46
The medical room smelled awful, like sweat and dirt. Claire had Jack seated on the edge of the exam table, his jersey peeled halfway off, ribs already blooming purple beneath her careful hands. One eye was swelling shut, split lip stitched by dirt rather than Neosporin.
“Hold still,” she murmured, pressing gauze to his cheekbone.
Jack hissed but obeyed, eyes flicking toward her with something softer than pain. “You should see the other guy,” he muttered weakly.
“Oh, I have seen the other guy,” Claire responded with a chuckle, “they are in just as bad shape. You did well, Hayworth.”
“You’re proud of me?” he winced.
“Of course,” she smiled sweetly at him.
The door to the room suddenly slammed open. It was so hard it rattled the metal cabinets.
“Claire.”
Her spine went rigid.
Jason stood in the doorway, chest heaving, hair plastered with sweat, knuckles scraped raw. His jersey was tattered, blood streaked along his cheeks and chin, and there was panic in his eyes that had nothing to do with injury.
“Get out,” Jack snapped immediately, trying to sit up. His injuries were too severe, and he was in visible pain.
“Not you,” Jason barked, eyes locked only on Claire. “I need to talk to her. Now.”
Claire straightened slowly, placing herself between Jason and Jack without thinking. “You’re not allowed in here right now; I’m with a patient.”
Jason took two unsteady steps forward anyway. “I joined rugby because of you, Claire.”
The words landed heavily in the room. Jack was still struggling to move; he wanted to lunge at Jason despite his broken body.
“I did it for you,” he said, voice cracking. “You disappeared. You cut me off. Then I found out you’re the team doctor for a rugby team, in this shithole of all places.”
Jack cut in, rising to his feet, wobbly, but trying to stand tall. “Mate, you’re unhinged.”
Jason ignored him. “My PR team found you first. They were tracking your interviews, your hospital postings. When you transferred here, they flagged it. I called every contact I had. Agents, Sponsors. League reps. I pulled strings I didn’t even know I still had.”
Claire felt cold. “So, you stalked me.”
“I monitored you,” he corrected desperately. “Because I needed you back. I needed us back. My image is ruined, Claire. The Ibiza thing destroyed everything. Sponsors dropped me. Fans turned. I needed a redemption arc. And you–” his voice broke. “You moved on.”
Her stomach twisted.
“So, you joined rugby to fix your reputation?” she asked quietly.
“I joined rugby so I can see you, and to prove I could change,” he said fast. “That I could be the man you wanted. I trained like hell. I rebuilt myself. I took the hits. I bled on that pitch tonight because I wanted you to see me fight for you.”
Jack laughed harshly. “You didn’t bleed for her. You bled for your ego.”
“Shut up!” Jason spun on him. “You don’t get to talk about her.”
Claire raised her voice, sharp and final. “Enough.”
Both men froze.
She stepped closer to Jason, eyes blazing. “You did not join this sport for love. You joined for optics. You tracked me down; you manipulated your way onto the U.S. team to insert yourself back into my life.”
His shoulders sagged. “I was desperate.”
“You’re still desperate…” Jack quietly interjected.
“No,” she said steadily. “You were entitled.”
Silence stretched thick between them.
“Now, please go. I am with a patient,” she calmly said to Jason.
He just stood there, and it looked like Jason was going to turn and leave the room, Jack shifted a bit, ready to sit back down on the table, wincing. “Doc… I’m gonna need stitches and maybe a rib wrap, not a front-row seat to a circus with this clown.” He gestured to Jason.
Claire didn’t look away from Jason. “You need to leave. Now. If you ever respected me at all, you would walk out that door and never use me as your personal narrative again.”
Jason’s eyes glistened. “Claire, please. I can fix this. We can fix this.”
“No.” Claire was firm.
“I did this for you,” Jason said pleading, voice breaking as much as his pride already had. “All of it. The switch. The press. Rugby. I did it for you.”
Jack frowned. “What the hell are you on about? She said, ‘Go’.”
Jason ignored him. “My team found out,” he said to Claire, words tumbling now. “They found out you joined the Crusaders. Thought it was funny at first– my ex-fiancée playing doctor to the best team in the world. But then there was talk. About you moving on. About me being… old news.”
“That’s enough,” he said, low and warning. “You’re not talking to her like that.” Jack was forced to stand back up.
Jason stopped pacing. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped closer to Claire. Too close.
“You owe me,” he said quietly. “After everything I gave up.”
Claire shoved his chest. “Get away from me.”
Jason’s hand snapped out, gripping her wrist.
It happened fast.
Jack moved on instinct alone – no thought, no hesitation. His fist connected with Jason’s face in a sharp, sickening crack.
Jason staggered back, hitting the counter hard, blood instantly fresh at his nose.
Jack, already battered, planted himself in front of Claire, shoulders squared, breathing heavy. “Touch her again and I’ll end you.”
For a moment, the room was nothing but noise – Jack’s breath, Claire’s pounding heart, the distant roar of celebrations from the fans oozing through the walls.
Then Jason laughed.
It was ugly.
Broken.
“Protective,” he sneered, wiping blood from his nose. “Funny thing is – you don’t even know, do you?”
Jack’s mouth tightened. “Know what?”
Jason’s eyes flicked past him to Claire, sharp and cruel now. “Ask him,” Jason said to her. “Ask the captain.”
Jack stiffened. “What captain?”
Jason grinned despite the blood. “Your captain. Noah Wilson. How does it feel?” He tilted his head at Jack. “Your doctor in bed with your captain, fucking her every night.”
Jack went still.
The words sliced through.
“That’s bullshit,” Jack said immediately, turning halfway to Claire. “He’s lying.”
Jason chuckled. “Am I?”
Claire opened her mouth. Then closed it.
Jack’s stomach dropped.
Jason leaned back against the counter, savoring it now. “Go on,” he said softly. “Tell him about Christmas.”
Silence.
Loud. Deafening silence.
Jack turned fully to Claire, searching her face – her eyes, her mouth, the way her hands trembled now that she wasn’t working.
“Claire?” he said quietly. “What is he talking about?”
Jason straightened, wincing but triumphant. “Holiday lights. Family dinner. Real cozy. Ask her how the captain looks out of uniform. Ask her what he looks like naked.”
Jack swallowed hard. “Is that true?” he whispered.
Claire’s voice barely carried. “It’s a long story.”
Something in Jack cracked then – not loud, not explosive. Just a sharp, internal break.
Jason pushed off the counter. “Looks like I’m not the only one bleeding tonight.”
Jack’s eyes never left Claire’s.
“Get out,” Jack said, voice flat.
Jason smirked. “With pleasure.”
As he limped toward the door, he paused. “You should thank me,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Truth always comes out.”
The door shut behind him.
Claire and Jack stood there, the space between them suddenly vast.
“Jack,” she said.
He held up a hand. “Don’t. Not yet.”
He turned away, grabbing his shirt, the cut on his face forgotten, the battered ribs ignored.
Claire watched him leave, heart in freefall, knowing one thing with brutal clarity –
Jason hadn’t come back to win her.
He’d come back to burn everything down.