Chapter 19
Noah
I don’t see Chiara again after the little rumble during practice.
And that’s mostly my bloody fault.
Coach Dane absolutely loses it once the scuffle is broken up.
Nobody gets to wander off. Nobody gets to cool down quietly.
Nope.
We get the full punishment.
First, we clean up the field.
Then, we wash up in the locker room.
Then, we haul our arses right back out to the pitch to warm up for the actual match.
By the time we finally start running drills again, my knuckles are still throbbing and my head’s buzzing from adrenaline.
And this game?
It’s brutal.
Fast, heavy, relentless.
The kind of match where every collision rattles your bones and reminds you rugby is a young man’s sport.
But every time there’s a break in play, my eyes drift to the sideline.
To her.
Chiara’s sitting with Carolina, Finley, and a couple of the other players’ wives.
The unofficial traveling club.
Our supporters.
Our reality check.
Good women, every single one of them.
The sort who keep their men grounded when the sport gets too big for their heads.
They’re laughing about something when I glance over again, and Chiara tilts her head back with that open, easy smile that hits me right in the chest.
Christ.
She fits there.
Like she belongs with them.
Like she’s always been part of the group.
And that thought? It settles into my bones in a way that’s both comforting and terrifying.
Because the truth is, rugby won’t last forever.
For any of us.
I turned thirty-three this year.
That’s not ancient, but in a sport like this?
You start feeling the clock ticking.
A few more seasons if I’m lucky.
Maybe less if the injuries pile up.
For years I thought the end of rugby would be the hardest thing I’d ever have to face.
Walking away from the pitch.
From the adrenaline.
From the identity I built around being a Rover.
But lately?
That doesn’t scare me nearly as much as it used to.
Because somewhere along the way, something changed.
Now I know that yes, while I love rugby and being a professional athlete—I love her more. And I know a life without Chiara is just—unimaginable.
That means I have to plan for after rugby—I can’t avoid it. Not anymore.
Chiara deserves security, safety, and a man who’s at peace with himself and the life he lives.
I refuse to be one of those nasty bastards who treats everyone like shite cause he has to retire. So making plans makes sense.
Now, I’ve got a degree.
Some training.
And lately—when Chiara talks about work, about the body and recovery and helping athletes push past injuries—I admit, I’ve been listening.
And I’ve been reading up on it.
Learning.
Thinking.
Maybe I could do that.
Physical therapy with an emphasis on training.
Strength and conditioning.
Hell, maybe even open a few gyms here in Consequence if that’s where she decides she wants to stay.
The idea’s still rough.
Half-formed.
But it keeps popping into my head.
And every time it does, Chiara’s there in the picture.
Because the one thing I know for certain?
I can live without rugby someday.
But I know I can’t live without her. I won’t.
My gaze drifts back to the sideline again.
She’s leaning toward Carolina now, listening to something Dani’s saying, her brown curls catching the sunlight.
She looks comfortable.
Happy.
Like she’s exactly where she should be.
And if I have any say in it?
That’s where she’ll stay.
Right here with us.
With the Rovers.
With me.
Because sooner or later, Chiara Giardino is going to realize she belongs in my life just as much as I belong in hers.
And with any luck?
She’ll be wearing my ring and my name when that happens.