Chapter Four - 2 years later - Scarlett
The removalist truck screeches to a halt, blocking a bus stop on the corner of Henry and Lennox Rd. Figures. A fitting metaphor, really—my life; inconvenient and unapologetically in the way.
Today’s the day.
The day I’ve been humming with excitement for but also silently dreading.
I’ve caved. Well… not caved, exactly. More like the universe left me no damn choice.
I stare around the now-bare studio apartment that saw some of my brightest highs and, lately, my absolute rock-bottom lows.
Shit, I almost forgot the flowers that rocked up on mum’s anniversary a few months ago.
I’ve been hoarding them. They are all crusty and dried out now, but they were stunning yellow roses when they arrived, second year in a row they’ve turned up here with no name and no message.
Like a little sign from mum looking down on me, even through this newest shit storm.
Two weeks ago, the company I’d poured everything into went bankrupt. No severance. No warning. Just a group email and radio silence. Classic.
Thanks for your service, now kindly get out.
I almost let myself spiral—almost. A scenic drive down Pity Lane sounded tempting, but I threw it in reverse.
Okay, maybe I stopped for a quick emotional espresso and a meltdown playlist. The last few years have been…
brutal. But also, kind of beautiful in a twisted, character-development kind of way.
The past twelve months, I gave everything to that job.
I was the top sports agent in Sydney, won awards, gave keynote speeches, closed multimillion-dollar deals…
and still, it wasn’t enough to keep Confine Sports afloat.
Not when the founder was busy playing Captain Yachts-and-Hoes instead of paying his creditors.
Oh, and hiding it all from his wife and business partner. Talk about messy.
Still, I’m lucky. I’ve got connections. Ones I swore I’d never use.
Ones that come with strings I don’t want tangled around my ankles.
But when life starts giving you lemons you make lemonade, right?
Wrong. You go balls to the wall, pour a shot of tequila, and book a flight to hell.
Okay dramatic not hell, just your small hometown.
I still can’t believe I’m doing this.
Dawson’s Ridge, the sleepy little town that borders New South Wales and Queensland, no beautiful beach to wake up to. No Uber, just cattle, country and well at least there’s sport.
God help me.
The hometown I promised myself I’d never step foot in again. Where Friday night football is religion, gossip spreads faster than a bush fire, and tradition is sacred—even when it’s toxic.
And now? I’m moving back in with my dad. Temporarily. To “save money” and “regroup” and all those mature, financially responsible things.
But mostly because I miss her.
My mum.
Gone just over two years now.
When mum and dad left for Sydney, it was supposed to be forever.
Big city lights. New beginnings. Then she passed, and Dad…
broke. Quietly. The kind of heartbreak that doesn’t scream but lingers in the corners of old photographs, her clothes hanging in wardrobes and half-washed coffee cups she sipped out of.
He took a job offer back in Dawson’s shortly after.
Said it was a great opportunity, but I know the truth—he wanted to be near her.
Near the echoes of a life, they built, where memories lingered in footpaths and on the faces of the people, they both knew well.
No one goes back to Dawson’s Ridge unless you’re either chasing a shot at the National Rugby League… or you’ve got unfinished business. Maybe I’m both.
The Ridgebacks—Dawson’s pride and joy. Once the laughingstock of Aussie rugby league, now basically local and national royalty. A decade of clawing their way up, and now they’re contenders. Big ones. And they’re part of my plan.
I’m launching my own agency. Maroon Management.
Half my former clients from Confine Sports are sticking with me, and I’ll fly to Sydney monthly to keep my name in the game.
But the rest of the time? I’ll be in sleepy little Dawson’s—scouting, signing, and building something that’s mine, all mine.
I’ve already got my eye on the Ridgebacks’ upcoming season.
I can feel it—there’s talent brewing, and I want to be the one to bring it to light.
It’s risky. It’s bold. It’s exactly what I need.
And sure, it’s a boys’ club. Sports always has been.
But I’ve never had a problem making space where I’m not invited.
I’ve got the banter, the strategy, the rizz, as the reserves would say.
I can walk into a room full of six-foot-something front rowers and hold my own—and they listen.
Because I see the game behind the game. I always have.
This time, I’m not just playing it.
I’m running it.
“Oh my god stop looking so sad, anyone would think you were moving countries.” I turn to find my beautiful best friend standing in the doorway.
“Okay but you’ll be an 8-hour car ride and a 1-hour plane ride away so I may as well.” Jen stares at me and I can see she’s holding back tears.
“It’ll be good for you Scar, back with your dad a break from the city life and the barren desert of men here.” she winks at me.
“Girl, not this again I told you no men I’m focused on growing Maroon.”
“When are you going to get over Mr no name, it’s been what 2 years? He’s not coming back for you. Dawson’s better have some eligible bachelors because lord knows you need some lovin”
“Hey hey this has nothing to do with my Cinderella one night stand” I shoot her a look. “This is really just about having something that’s mine you know.”
“Well, if you say so, but please for womankind, get laid,” she comes in for a huge hug, which feels weird because we aren’t the outwardly affectionate type.
“Make sure you find the best bar in town too for when I come to visit.” she adds leaning back to take me in one more time.
Jen’s the one who’s acting like I’m moving countries.
I don’t know what she’s going to do here in Bondi without me.
* * *
The flight in was something out of a horror movie, you know the ones where they find out the plane crashed, and they come to on some deserted island.
Turbulent the whole way through. My white-knuckled grip on the armrest hadn’t loosened until we hit the tarmac in Dawson’s. I mean really, if we were meant to be in the air, wouldn’t we have wings? Then again—I do love boats, and I wasn’t born with fins either. Touché, universe. Touché.
At least the ride dad had organised waiting for me outside was a silver Audi with leather seats and aircon cold enough to freeze regret. Not bad, especially for Dawson’s Ridge.
Behind the wheel sat a woman with shiny auburn hair, a silk blouse the same soft blue as her eyes, and a smile that was too polished for a small town like this.
“You must be Scarlett,” she said, hopping out and opening the back door for me like some kind of high-end valet.
“That’s me.” I tossed my carry-on into the back and slid into the leather passenger seat. “You’re Shelley?”
“That’s right. Personal assistant to the king himself,” she said with a wink. “Welcome back to Dawson’s.”
The door shut with a satisfying thunk, and we pulled away from the curb.
I hadn’t even been back five minutes, and the memories were already crawling out of the cracks in the pavement – just like I knew they would.
The streets here still had that sleepy, wide lane charm.
Old brick buildings with fresh paint jobs.
A new café squashed between the vintage movie theatre and the butcher shop.
Half the town looked exactly as I remembered—like time had forgotten to pass through and like mum was still walking the pavement holding my hand and telling me the rich history and stories of her own childhood as a little girl growing up here.
I wipe a tear from my eye at the memories flooding in.
I quickly come to notice, the other half of Dawson’s has been dragged into the twenty-first century, thanks to the Ridgebacks and their meteoric rise.
“Still can’t believe this place has a stadium that rivals Accor and Suncorp,” I mutter, half to myself.
Shelley smiles. “The Ridge really changed everything. Whole town’s been riding the high for years.”
“Yeah, I saw a billboard with Jace’s face on it outside the airport, he’s doing so much for his community” I say, scrolling through my phone.
“Man’s basically local royalty, and the kids around here love him, he’s trying to get the Koori Knockout hosted here next year, you know?
” I didn’t know, but that’s something I’d get involved in for sure, I thought.
“He eats free at every restaurant in town. I’m not even kidding.” She adds with a chuckle.
I huff. “Small town perks. So, you from around here?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. Moved here 3 years ago for the job. It was supposed to be temporary… but you know how it goes. Dawson’s Ridge has a way of digging in its claws.”
“That, or my dad has a way of convincing people to stay, he could talk Eskimos into buying ice that man. After all he talked me into coming back here”
She smiles politely but avoids answering that. Hm.
“So, how old are you?” I ask bluntly, glancing over at her again.
Shelley blinks clearly caught off guard. “Um—thirty-three.”
“Oh! Still single?” She looks younger than thirty-three. Her face has a youthful glow, and her fuller cheeks give her a beautiful smooth baby face.
She laughs, a little nervously. “I am.”
“Me too. Twenty-eight and already collecting throw pillows like I’m sixty. It’s tragic.”
“You’ve got your best years ahead of you, Scar,” she says sweetly.
“You don’t know that. I peaked at twenty-three. It’s been a slow decline ever since.” The sarcasm drips over my every word.