dog and Duck down the road from her place. She was already in the pub garden when I arrived with two glasses of sauvignon waiting and her sunglasses perched atop her head as though she was auditioning for The Real Housewives of Richmond.
I dropped into the chair opposite with a huff, signalling my annoyance but she didn’t even flinch.
“Meeting went well, then?” She smirked.
“What the hell, Gwen? You could have warned me.”
“You’d have backed out.” She said it knowingly, like she’d played this game before.
“At least I wouldn’t have been blindsided.”
She shrugged and sipped her wine, unbothered. “So, are you doing it or not?”
“It’s not that simple.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, you’ve shagged him already?”
“What? Jesus, keep your voice down.” I hissed, glancing around the garden. “And no, I bloody haven’t.”
“Well then, what?”
I wrapped both hands around my chilled glass, stalling. “I… met him for a drink the other night.”
Her face lit with instant amusement.
“And before you say anything, it was just one drink. As colleagues—friends at most. I was home by ten. On my own.”
“The world’s most boring date, then.” She smirked.
“It wasn’t a date.” My cheeks burned hotter than the citronella candle between us.
“It wasn’t a date,” I muttered quieter. I gripped the stem of my wine glass so tight the condensation dripped down my hand.
“But… we talked. Properly. He told me a lot about himself, his family. Everything Kate said was right; he’s had it rough. ”
“I knew there was more to him,” she said, her voice dropping its teasing edge for a moment of triumph.
I nodded, but my stomach twisted. “That’s the problem. The more I learn, the harder it gets to keep him at arm’s length.”
“So how does that complicate things?”
I lowered my voice. “After the semifinal he was spiralling. I’ve never seen him so hurt, and frustrated. I hauled him in before he could leg it and gave him some tough love, which… I don’t think he’s used to getting. And then he…”
“What?” Gwen leaned in so far, I thought she might tip the table.
“He almost kissed me.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What do you mean almost?”
“His coach walked in just before it happened.”
“Oh, what a bloody cock-block.”
“Gwen.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling the onset of this headache. “If I’m honest… if he had kissed me, I don’t think I’d have stopped him.”
The moment it left my mouth, I wished I could shove the words back in; admitting it out loud made it real. And to be honest, this was the first time I truly admitted it to myself. My throat felt tight, like I’d confessed something unforgivable.
Her eyebrow arched. “And you’re telling me this like you’re confessing a crime?”
“Because it feels like one.” I let out a long, shuddering breath. “I’ve worked too hard for this. My career, my reputation—I can’t risk it all just because one man makes my pulse go haywire every time he opens his mouth.”
“Orla.” She leant in, her tone softening. “You’ve spent years keeping your head down and rebuilding after Josh. You don’t have to apologise for wanting something… or someone. And maybe this isn’t about taking a risk, maybe it’s about finally letting yourself live.”
I stared down into my wine until the golden liquid blurred against the candlelight. Gwen had that spooky talent of seeing straight through the rubbish I hadn’t even acknowledged yet.
“Why do you always have to be so wise?” I joked, blinking away the sudden sting in my eyes.
“I know, right? It’s like a gift,” she deadpanned, clearly thriving on my misery.
But maybe Gwen was right. Maybe I’d spent so long protecting myself, I’d forgotten what it felt like to be alive. Maybe that was the real danger. Because for the first time in years, I wanted to say yes. But I wasn't entirely certain about which part I was saying yes to.