11
There was a steady white noise from the plane that almost drowned out the rustle of paper cups and the sighs of tired bodies.
The team had filled most of the rows – slumped in their seats, headphones on, half-asleep under travel blankets.
The vibe back to New Zealand was quite different than the ride there.
Claire sat by the window, coffee in hand, sunglasses shielding eyes that ached more from overthinking and lack of sleep rather than bad decisions. The sunlight that streamed through the cabin felt too bright and too honest.
It had been a long night. It had also been a long morning. Claire is included with the hustle of staff that had to ensure that the travel gym, medical kits, breakfast boxes, and the actual players were ready to go.
The logistic coordinators really have this whole song and dance down to a science.
It was incredible but exhausting to witness.
Claire had to instruct the team to stay hydrated, fed, and to walk the aisles.
She didn’t want swollen ankles on arrival.
Especially since she learned they will go directly into training again. No rest for the wicked.
Between the music, the adrenaline, and Noah’s interference, she’d barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she replayed it – Jack’s smile, his hands on her body, the moment before everything stopped, the moment before that almost kiss. Then Noah’s voice cut through it all like a cold blade.
Now, sitting thousands of feet above the ocean, it all seemed a little clearer. Messier, yes, but clearer, also yes.
She flipped up the lid of her laptop, typed in a quick pin and opened a blank note.
Professional boundaries.
The title felt stiff, clinical. Maybe that was the point.
Her fingers hovered before she started typing:
Jack – friendly, charismatic, blurs the line between charm and intent. Must maintain distance. Keep conversations casual and professional. Avoid one-on-one situations outside of medical necessity.
She paused, taking a sip of her hot coffee. Jack was young, impulsive, and easy to like – dangerously easy. And though she didn’t regret dancing with him, she regretted letting the moment go that far. Her next note came slower.
Noah – captain, authority figure. Must separate professional respect from emotional response. His interference is inappropriate. Address boundaries directly if pattern continues.
Her pulse flickered a little faster as she typed his name. It irritated her. That he’d gotten under her skin at all.
J-E-R-K
She typed, but backspaced.
Across the aisle, Tania was curled up in a blanket, earbuds in, sleep mask on, nursing what Claire assumed was a bad hangover.
Claire and Stephanie had to help Tania back into her hotel room at 2am.
After Stephanie and Tania crawled into bed, Claire left them some ibuprofen and electrolyte powders with water for when they woke up.
A few rows ahead, Jack was reclined, cap pulled low, earbuds in too. He looked peaceful – too peaceful for someone who’d nearly kissed her twelve hours ago. Claire wondered if his heart was fluttering like hers.
And then there was Noah. Two seats up, on the opposite side of the aisle, facing outwards towards the gangway, reading through, what Claire assumes is match notes.
His focus looked absolute, his posture composed.
But when the flight attendant passed by, his eyes lifted, just for a second, and found hers.
Claire looked away first.
She shut the lid with a quiet click, slid the laptop into her bag, and turned toward the window. The clouds outside stretched endlessly, white and silent.
Tomorrow, things would return to normal.Or at least, they would have to.
For now, she rested her head against the cool glass, letting the drone of the engines fill the space where the feeling of an almost kiss had lingered.
When they land, she will lay down the law. Definitely. She was determined.
When they were back in Auckland, the buses pulled up outside the terminal, ready to transport them to the facilities. The midday light was bright and merciless. Players loaded their bags in practiced routine, team staff ticking off names on the manifest.
Noah passed by her as he climbed on board last, voice low.“Thanks for keeping them in one piece,” he said.
She didn’t look up from her clipboard. “That’s my job.”
He let out a huff.
Claire paused wondering if he just scoffed at her. Still, when he walked past her into the bus, the air seemed to change just a little. It was filled with tension and Noah’s audacity, and Claire’s anger that she had to shove way deep down.
“Keep it professional,” she whispered to herself.
Tania caught the exchange and shot Claire a knowing, mischievous, look.
Claire exhaled. “Don’t,” she muttered.
“Didn’t say anything,” Tania said, smirking as she followed the team onto the bus.
Tania knew there was something going on there, and she was determined to find out.
Claire finally took her seat at the front, exhaustion settling in like gravity, her friend sliding in next to her. A city done, a win in the books.
By the time the buses arrived at the training facility, the weekend haze had lifted; the players were back in their element – heavy lifts, sprints, focused silence between bursts of shouting and ribbing. It was the usual Monday reset: post-match recovery, assessments, and planning.
She stopped by the head nutritionist office first, leaning over the counter with her coffee while the two team nutritionists reviewed post-game stats.
“We’ll need to adjust a few of the recovery plans,” one of them said, scrolling through charts.
“Jack’s iron’s a bit low again, and Miko’s on anti-inflammatories, so no fish oil for him for a week.
Gosh, Toby is probably still drunk from the other night. ”
Claire nodded, noting it on her tablet. “Let's get Toby some electrolytes. Good for everything else. Let’s tweak Noah’s hydration protocol too – he lost more weight than expected post-match.
” She said it offhandedly, but even hearing his name made her pulse tick.
She forced her focus back to the charts.
By midday, she made her way down to the rehab area. Miko was there, barefoot on the mat, working through a stability drill with his physical therapist. His leg was taped, still puffy, but he was moving cautiously, trying to prove himself fine.
“Careful,” the physio warned. “We’re not rushing it. Balance.”
Miko rolled his eyes but obeyed. Claire stood just behind the partition, tablet in hand, watching the slow rotation of his joint, the micro-wince he tried to hide.
“How’s he tracking?” she asked quietly when the physio stepped aside after noticing her observing.
“Better than yesterday,” the physio replied, tone measured. “No structural damage, but it’ll need a week off at least. He’s just frustrated.”
“Understood,” Claire said. “We’ll keep him on modified training. No running yet – just balance, controlled resistance, and pool work.”
Miko glanced over, catching her eye mid-drill. “I’ll be ready for the next match, Doc.”
She smiled, professional, even. “Let’s focus on healing properly first. You’ll be of more use to the team if you come back at full strength.”
“I was strong enough to go dancing; I’ll be strong enough to play.”
Claire sighed, nodding reluctantly. He was right, but the movements are two different things.
When she turned to leave, she caught sight of Noah on the far side of the gym, running contact drills with the forwards.
He didn’t look her way, but she felt his presence, the same charged awareness that had followed her since Sydney.
Claire exhaled slowly and tucked her tablet under her arm. There was still work to do, schedules to finalize, players to clear, and a team to keep running like clockwork. She’d deal with Noah later. Professionally, of course.
Or at least, she hoped so.
She found herself in her office by the end of the day, reading up on some new trials that could help with blood sugar recovery when a light knock was at her door.
“Come in,” she said without looking up.
Noah stepped into the doorway. Still in his training kit, shirt damp at the collar, hair pushed back messily. He held a small paper cup, and something wrapped in foil.
“Peace offering,” he said, voice rough from dehydration.
Claire blinked. “Is that… coffee?”
“Black. And a muffin. Banana walnut, I think. The lady at the café said it’s your usual.”
She hesitated, leaning back in her chair. “You’ve been checking on my coffee orders now?”
His mouth tugged into a faint smile. “Just paying attention.” He crossed the room and set the cup and muffin down on her desk, the scent of coffee curling between them.
Claire eyed the coffee.
“It’s not poisoned or anything…” Noah told her.
“I didn’t think it was,” Claire said, still hesitant.
“I wanted to say sorry. For –” He paused, searching for words. “For getting in the way the other night.”
Her pen stilled. “You mean interrupting?”
“Yeah.” His lips pursed slightly. “It wasn’t my place. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Claire studied him for a long moment. The apology sounded sincere, but his eyes – those impossible light brown eyes – carried something else behind them. Guilt. Possession. Maybe even confusion.
“I appreciate you saying that,” she said finally, voice even. “But Noah, you can’t–”
“I know,” he interrupted quietly. “You’re the doctor. I’m the captain. Lines.” He let out a low breath, almost a laugh without humor. “I know better.”
She leaned back, arms folded loosely. “Then let’s keep it professional. I don’t want anyone on this team thinking I play favorites. I will watch myself as well. He is a player after all. There are rules.”
He nodded, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Understood.” He turned slightly toward the door, then hesitated. “You’re good at what you do, Doctor Ashford. The guys notice it. I do too.”
Her pulse skipped, but she masked it with a small, polite smile. “Thank you. Now go hydrate – your numbers were low post-match.”
He scoffed at her, again, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Always the doctor.”
“Always,” she said softly.
Noah left, the door clicking shut behind him. Claire stared at the coffee for a long moment before reaching for it, wrapping her hands around the warm cup.
She shouldn’t have smiled. She shouldn’t have cared. But the peace offering tasted exactly how she liked it. It was strong, slightly bitter, and impossible to resist.