53
The season accelerated in a blur of bruises, flights, bus rides, and roaring stadiums as the team surged into the playoffs, momentum building with every hard-fought win.
They ground down rivals in rain-soaked scrums, stole victories in the dying minutes, and learned how to trust one another when the pressure was heaviest.
Game after game fell their way, not by luck, but by discipline, depth, and a belief that had quietly taken root in the room.
This was a cohesive team. It was the team that got them to the next tier in the Rugby Union.
By the time they reached the final games, the journey narrowed to a single truth: Wales stood between them and another championship game.
One more win, and history opened its doors.
Claire sat alone in her office, the late afternoon light slanting through the narrow window as she worked through the growing stack of logistics for Wales.
Customs forms glowed on her screen, equipment declarations, medical supplies, controlled medications, every checkbox, another reminder of how close the team was to something incredible.
She toggled between spreadsheets and inbox tabs, methodical, steady, exactly as she had taught herself to be.
A new email slid in at the top of her screen.
From: Dr. Hannah Keaton, NHS Internal Medicine
Subject: Thought of You
Claire’s chest tightened before she even opened it.
Claire,
I hope you’re well. Haven’t spoken in a while.
I’ve been following your work from afar.
We have an opening here for a clinical research position focused on athletes and pain management.
It’s funded, long-term, and exactly in your wheelhouse.
I immediately thought of you. No pressure – just an open door, if you ever want to come home.
Claire stared at the words, the echoes of the building suddenly loud in her ears. Outside, somewhere down the corridor, laughter drifted from the treatment room. Boots thudded. A familiar voice, Noah’s voice rose above the rest.
Her cursor blinked in the empty reply field.
From: Dr. Claire Ashford.
Subject: Re: Thought of you
Hi Hannah,
It’s really lovely to hear from you, thank you for thinking of me.
The role sounds incredibly compelling, and very much aligned with the work I’ve always wanted to do. I’m currently in the middle of a demanding season here, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t seriously considering what you’ve shared.
If you’re able, I’d love to see more details about the position: scope of the research, expectations, timeline, and anything else you think would be helpful.
Thank you again for reaching out. It means more than you know.
Kind Regards,Dr. Claire Ashford M.D.
Claire left her office, deciding she needed to get away from the screen, with the email still lingering in the back of her mind and followed the familiar path down toward the outdoor pitch.
From halfway down the path, she could already hear them, boots scuffing, voices calling, the sharp whistle of breath under effort.
The team was in the middle of warm-ups when she arrived.
Coach Reynolds had the guys in lines of bodies that moved in practiced rhythm across the turf: hamstrings stretched in long, deliberate folds; quads pulled tight against glutes; shoulders rolled and loosened.
One group held planks in the grass, faces grim with concentration.
Another jogged short shuttle runs, pivoting hard on planted feet.
Toby and another lock worked through mobility drills, massive frames folding with surprising grace.
Nearby, backs passed a ball in quick succession, hands soft and fast, the surface never touching the ground.
Laughter cut through the cadence when someone stumbled. Coach Tama barked a correction. Someone else whooped after a perfect spiral.
Noah stood near the center, in short sleeves, leaving his tattoos exposed.
Claire spotted the tape she put on Noah before they left her little team housing unit that morning.
He was calling spacing, clapping encouragement, demonstrating footwork before dropping seamlessly into motion himself.
Even in warm-ups he carried intent, every movement purposeful, every glance tracking the field.
The email felt distant here.
Claire stood at the touchline and let the thought settle heavier than it should have.
She didn’t even know if Hannah’s opportunity was real in the way real mattered, but she knew what was real here.
The stakes are overwhelmingly high. If the boys didn’t take the championship, there was a very real risk of relegation.
And if they were demoted, there was a very real chance she wouldn’t have a contract anymore.
New budgets. Restructures. “Non-essentials” quietly cut.
The foreign doctor is no longer worth the cost. That part wasn’t lost on Claire.
A whistle shrieked and snapped her back.
The forwards were drilling contact: pairs driving into pads, hips low, shoulders locked, the dull thud of impact repeating like a heartbeat.
Backs ran patterns behind them, quick changes of direction, sharp accelerations, hands flicking the ball along the lines in the pitch with practiced ease.
A coach shouted for tighter spacing. Someone cursed and laughed when a pass went high. Bodies reset.
Again.
Again.
Again.
She watched Noah across the pitch. Even from here, he carried the weight of the team like it was his load alone.
He didn’t know about the email yet. He didn’t know about the opportunity that she could have waiting for her in Great Britain.
He didn’t know that the win or loss with Wales had such a great impact on Claire’s future.
He didn’t know how close they were to the moment that would decide everything.
And Claire decided she would not tell him.
Not because she wanted to keep secrets, but because she didn’t want to add one more burden to the set of invisible weights he already carried. Because right now he was still training like the world was simple: prepare, execute, win.
She turned her gaze away from him and back to her phone, tucked in her pocket like a second pulse.
Thought of You, Hannah’s email had said.