60
They spilled into pubs and streets in a drunken stupor.
Black and gold jerseys swapped for button-downs and jackets that strained across shoulders still in recovery.
Everywhere they went, heads turned. Phones lifted.
Someone recognized them and shouted. Another round appeared. Then another. Then another.
They sang badly and loudly. They pounded tables and told the same stories on loop until even the overworked bartenders were grinning.
Eventually and inevitably, the celebration migrated.
The Ashford Estate glowed like a beacon on the edge of London, with the iron gates flung wide and the house lights blazing. The Crusaders poured in succession. To them, the night was only beginning.
Music thumped through the marble halls. Someone started a game of billiards, which quickly transformed into a tournament, which then dissolved into chaos within minutes.
There were bottles of every kind spanning on almost every surface and jackets were abandoned over banisters.
Massive men crowded couches never meant to hold that much muscle, shouting over one another, replaying the match with exaggerated reenactments that ended in bodies crashing into furniture and roaring laughter.
It looked like a frat party – if fraternities were composed entirely of elite athletes built like Greek statues.
Claire moved through it all with a drink in her hand and a heat in her chest that had nothing to do with champagne. She welcomed the fun. Anything to distract her from the interview at the hospital the next day.
She laughed until her cheeks hurt. She danced with Tania in the foyer while Liam tried to teach Miko how to moonwalk. Players found partners and were slipping into corners, stealing kisses and having private celebrations.
Eventually, she slipped away.
The kitchen was a sanctuary. It was softly lit, quiet except for the turning of book pages, and the whistle of a kettle. Her parents stood at the island with mugs of tea, sharing a rare, peaceful silence.
“Escaping?” Suzanne asked gently.
“Just grabbing water,” Claire said, smiling. “It’s… a lot.”
Cornelius chucked. “This house hasn’t seen this much testosterone since your high school years.”
Claire poured herself a glass and leaned against the counter. The noise from the hall felt distant here, like life in another world.
Her mother studied her. “You were radiant today.”
Claire swallowed. “It was… unreal.”
A pause.
“There’s something I haven’t told you,” Claire said quietly. “I was offered an interview at the NHS here in London. It’s a clinical research role.”
Both of them turned fully toward her.
“That’s wonderful,” her father said.
“It is,” she agreed. “It’s stable. Respected. It’s a good opportunity. And I would be able to perform community research. It will help people. Make an impact.”
Her fingers tightened around the glass. “But my heart’s in New Zealand. With the team. With–” she stopped herself. “It feels like I finally found where I belong. And yet… the NHS, London, is home. It’s security, it’s everything I’ve trained for.”
Suzanne reached across the counter and squeezed her hand. “Sometimes the right path isn’t the safest one.”
Claire nodded. “I know. I just… I don’t know how to choose.”
In the hallway beyond the kitchen, Noah stopped.
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d just been looking for her.
The words landed like a blow.
Interview. NHS. Stability. Home.
His chest tightened.
He stepped into the doorway. “Why didn’t you tell me you have an interview?”
Claire was startled. “Noah – I didn’t want to ruin your focus. You had the championship. You had everything riding on tonight.”
He stared at her, the noise of the house pressing in behind him.
“You thought I’d be distracted by… your future?”
She hesitated. “I thought it could wait.”
And at that moment, it hit him.
He had always assumed.
Assumed she would stay. Assumed New Zealand had claimed her soul, her happiness. Assumed they were building something permanent.
He had never once considered that he might be just a chapter.
That this – them– might be temporary.
Around them the house erupted in laughter. Somewhere, someone shouted for their captain.
Noah stood still, eyes fixed on Claire, realizing that he might actually lose her.
Suzanne and Cornelius looked at each other with knowing glances, as if to say, “This is awkward,” using their eyes. They quietly took their books and tea and snuck out of the kitchen, leaving Claire and Noah to talk about their future.
After a moment, Claire started. “Listen. I didn’t want you to be distracted during such an important moment. That championship was everything and monumental in our lives.” She paused. “Besides, who even knows if they are even going to offer me anything.”
Noah rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Of course they are going to offer you something, Claire. You are brilliant and knowledgeable. It is already a done deal.”
There was silence between them.
“Do you want to stay?” Noah finally asked. “Here in London, I mean?”
She thought about it. “To be honest, I don’t know what I want.”“What would that mean for us?” he asked, taking a step closer. He picked up her hand and brushed his thumb back and forth over her knuckles.
“I love you, Noah. That’s all I know for sure,” Claire said. “But it is not lost on me on what would happen if the Crusaders get relegated.”
Noah exhaled once in understanding.
“Would that mean that I don’t have a job anymore? Then what would I do?” Claire continued. “I have to think about that future, too.”
“Maybe I can scout for a position here in England?” Noah said, not making eye contact.
“You want to play for the colonizers, Noah Wilson?” Claire chuckled.
He paused. “... I would actually rather light myself on fire,” he said. “But, I would do it for you.”
“I could never ask you to do something like that.”
There was another moment of silence.
“I could always be a gym teacher for some boys prep school or something like that,” he joked.
Claire sniffled and tears welled in her eyes. “I could never ask you to do that either,” she wailed.
“I don’t think we are going to resolve this tonight,” he finally said, bringing her in for a hug.
She put her arms around his waist, and they stood there breathing deep, knowing that tomorrow and the decisions that come from it will change the entire trajectory of their lives.
Claire stood on the pavement outside the NHS building, her breath ghosting faintly in the cool London air.
The hospital rose before her in pale stone and glass, all clean lines and quiet authority.
It was so different from the wind-battered facilities tucked beside rugby pitches, yet achingly familiar all the same.
She wore a tailored navy blazer over a silk blouse, sensible heels clicking softly against the concrete as she shifted her weight. Her hair was pulled back neatly, a few auburn strands escaping near her temples. Professional. Polished. The version of herself she had once assumed would be permanent.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
A message from Kelsey in the team group chat: Back in Auckland. Toby already broke something. Miss you, Doc.
Another from Miko:Win them over. You always do.
And finally, Noah – sent privately, not for the boys to see.
Whatever happens in there, you’re still loved. I’ll be thinking about you every second. Love you.
Her throat tightened. The team had flown back to New Zealand earlier, the season officially over, the boys scattering to recover.
Some would join their national Sevens squads – Miko for Samoa, Liam for Ireland, Jack for Australia – trading one battlefield for another.
The Crusaders would regroup in months. Life would go on without her there to tape wrists or scold them for ignoring the ice baths in those rubbish bins.
She slipped her phone into her bag and lifted her chin.
This, too, was her life.
Inside, the hospital wrapped around her like a memory.
The smell of antiseptic and warm linen and faint coffee.
It hit her all at once. Her heels echoed against polished floors.
A nurse passed with a trolley, smiling politely.
A porter nodded. The rhythm of it all, the soft urgency, the purposeful calm.
It felt like stepping back into an old skin.
She gave her name at reception and was guided up in a quiet lift, watching numbers tick past. When the doors opened, she was led down a corridor lined with framed mission statements and photographs of award ceremonies.
Care. Compassion. Continuity.
Aroha. Love, compassion, and empathy.
Whānau. Family. Family that goes beyond blood.
Mana. Honor and dignity.
Her mind drifted to those words the team chanted.
The head of the hospital, Dr. Margaret Hale, rose when Claire entered her office. She was silver-haired, sharp-eyed, warm in the way only seasoned clinicians could be.
“Dr. Ashford,” she said, extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure. Please, sit.”
The interview unfolded like a conversation between equals.
They spoke of Claire’s years in Los Angeles, of sports medicine and trauma bays and split-second decisions.
Of her work with the Crusaders, how she had rebuilt a broken team as much as she had stitched broken skin.
Dr. Hale listened intently, occasionally jotting notes.
“You’ve had a… nontraditional path,” she said at last, smiling. “But medicine is not meant to be linear. It’s meant to be lived.”
Claire felt something loosen in her soul.
They spoke of research initiatives, of patient outreach, and of the clinical trials unit expanding. Of stability. Of roots.
When Dr. Hale folded her hands atop the desk, the room felt suddenly still.
“I won’t keep you in suspense,” she said. “Your recommendations are spectacular, and we love what you have been doing. We would very much like to offer you the position. Clinical Lead for Community Research. It’s yours, if you want it.”
For a moment, Claire could only blink.
The words echoed: It’s yours.
She thought of muddy boots by the locker room doors. Of haka thunder shaking her bones. Of Noah’s crooked grin after a win. Of cold mornings and adrenaline and belonging.
And she thought of this, of wards and patients and purpose carved into quiet days.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “I’m honored. How long do I have to decide?”
Dr. Hale responded with a smile, “We would like to fill the position as soon as possible, so let's say by Friday."
“Understood,” Claire confirmed. They shook hands.
When Claire stepped back out into the London afternoon, the sky had shifted, clouds breaking, a slice of pale sun cutting through. She paused on the steps, letting it warm her face.
She had been offered everything she was supposed to want.
And yet, her heart was still half a world away, standing barefoot on a pitch in New Zealand, listening for the roar of her boys.
The phone rang only once before Noah answered.
“Hey,” he said, voice warm and familiar, the sound of wind in the background. She could picture him already – outside, probably, barefoot on grass, pacing with restless energy, it would be very early there. “You’re out. How did it go?”
Claire stood on the steps of the hospital; the stone still cool beneath her palm. London hummed around her, buses sighing, people passing, life continuing.
“They offered it to me,” she said softly.
There was a beat of silence – not empty, not awkward. Just him absorbing it.
Then Noah exhaled. “Of course they did.”
She laughed weakly. “Yeah, you were right.”
“It was obvious.” There was a pause. “I’ve watched you do the impossible, Claire. You save our stubborn asses; you’ve healed our broken decrepit bodies. That kind of patience doesn’t get overlooked. There was never a version that would play out where they didn’t offer you the job.”
Her throat tightened.
“It’s… a real role,” she said. “Research, leadership, long-term. It’s stability, Noah. A future that makes sense.”
“And?” he prompted gently.
“And…” She thought about it. “And my heart is in Auckland,” she admitted. “With you. With the boys. With mud and bruises and chaos.”
She expected hesitation. Worry. Maybe even fear. Instead, Noah’s voice came steady and sure.
“Claire, listen to me.” His tone shifted – captain’s voice, the one that carried over stadiums. “You don’t belong to a place.
You belong to a purpose. And that purpose is healing people.
You’ve done it in a football stadium; you did it on a pitch.
You can do it in a hospital. You can do it anywhere in the world. ”
She closed her eyes.
“You think I don’t want you here?” he continued.
“Of course I do. I want to come home and find you in my kitchen, barefoot and bossing me around while I cook. I want you on the sidelines when I’m thirty-five and too stubborn to retire.
But I don’t want you to be unhappy. I don’t want you choosing me over yourself. ”
Her breath hitched.
“I fell in love with you because you’re brilliant,” he said. “Because you walked into my mess and made it better. Because you never stopped being you – not for me, not for anyone. If this job is part of who you are, then I’m not standing in its way. I’m standing beside it.”
She pressed her free hand to her blouse. She could feel the thumping of her heart.
“So, you’re not afraid?” she whispered.
“I’m terrified,” he admitted. “But I’m also proud. You don’t stop being the woman I love just because you’re calling pulls you across the world.”
She sniffled and a tear slipped down her cheek.
“We’ll figure it out,” he added. “Flights exist. Seasons end. Life is long. What matters is that we don’t ask each other to be less than we are.”
Claire smiled through the ache. “Even if you have to become a gym teacher?”
“Even if I have to become… a gym teacher,” he sighed.
“I love you,” she said.
“I know,” Noah replied, soft now. “That’s why I’m letting you be great.”