Chapter sixty-six
Freya
I don’t think I’ve ever noticed a crowd like this before.
Not really. Not in the way I am now. Because I’ve been to Rory’s games, I’ve sat in stands just like this, watched him run out onto the pitch with that same focused expression, that same quiet intensity, and I’ve always thought it was impressive, always felt that flicker of pride knowing I knew him beyond this version of him that everyone else sees.
But this feels different. Closer to something that matters in a way I can’t quite explain.
Theo and Isla are pressed up against the barrier in front of us, their hands gripping the rail, their voices already raised above the noise as they try to pick him out from the players warming up on the pitch, both of them bouncing slightly on their toes with that restless excitement that only kids seem to manage without exhausting themselves.
“That’s him!” Theo shouts, pointing wildly.
“I know that’s him,” Isla says, equally loud, like she’s somehow offended he thinks she wouldn’t recognise her own dad.
I smile, my hand resting lightly on the barrier as I follow their line of sight, finding him almost instantly.
Even in a sea of players, even with the movement and the noise and everything else happening around him, he stands out.
Not because he’s trying to. Not because he’s putting anything on. Just because… he does.
He’s focused, already in it, already somewhere slightly removed from everything around him, and for a second I just watch him, really watch him, taking in the way he moves, the way he carries himself, the way this is so clearly his space.
Fuck he is beautiful. His rugby gear makes him look even more broad shouldered and his sweaty hair from the warm up looks tousled and messy.
Good lord, he really is the most gorgeous man I have ever set eyes on.
He looks up and his eyes land directly on us. Even from this distance, I see the small change in his expression, that almost imperceptible softening, like everything sharp around the edges just eases for a second.
Theo loses his mind. “Rory! Rory!” he shouts, waving both arms like he’s trying to direct air traffic.
Isla joins in immediately, yelling his name with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing she doesn’t have to compete for his attention.
And I find myself laughing under my breath, my chest doing something strange as I watch them, as I watch him, as I watch the way he glances over again, just for a second longer this time. And I know he’s looking for us.
“That man is smitten with you Freya Collins.” Hannah pipes up from beside me.
“He really is, isn’t he.”
“And, if you don’t mind me saying, I now have a new love for rugby players. They’re quite delicious aren’t they.” Hannah replies, gawking at the players on the pitch.
The whistle blows, cutting through the noise, and everything shifts instantly. The crowd rises, the energy lifting with it, voices blending into one continuous roar as the game starts, and suddenly it’s fast, relentless, bodies colliding, the ball moving quicker than I can track at times.
I don’t understand all of it. Not properly.
But that doesn’t matter. Because I understand him.
Every time he gets the ball, Theo and Isla both shout like it’s the most important moment of their lives, their voices rising above everyone else’s in a way that makes people around us smile, and I find myself leaning forward without realising, my fingers curling around the barrier as I follow him across the pitch.
There’s something about watching him like this.
Knowing him the way I do now. Knowing the way he laughs when he’s relaxed, the way he looks at me when we’re alone, the way he said I’m not going anywhere like it was the simplest truth in the world.
And then seeing him here does something to me.
Yes, I am massively turned on by the sheer beauty and power of him, but I’m feeling something else too.
Something that feels a lot like love settling properly into place.
“Go on, Rory!” Theo shouts, practically vibrating beside me.
I laugh, reaching down to steady him slightly. “He can’t hear you,” I say.
“He can!” Isla argues immediately.
I glance down at her. “You think?”
“Yes.”
I smile. “Alright then.”
And for a second, I let myself believe that. That somehow, through all of this noise and movement and chaos, he can still feel us here.
The game builds. The tension rises. The crowd reacts to every pass, every tackle, every near miss, and I find myself caught in it more than I expected, my heart jumping at moments I don’t even fully understand, my breath catching when he’s close to something big.
And then it happens. The kind of moment that shifts everything.
He breaks through. The crowd surges. Theo screams. Isla jumps.
And I’m already moving before I realise, leaning forward, my entire focus locked on him as he runs, as everything narrows to just that moment.
And when he scores, the place erupts. Noise crashes over us like a wave, people jumping, shouting, clapping, and Theo is yelling so loudly beside me I’m pretty sure the entire stadium can hear him.
“HE DID IT!”
Isla is laughing, grabbing onto my arm. “He did it!”
Hannah and I laugh too, the sound coming out of me breathless, overwhelmed, my heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with the game and everything to do with him.
The final whistle blows what feels like minutes later but is probably much longer, and the stadium explodes again, louder this time, fuller, the kind of noise that settles into your bones.
They’ve won.
Theo turns to me, eyes wide. “They won!”
“I know,” I laugh.
“They actually won!”
“I know!”
And before I can even think about it, I’m turning to Hannah. “Take the kids a minute. I’ll be right back.”
I’m then moving down the steps, through the crowd and toward him.
I don’t even register how I get there properly, just that suddenly I’m close, close enough to see him clearly, close enough that when he turns and spots me, everything else seems to fade slightly again.
There’s no hesitation. He comes straight toward me.
And then…I’m off the ground. He lifts me like it’s nothing, spinning me around once, twice, my hands gripping his shoulders as I let out a surprised laugh, the world blurring slightly around us.
“Hi,” he says, breathless but grinning.
“Hi,” I laugh, my heart racing.
He sets me down slowly, but his hands don’t leave my waist straight away, like he’s not quite ready to let go.
“You were incredible,” I say, soaking in his deliciously sweaty looks.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a moment where we just look at each other, everything else falling away again despite the noise, the movement, the people around us. And then someone calls his name. He glances over.
“Interview,” he mutters.
I nod. “Go.”
“I’ll be back.”
“I know.”
I step back slightly, watching as he moves toward the cameras, the microphones, the part of this world that still feels a bit surreal to me. He answers the first few questions easily, the usual things, the game, the team, the win. And then…
“Biggest win of your life?” someone asks.
He pauses for a second and his eyes flick up, straight to mine. “Honestly?” he says.
The interviewer nods. He huffs out a small breath, shaking his head slightly. “Biggest win of my life isn’t this,” he says.
The crowd behind the camera quiets slightly, like they’re trying to catch every word.
“It’s having something real to go home to.”
I smile, he’s still looking at me. And for a second, everything else disappears because those words were for me.
Heat rushes through me, something warm and overwhelming and completely undeniable, my hand instinctively lifting to my wrist, to the bracelet, to that small, solid reminder of everything we’ve just stepped into.
As he finishes the interview and starts walking back toward me, that same look still in his eyes, I realise that this isn’t just his world anymore. It’s ours.