43
When Claire pulled into the gravel lot outside the clinic in Leigh, something felt… off.
There were too many cars.
Not the usual quiet scattering of dusty utes and bicycles leaned against the fence, but a full cluster of energy and voices already carrying through the open windows of the building. Laughter. Arguing. Someone shouting numbers.
Claire frowned to herself as she grabbed her bag and headed inside.
The moment she opened the clinic door, she froze.
The waiting room had been transformed.
Every chair was occupied – elders from the village packed shoulder to shoulder, bags strewn over seat backs, notebooks open, pens moving furiously.
Mere sat at the front desk like a queen at a betting window, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, taking notes with the authority of someone who had absolutely lost control of the situation and decided to embrace it.
“Morning, Doctor,” Mere said cheerfully, without looking up. “You’re just in time.”
“For…?” Claire asked carefully.
“Second match,” Mere replied. “They’ve moved the odds.”
Claire blinked. “The… odds?”
An elderly man leaned toward another, whispering loudly. “I’m telling you, Jack’s team looks sharper today. Better discipline.”
“Nah,” another scoffed, tapping his notebook. “Noah’s kids have heart. Over-under two tries before they lose interest.”
“Write me down for some sort of thievery and one child crying before halftime.”
Claire stood there, stunned, as it all clicked into place.
The clinic had become headquarters.
It sounded exactly like a racetrack – hushed intensity layered with sharp commentary; confident predictions delivered with the certainty of people who had been watching the same patterns for decades.
Only instead of horses, they were betting on children and instead of silks and saddles, the field across the road held two chaotic clusters of kids in oversized jerseys.
“Is… is this allowed?” Claire whispered.
Mere finally looked up, eyes twinkling. “It’s not, not allowed, Doctor. We are just having casual potluck and doing nothing suspicious at all.”
That explained the table.
Scones. Lamingtons. A suspiciously competitive-looking sponge cake.
Claire exhaled. “Of course you are.” The village peace enforcer hovers over the treats, deciding about which looks the best to stuff his face with.
Outside, the pitch was already alive.
Two groups of kids bounced in place, arguing over positions, shoelaces half tied, mouthguards dangling uselessly from strings. Noah stood with one team, Jack with the other, just like last time, but the difference was unmistakable.
The strain was visible.
They weren’t yelling. They weren’t openly hostile. But everything about them was sharper. More precise. Instructions clipped. Corrections immediate.
“No, no – pass backwards,” Jack said firmly, repositioning a kid by the shoulders.
“Eyes up, mate,” Noah countered on the other side. “Run straight. Commit.”
The elders murmured.
“Oooh, that tone,” someone said. “That’s pressure. Someone sounds nervous…”
The whistle blew.
Children ran in every direction, as they always did but they played harder and faster than ever before.
They chased tries with wild enthusiasm, fueled by the adults’ intensity.
Jack clapped sharply, calling structure into nonsense.
Noah jogged alongside the touchline, barking encouragement, stepping in to demonstrate footwork, positioning himself directly into play when the kids stalled.
And then, inevitably – it escalated.
Jack intercepted a loose ball meant for a child and jogged it back to reset play.
Noah arched a brow from across the field.
“Hands off, coach,” he called lightly. “That one was theirs.”
Jack smirked. “Teaching moment.”
The elders erupted.
“Penalty!” someone shouted.“That’s a deduction!” another elder yelled.“I’m adjusting the spread!” a third with a notebook said.
Claire watched from the clinic doorway, arms folded, torn between amusement and disbelief as Noah suddenly joined a run – not demonstrating, but playing. Jack followed suit moments later, shrugging and stepping in as well.
They were in it now.
Two grown professional athletes, fully invested, sprinting alongside children half their height, intercepting passes, setting lines, celebrating tries like they mattered. The rest of the teammates are now taking over coaching duties, and moderation of this game.
Inside the clinic, the elders lost their minds when it seemed that Noah and Jack would be playing.
“I change my bet!” someone yelled.
Claire couldn’t help it. She laughed.
It was ridiculous. Competitive. Deeply human. And the village, wise as ever, had noticed long before she did.
Claire left the confines of the medical building and crossed the street to where the team, kids, and spectators were lining the pitch, ready for the second half of this make-shift game. A parent already intervened telling the boys to let the kids play.
Claire stood next to Miko and Liam, who were in shock and awe.
“I don’t know what’s been going on with these dummies lately,” Miko said to Claire.
“Me either,” Liam responded, mustache tickling his upper lip.
Claire scoffed and looked at Kelsey and Toby, scrambling trying to keep kids hydrated due to the sweltering heat.
“You’re really keeping that thing, huh?” she asked Liam.
“I am committed, Doc,” he responded, without taking his eyes off the pitch.
“That you are…” Claire said under her breath.
“Do you think Cap is punishing Skid somehow?” Miko asked them. “For overstepping with the Doc?”
“I hope not…” Claire said, putting her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun.
“I am going to be pissed if we lose again because of these motherfuckers,” Liam said.
Jack took his place on one sideline, hands on hips, trying not to get involved, voice carrying easy and loud. Noah stood opposite him, quieter, crouched slightly as if he might be called into the scrum at any second.
“All right,” Jack called, clapping once. “Run straight. Don’t dance. Don’t dance-run. Just regular run.” The kid did not run regularly. “Pass! Pass!”
Noah shook his head, a corner of his mouth twitching. “Ignore him,” he told his kids, softer but just as sure. “Look for space. Trust your mate. If you go down, you get back up.”
Kelsey blew the whistle to continue play.
The kids exploded forward in a tangle of limbs and shouts. The ball skidded loose almost immediately, scooped up by a girl on Jack’s side who sprinted like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment.
“Run! Run!” Jack yelled, already jogging along the touchline. “Support! SUPPORT!”
Noah’s team scrambled, one small boy diving too early, another missing the tackle entirely. Noah barked encouragement, not criticism. “Good effort! Again – again!”
The first try came quickly. Jack’s side crashing over near the posts. Cheers erupted from the elders’ table, pencils scratching furiously. Jack whooped, throwing both arms up, then pointed at Toby like he’d just won a World Cup final.
Noah didn’t celebrate or sulk. He knelt, grabbed the shoulders of two kids closest to him. “You see how they bunched?” he said. “Next time, we go wide. You’re faster than they think.”
Play resumed. This time Noah stepped fully into it – not touching the ball, but running alongside, showing angles, calling lines. His kids listened. A pass stuck. Then another. A boy with freckles and too much determination broke free, legs pumping wildly.
“Now!” Noah shouted.
The kid dove, sliding through the grass, popping back up with the biggest grin on his face as his teammates dogpiled him.
Jack clapped despite himself. “All right,” he muttered. “Fair play.”
On the edge of the field, just beyond the clinic fence, that young woman stood watching.
The blonde, sunlit hair pulled into a loose knot, denim shorts and a white tank that looked borrowed from summer itself. She didn’t watch the kids – not really. Her eyes followed Noah.
She noticed the way he crouched when he explained something or when he lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow and it exposed his tight body underneath.
She noticed the way he laughed only when a kid did something brave.
The way his focus never drifted, even when Jack’s voice cut across the field.
Kelsey clocked her instantly. Claire did too. And a pang of jealousy twinged in her chest.
“Who is keeping time?” Miko asked Kelsey.
“I thought you were…” Kelsey responded.
By the end of the game, both teams were breathless, muddy, and ferociously invested. The score was close enough to argue about. The elders were already muttering about odds.
Jack and Noah stood across from each other, hands on knees sweat darkening their shirts, eyes locked a beat too long. This was still a children’s game, but to Claire, it seemed like the boys needed this. They were dangerously close to reaching their breaking point.
Jack’s team won on a technicality – if you could call it that.
Toby, who’d been actually tasked with keeping score, had gotten distracted somewhere between a near-perfect sidestep and an argument over whether the small patch of muddy grass counted as a boundary line.
When the final whistle blew, the numbers on his clipboard didn’t add up to anything coherent, but he declared Jack the winner because he “felt bad.”
Jack lifted his hands anyway. “A win’s a win, baby!” he declared. “Because Toby says so.”
The kids cheered like it mattered.
Maybe it did.
The elders abandoned their notebooks and mugs and moved with purpose now, hauling out grills and lighting the coals.
Someone produced trays of sausage and onions; someone else laid out plates of lamingtons and still-warm loaves wrapped in tea towels.
The clinic yard softened into something communal, filled with family and togetherness.
Noah lingered near the field, hands on his hips, mud on his calves, a heartbreaking smile, watching the kids demolish baked goods like they’d earned every bite.
That was when the blonde came closer.
Up close, she was taller than Claire had remembered, she was more beautiful, she was more confident. She said something that made Noah laugh, head tipping back briefly before he caught himself.
They talked for a while, sitting at one of the picnic benches.
Claire couldn’t hear the words over the sizzle of the barbecue and the chatter, but she could read the body language well enough: the blonde leaning in, Noah’s shoulders relaxed but not loose, his hands staying firmly around a bottle of water. Polite. Engaged. Careful.
And still – he kept looking at Claire.
Not constantly. Not obviously. Just enough that it landed every time. A glance over the rim of a paper cup. A flick of his eyes when someone laughed too loud. Like he was checking his bearings.
Claire stayed where she was, helping an elder arrange plates, nodding and smiling when spoken to. She told herself it didn’t matter. That Noah was allowed to talk to anyone he wanted; they weren’t really in a relationship.
But when the blonde finally laughed again and touched Noah’s arm, his gaze went straight to Claire.
Kelsey sidled up beside Claire holding a plate already stacked high with food. He followed her line of sight without comment, clocking the blonde near Noah in about half a second.
“Huh,” he said thoughtfully. “Leggy.”
Claire snorted despite herself. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly observant,” he corrected, then leaned closer, voice dropping just enough to be private. “Relax.”
She glanced at him. “I am relaxed.”
Kelsey gave her a look that said he’d been in relationships enough to spot denial from a mile away. “Doc” he said gently, “even if you and Cap are doing this whole… clandestine, star-crossed, not-HR-approved slow burn thing – he’s not that kind of guy.”
She didn’t answer, and Kelsey took that as permission to continue.
“He’s not a playboy like Skid, or even like Jason,” Kelsey said plainly.
“Doesn’t collect numbers. Doesn’t chase.
Doesn’t even notice the women fawning over him half the time.
” He nodded toward Noah again. “Five years. Five. I’ve played next to him, traveled with him, shared hotel walls thin enough to hear a man breathe – and not once has he ever found a woman more important than rugby. ”
Claire’s heart gave an uncomfortable little thud.
“He’s had dalliances,” Kelsey added, waving a sausage in Claire’s face for emphasis. “Sure. We all have. But it was never like in London. Never… that.” He looked at her now. “What I saw with you? Different.”
The blonde laughed again, touching Noah’s arm again briefly. Noah smiled politely and then, as if summoned, looked straight at Claire.
Kelsey grinned. “See?”
Claire swallowed.
“And for the record,” Kelsey went on, suddenly cheerful, “if this does turn into a whole forbidden love, end-of-contract, move-across-the-world situation–”
“Kels,” Claire warned.
“–you two will make stunning caramel-colored babies,” he finished without missing a beat. “Just absolute genetic perfection. You’ll obviously name them all Kelsey. Boy, girl, doesn’t matter. In my honor.”
Claire laughed then properly, helplessly pushing his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I am prophetic,” he said, taking a bite of food. “Also loyal to Cloah. And Noah’s a good man. That’s why we nominated him captain.”
Her smile faded, just a touch until she realized–
“Cloah?” she asked.
“Your ship name,” he said. “Claire-Noah.”
“Oh my God…” Claire scoffed and looked around to see if anyone else heard.
“Doc, it’ll be ok.” Kelsey softened. “He wouldn’t take advantage of anyone. Least of all you.”
Claire looked back toward Noah, who was still intently listening to the blonde.
And for the first time since Noah confronted her after Jack’s on-screen confession, Claire felt uneasy about her future with Noah.