28
Back in Auckland, Claire sat at her desk, papers spread out in neat chaos: player stats, nutrition plans, recovery schedules.
The office was quiet except for the faint thrum of a rotating fan in the corner and the occasional scrape of a pen against paper.
She was focused, methodical, letting the work absorb her so she didn’t have to think about Paris, the bar, or anything else lingering in her head.
There was a soft knock at the door.
“It’s open!” Claire hollered in the direction, not looking up from her work.
Jack stepped in, leaving the door open. Wide open. He leaned against the wall casually, arms crossed, but there was a quiet seriousness in his eyes that made Claire look up.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey,” she replied, a little distracted. “What’s up?”
He shifted, stepping a little closer. “I wanted to ask you a favor.”
Claire put down her pen, giving him her full attention. “Okay… shoot.”
Jack hesitated just a fraction, then spoke. “Maeve’s school… She's doing career day next week. And I… she thought maybe you’d consider going. Talk to the kids about your work. What it’s like being a doctor, the challenges, stuff like that.”
Claire blinked and with a monotone response. “Sure,” she said.
“You don’t have to overthink it,” Jack said, voice steady, calm.
“I’m not,” she responded quickly.
Jack’s shoulders didn’t relax. He gave her a small nod, the kind that said more than words ever could. “Thanks, Doc. Seriously. Maeve’s going to be thrilled.”
“I’m glad,” she said flatly. “Happy to help.”
He lingered, staring at Claire.
“Are you… mad at me?” he finally asked.
“Is there a reason why I should be mad at you, Jack?”
He paused as footsteps got closer down the hallway.
“We didn’t put a label on anything, Claire,” he started to explain. But all Claire could think about was how history repeats itself. At least it wasn’t publicized this time. At least her ruined relationship, or whatever she had with Jack, wasn’t plastered in every tabloid.
“You’re absolutely right.”
“Did you want something exclusive?”
“I don’t know what I want.” And that was the truth coming from Claire’s mouth. “What I don't like is double dipping. I feel… dirty.” She was quiet enough so the owner of the footsteps in the hallway wouldn’t hear.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–” he started.
The source of the footsteps finally appeared in the doorway. “What didn’t you mean to do?” Noah asked eagerly. “Skid, what did you do?”
“It’s fine, Noah. Skid, was just leaving,” Claire said.
Jack turned to the door and started storming out, when Noah forcibly pushed his chest so Jack's back hit into the open door.
“It’s fine, Cap,” Jack explained. “Just a lapse in judgement.”
Noah turned to Claire who was standing by the desk, “Did he hurt you?”
“No, Noah, he didn’t hurt me,” Claire said, turning back to her work.
Noah wasn’t so convinced, but he will have to trust Claire if she isn't willing to talk.
“If he hurts you–”
Claire interrupted him. “I know, Captain.”
And he left, as quickly as he came.
Claire went back to her papers, but the room felt heavier somehow. It was more tense and less connected. Sometimes, she thought, favors weren’t just favors. They were bridges. And right now, this feels like one she will cross for the sake of Maeve, even if her brother is an idiot.
Right before leaving for holiday break, Claire made an appearance at Evergreen Intermediate School for career day.
The school sits on a leafy street in suburban Auckland, surrounded by rows of Pohutukawa trees that shade the playground in summer.
The school buildings are a mix of light brick and cream-colored panels, with large windows that let in plenty of natural light.
The classrooms are bright and colorful, showcasing student artwork, motivational posters, and hand-drawn charts about science, math, and local wildlife.
Inside, the hallways are bustling with energy.
Lockers line the walls, each decorated with stickers and magnets from students’ interests – rugby, kapa haka, coding clubs, and pets.
The classrooms are organized for interactive learning, with tables grouped together instead of rows of desks, encouraging discussion and collaboration.
As Jack led Claire to Maeve’s classroom, he stood tall and proud, there were kids running to their classrooms to the sound of a bell.
Maeve glanced over at her brother with a big wave, then spotted Claire over his shoulder. She had an even bigger smile and bigger wave for Claire.
Claire gave a casual, loving wave back to the young girl, waiting in her seat.
The teacher, a beautiful young Polynesian woman, with long hair tied in a braid, gave instructions to the class.
Each presenter would come and tell the class about what they do for their careers.
A lot of the children recognized the famous rugby star standing in the room, and after Jack, the teacher announced Claire.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Dr. Claire Ashford,” she says. “And yes – before anyone asks – I really am a doctor, not the kind you see on TikTok. My specialty is in internal medicine.” She paused briefly. “I am here today to tell you about what it is like being a sports doctor.”
After she explained what her daily routine looks like, she pulled out props for the kids to look at.
She lifts the lid on the tub and pulls out a stethoscope. “Does anyone know what this is?”
Every hand shoots up.
She lets a boy in the front row answer, then moves on, pulling out gauze, a triangular bandage, and a pair of gloves. She has them practice wrapping a forearm, explains why you never put pressure on a bleeding head wound the wrong way, why washing your hands matters more than people think.
“First aid,” she says, “is about staying calm and doing the basics well.”
Jack watches her kneel beside a desk, patient, and unhurried. He watches the way the kids lean toward her like she’s gravity itself.
“And school,” she adds, standing again, “is part of that too. If you want to be a doctor one day, you need to stay curious. You need science, you’ll definitely need math.”
A groan ripples through the room.
Claire grins. “I know. I didn’t like it either. But your brain is a muscle. You train it, just like any other.”
Jack swallows.
Paris flashes through his mind – dim hotel rooms, laughter that meant nothing, bodies that were warm but empty. Distractions. Excuses. He’d told himself it didn’t matter, that nothing was real until it was defined. Claire and him didn’t define what they were.
Watching Claire here, teaching kids how to help people, how to be better than they were yesterday, he realizes exactly how badly he’d messed up.
She’s real.
And he ruined it.
A hand shoots up near the window. “Do you get, like, grossed out? With blood?”
Claire chuckles. “Sometimes. But then I remember that someone needs help, and that matters more.”
Another kid: “Have you ever saved someone’s life?”
She pauses, with a chuckle. “Yes.”
A girl near the back squints, tilting her head. “Are you Jack’s girlfriend?”
The room explodes with giggles.
Claire blinks – just once – then recovers smoothly. “I’m here today as a doctor,” she says gently. “But Jack is my friend.”
Jack’s chest tightens anyway. He didn’t like that answer, but he didn’t know what he was expecting. His sister twists around in her chair to look at him, eyebrows raised, a grin threatening.
Another boy pipes up, relentless. “But could you be his girlfriend?”
Claire laughs, warm and unembarrassed. “That’s not a medical question,” she says, and the class howls.
Jack laughs too, but it catches in his throat.
Because standing there, watching her inspire a room full of kids, watching her choose kindness and patience and purpose – it’s painfully clear.
Paris was probably the worst mistake he has ever made. He needed to try for real this time with Claire.
When the bell finally rings and the room dissolves into backpacks, scraped chairs, and shouted goodbyes, Maeve is the first to reach Claire. She throws her arms around her in a quick, fierce hug, the kind only a younger sister can get away with.
“Thank you for coming,” Maeve says, bright-eyed. “They loved you.”
Claire laughs, a little breathless. “I had a good audience.”
Jack steps closer, hands shoved into his jeans pockets, suddenly unsure of what to do with them. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Thanks for that. For today. For… all of it.”
There’s a pause. It was uncomfortable for the adults, unknown to Maeve.
“If you don’t have anywhere to be over Christmas,” he adds, glancing between Claire and Maeve, “you’re welcome at ours. Maeve’s mum would love you. Full chaos. Too much food. No escape.”
Maeve nods eagerly. “You have to come.”
Claire’s smile softens, grateful and genuine. “That’s really kind. Truly.” She hesitates just long enough to make the refusal feel thoughtful, not dismissive. “But I’m flying to England to see my family. I wouldn’t miss Christmas with them.”
Jack nods, swallowing whatever else he might’ve said. “Right. Of course.”
Maeve sighs dramatically, but she smiles too. And as they walk toward the exit together, the invitation lingers anyway.
By the time she’s boarding the flight, New Zealand already feels like a life folded neatly behind her on a much-needed break.
As the plane lifts into the dark, Claire presses her forehead to the window and makes herself a promise: Christmas would be for home, for family, for the version of herself that existed before rugby boys and blurred lines and almosts.
Whatever had tangled her up with Jack– his smiles, his regrets, his timing– she leaves it on the other side of the world.
New year, clean slate.
New Zealand, and all its nonsense, can stay right where it belongs.