13
The German team buses rolled through Auckland and into the gates of the Crusaders’ training facility just after dawn, the sky pale and windless.
Noah was already there, leaning against the railing outside the main entrance dressed in a black and gold tracksuit, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.
When the German captain stepped off the bus, Noah straightened instantly.
“Stephan,” he said, breaking into a grin that split years of distance and borders in half.
Stephan laughed, broad and warm, and dropped his kit bag long enough to pull Noah into a crushing hug. “Still impossible to knock over, I see.”
“Still talking too much,” Noah shot back, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re greying,” he said as he touched the visiting captain's short dark blond hair, now showing a couple greys.
Stephan Mueller wasn’t the biggest man on the pitch, but he carried himself with sharp, restless energy.
Broad through the shoulders from years of tackling above his weight class, his frame narrowed at the waist, giving him that unmistakable half-silhouette.
A thin scar cut through his right eyebrow – an old souvenir from club rugby in Europe, accentuating his steel-blue eyes, giving his otherwise clean-cut face a permanent edge.
His gaze flicked past Stephan, landing on a beautiful blonde-haired woman stepping carefully down the bus stairs, one hand on her lower belly, the other gripping the rail.
“Michaela,” Noah said, softer.
She smiled, radiant despite the long flight, and embraced him gently. “You haven’t changed one bit, Noah.”
“You have gotten big, Michaela,” Noah said, putting a hand on her belly. “How is little Noah doing?”
“I told you a hundred times,” Stephan cut in, “I am not naming our baby Noah.”
“Why not?” Noah laughed. “It’s a strong name, gender neutral, and could do very well in Deutschland.” Stephan and Noah laughed and put their arms around each other. “Let me show the team to the visitor locker room. Michaela, you might want to not go in there.”
“Oh Noah, I am very well aware at this point what it’s like in a locker room full of rugby boys. I will, however, need to use the loo.”
“We can drop you off there on the way.” Attention now back to Stephan. “Ready for tomorrow?” The two old friends ribbed each other while walking away from the crowd of staff in the middle of travel coordination.
“Absolutely!”
Claire ducked into the medical room and immediately began resetting it: fresh linen on the treatment tables, biohazard bins replaced, trauma kits restocked and laid out in deliberate order.
Ice packs went into the freezer. Shoulder immobilizers were stacked by size, and the rubbish bins ready with water to receive ice. She mentally rehearsed protocols:
● Head injury assessments
● Spinal precautions
● Hydration checks
She mapped out contingencies before they were needed.
Outside, she heard the boots thundering down the tunnel as both teams took the field. The noise softened into echoes and labored breathing. She heard the Crusaders perform the haka from the comfort of the Med Box.
By kickoff, the stadium was thunderous.
The Crusaders fed off it. Germany played hard, disciplined and physical, with Stephan leading from the front the way he always had: fearless, stubborn, refusing to back down even as the hits piled up.
Claire saw the brutal collision near the ruck happen late in the second half.
The German’s scrumhalf went down slower than usual.
He got back up, of course, like every rugby player, but his shoulder sagged, his jaw clenched tight and there was a gaping cut on his other eyebrow.
Claire made a note that he will need to get treated after the game.
The Crusaders won in the end, the final whistle swallowed by cheers, but Noah barely registered the score. His eyes were already tracking his friend, the German Captain, as medical staff escorted him toward the tunnel.
Claire was ready to receive patients, when a runner came up to her, “Doc, Germany’s medical team is requesting an assessment.”
“Send him through,” Claire said, confident and ready, making her way through the tunnel to her office where she found the beaten captain.
Claire was halfway through cutting tape away from Stephan’s shoulder when the door to the room opened. No knock.
“Michaela?” Stephen breathed surprise and relief, washing over his battered face.
She hurried in, slower than she normally would, because of her belly, she was clearly shaken and worried. Noah, unshowered and bloodied, right behind her. “You scared me,” she said in German, pressing her forehead briefly to Stephan’s. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.”
Claire didn’t dare interrupt their moment and was also grateful she knew German from her time in boarding school.
“I’m fine,” he said immediately, even as Claire gave him a look that suggested otherwise. “Mostly.”
“I’m almost done,” Claire said in German.
The trio looked at her with surprise.
“You know German?” Michaela asked.
Claire had the habit of not over-explaining herself, as per her upbringing. “Yes,” she replied simply, not going into more detail.
Michaela exhaled, her hands trembling as she reached for her husband’s hands. As Claire worked, moving up to his face to clean the split above his brow, Michaela noticed his wedding band wasn’t on his finger.
“Oh,” she murmured, fishing it out of her pocket then switching to English. “Your ring.”
She slid the ring back onto his dirty finger with particular care, her thumb lingering there, grounding them both. Stephan’s free hand came up to cradle her belly instinctively, his voice dropping as he whispered something only she could hear.
Noah stood a little apart, quietly witnessing it all. The intimacy, the steadiness, the way even bruised and bleeding, Stephan was anchored by his wife. His gaze drifted, unbidden, to Claire.
She was focused, competent, calm in the chaos, hands sure.
Her voice was gentle as she explained what she was doing to Stephan, checked his pupils for concussion, and reassured Michaela without a second thought.
Noah realized, with a pang he didn’t quite know how to name, how often he watched her like this.
Stephan noticed.
“You keep looking at her, my friend,” he said lightly once Claire stepped away to grab more supplies.
Noah blinked. “I–”
Stephan smiled, not unkind. “I– I– I–” he shoved Noah in an effort to joke. “Do you know how stupid you sound right now? She’s too pretty for an ugly guy like you.”
“That sounds exactly what I told you about Michaela,” Noah confirmed.
“Boys…” Michaela warned. “Not here.”
When Claire returned, Stephan shifted carefully on the table.
“My wife and I were wondering,” he said, glancing at Michaela, who nodded warmly, “if you might want to join us for a dinner tonight. It will be quiet, nothing loud. The teams will be out together, but with the baby on the way…” He looked at Michaela's belly, and then finished in German, “I have other priorities now.”
Claire hesitated, surprised, smiled, and then replied in German, “I’d like that.”
Noah felt there was a cheeky plan as Stephan grinned at him. “What did you guys say?” he asked.
No one replied. Just smiled.
The restaurant was tucked along the harbor, all pale wood and soft lighting, the kind of place where the windows stayed open to breathe the night air. The scent of salt and grilled fish lingered gently, unobtrusive, as if it knew better than to intrude.
They were seated at a small round table near the window.
A bottle of chilled white wine arrived first, beads of condensation sliding slowly down the bottle. Michaela smiled when her server set a water glass in front of her instead.
“Trust me,” she said lightly in German, resting a hand over her belly, “I miss it.”
“Are you three going to be speaking German all night?” Noah asked.
“I didn’t even know you could count to three, Noah, well done,” Stephan laughed.
“We will speak English, my dear,” Michaela said to Noah.
“Agreed,” Claire said.
Stephan laughed. “Deal. No German. No French. No sneaky Swiss dialect.”
“Well then.” Noah lifted his glass once everyone was settled. “Prost!”
They ordered seafood, plates of grilled snapper and lemon-drenched prawns, and as the wine was poured, conversation began to flow as easily as the tide outside.
“So,” Claire said eventually, leaning back in her chair casually, her eyes bright with curiosity, “how did the two of you meet?” She nodded toward Noah and Stephan. “Have you known each other for a while?”
Stephan grinned. “We have. Noah tried to kill me.”
“That is not true,” Noah protested. “That’s not true at all and you know it! You ran into me.”
Michaela laughed, and Stephan continued, gesturing loosely with his glass. “In actuality, we were at a training camp in France. We were both too young, too cocky, and convinced we were better than the other.”
“They were roommates," Michaela interjected.
“He spoke terrible English,” Noah added.
“And he spoke even worse German,” Stephan shot back. “But we bonded over rugby and being away from home.”
Claire listened, chin resting in her hand, eyes clicking between them. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush them along, just absorbed the stories, smiling at the quiet loyalty threaded through every sentence.
“And you?” Claire asked gently, turning to Michaela. “How did you fall in love?”
Stephan’s expression softened immediately. He reached for Michaela’s hand without thinking.
“We met in Berlin,” Michaela started. “At a club.”
“I saw her dancing there across the floor and BAM, I was a goner. Completely in love.”
Michaela squeezed his fingers. “He was a very grumpy man,” she added fondly. “Too grumpy for me, but yet, as he claimed, it was love at first sight.”
Noah smiled into his wine.
“I was already playing professional rugby at that time, but not on the international level. I played for Hessen, and one day I got injured,” Stephan continued.
“I brought groceries to his flat,” Michaela said simply. “And never left.”
They talked about their wedding, which seemed like a lifetime ago.
About the fear and joy of finding out they were expecting.
About how Stephan will be shifting to play for a German team, instead of the national team after this season, just to help his wife with the baby.
He said that he needed to slow down at the ripe age of 34.
Claire’s face glowed as she listened, eyes wide, soft, almost reverent. She asked thoughtful questions, laughed at the right moments, her attention unwavering.
Noah watched her more than he watched the couple.
He imagined it without meaning to – the quiet dinners, the shared glances, the certainty of choosing someone every day. A life that extended beyond training schedules and seasons. He took a slow sip of wine, the harbor lights blurring slightly.
This, Noah realized, was the shape of what he wanted in the end.
And across the table, Claire smiled again, utterly unaware that she’d just changed everything about his future.