36. Chapter 36
Seren
The nerves were out of control today, my palms consistently tacky.
I’d been preparing all week, and still, the idea of walking out for my first Valkyries game scared me more than anything I’d done in a while.
I had more confidence after talking to Jake about it, but as the week passed, I found myself a little more nervous.
Motherhood didn’t care that I had a match today.
Both demanded everything. Both expected me to show up anyway.
And somewhere in the middle of all that noise and pain and movement, the nerves I’d carried all morning finally bled out of me.
Evie and Lola were off in the corner of the game-day locker room, dancing and filming something on their phones. I wished I could be that calm.
Teddy took the space next to me, knocking her knee against mine. “Talk to me, Seren. Or at least breathe, scream, shout, cry…Get it out.”
My head turned to look at my captain, and the enormity of being here, doing what I loved most for myself, caught up with me. I collapsed into my waiting hands, letting the hot tears run through my fingers when her hand pressed between my shoulder blades to soothe me.
The last time fear had cracked me open like this had been the day Cai was born—that same breathless, shaking terror, the same sense of standing on the edge of something that would change me, whether I was ready or not.
Over the last two and a half years, I’d learned to hold myself up because no one else did.
There was no ideal situation when you were a single mother; it was all grit and exhaustion…
No one would pick up the slack, and it took me a little while to realize that with Derek.
Surviving by myself had always been essential.
And now, here I was, surrounded by women who didn’t hesitate to steady me the second I wavered.
The contrast hit almost as hard as the fear.
I’d survived that. Maybe I could survive this too.
“It’s okay, let it out,” she said softly.
I didn’t stop. I did as she said and rode the wave until, eventually, all I had left were sniffles.
I dragged in a breath that didn’t quite make it all the way down. My eyes felt puffy, my palms damp, but the shaking had eased enough that I could sit up. Teddy didn’t move her hand until I did, and even then, she kept close, her knee against mine.
The locker room noise swelled back in—someone laughing, the faint echo of Evie yelling at Lola for messing up the choreography. It all felt far away, like I was underwater and only just breaking the surface.
“I’m not calm,” I whispered, voice raw. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“Good,” Teddy said, completely serious. “That means you care.”
She bumped her shoulder into mine. “It’s meant to remind you, you’re human. And humans play better when they stop pretending they’re machines.”
My throat tightened again, but this time, the tears didn’t fall. They just sat there, hot and heavy, waiting for permission.
Teddy nudged me once more. “Look at me. You’re ready,” she said, steady as bedrock. “You’ve been ready. And when we run out that tunnel, you’re not doing it alone. You’ve got twenty?two women behind you who’d bleed for you. Including me.”
Something in my chest cracked open—fear, relief, pride all tangled together.
Before I could speak, a shriek cut across the room.
“SEREN!” Evie yelled, waving her phone like a maniac. “Come be in our TikTok, you little legend!”
Lola added, “Yeah, we need you for your debut!”
Teddy snorted. “See? You’re loved.”
I wiped my face with the heel of my hand, breaths finally settling.
“Okay,” I murmured. “Okay. I’m good.”
“You’re better than good,” Teddy said, pushing to her feet and offering me her hand. “Come on. Let’s go remind the world who the Valkyries are.”
And for the first time all day, I believed I could.
***
I pushed up in the line, lungs on fire, legs heavy, and it didn’t matter how much time I’d put in carrying a two-and-a-half-year-old on my hip while juggling groceries, or sprinting from nursery pickup to training with my hair still wet from a rushed shower, this was a whole new kind of exhaustion that wasn’t glamorous or noble.
Rugby wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t polite. It was grit and muscle and choosing over and over to run into people who wanted to stop you.
But even with all of that, I had a bone-deep knowing that this was where I belonged. With the burn. With the bruises. In the heartbeat of the game. Just as much as I believe I was meant to be Cai’s mom, I was meant to stomp my feet into this grass and be here too.
Evie called for width, and the ball swung out.
I lifted my hand, ready, even though my shoulders still throbbed from the last carry.
The pass didn’t come—our thirteen cut inside instead—but I stayed in the pattern, because that’s what you do.
You stay ready even when you’re tired. Even when you’re stretched thin.
The next ruck formed, bodies slamming together, boots digging into the turf. I hovered on the edge, waiting for the call, breath tearing at my throat. The ache in my legs pulsed with every heartbeat.
The ball finally came wide, and I exploded off the mark. The defender rushed up, but I stepped inside her, feeling the burn in my calves, the fire in my chest, the absolute certainty that I could do this—both things, all of it—even when it hurt.
Especially when it hurt.
Because motherhood had taught me endurance. Rugby had taught me courage. And today, on this pitch, they lived in the same moment.
I tucked the ball tight and drove into the line again, the contact rattling through me, grounding me, reminding me exactly who I was.
A mom. A player. A woman who refused to break.
And I kept running.