I used to think she was chaos personified with a talent for blurting out whatever was on her mind. She still is that, but itturns out, she’s the calm after. The part that makes it all make sense.
Somewhere above the clouds, I open my phone. A photo of her flashes across the screen with her hair tied up, Nick Fury sprawled across her lap. I scroll to another, and she’s in my hoodie, laughing at something I’d said. Then I find the ones I’d saved from my SD card from the night in the studio where she let me paint her skin. Dark moonlight surrounds her, blues and whites cover her skin, and the look on her face is ethereal.
God, I miss her already. I miss her laugh, her touch, the way she leans on me without even realizing.
If my love language is acts of service, hers has always been touch, and I’ve never minded being the one she reaches for. It means she trusts me. I crave that from her, I crave everything about her. And staring at her on my screen now, it hits me how far gone I am.
The captain’s voice breaks through the cabin, announcing our descent into San Diego. I put my phone into my pocket and stare out the window as the clouds pull apart to reveal a stretch of coastline glittering below, sun catching on the water like glass.
The plane dips lower, and my pulse kicks up. The thought that this interview could change things rings in my mind, but I’m not naive enough to think I’m going to be the best candidate here, especially not with a team just starting out; they’ll want the best of the best.
Still, I owe it to myself to try. To see what this could be. I’ve worked too hard to let doubt drown me before I’ve even stepped off the plane, and if Liv has taught me anything, it’s that showing up matters more than being perfect.
***
San Diego air hits like a different planet. The first thing I notice is how warm, dry, and threaded with salt the air is.
A driver waits by the curb with my name on a sign. It’s all surreal, and it doesn’t stop there. We pull away from the terminal, the skyline shrinking in the rearview, replaced by coastal highway and flashes of ocean between the buildings. Forty minutes south, we reach the town where the Valkyries train—a stretch of coastline I’ve only ever seen in highlight reels. The streets are lined with surf shops and taco stands, every storefront sun-faded and open to the breeze. Pelicans skim the water, and the Pacific spreads out like it goes on forever.
Then the stadium comes into view, and my skin prickles with nervous energy.
The new Valkyries Stadium sits just beyond the dunes, scaffolding climbing its sides. Half the stands are coated in new paint, glinting under the sun, crews moving like ants across the site.
When I step out of the car, the noise hits first—machinery, metal clanging, shouts over the wind. The air smells like fresh turf, paint, and the ocean as I make my way inside and find a few people lingering.
A woman in a navy polo strides over, ponytail swinging. “Jay Oliviera?” she greets me with a smile, extending a hand. “Kate Williams, team manager. Thanks for making the trip.”
“Of course,” I say, adjusting my backpack, realizing I probably should’ve opted to drop it at the hotel first. Damn, I hope she doesn’t notice. “This place is looking great.”
She smiles. “Still a work in progress. Come on, I’ll show you the field before you meet the media team.”
We walk through the tunnel toward the back of the building. When we step into the light, I stop without meaning to.
The field spreads wide and impossibly green; every single hair on my arm stands to attention at the possibility ofphotographing the inaugural women’s rugby season here. It screams potential and excitement; it’s like the air is alive.
Kate pauses beside me, following my gaze. “Pretty incredible, right?”
“Yeah,” I scoff in awe. “It really is.”
“This team means a lot to the city,” she says. “We want people to see how much we appreciate their support with the new upgrades the city has partially funded. This place has been derelict for years. The mayor was going to tear it down when our investors came up with a plan.”
I nod, still taking it in, my fingers flexing around nothing; instinct already has me wanting my camera in my hands. I can see the angles—the light, the motion, the faces that would tell that story. A story I really want to be a part of.
“You’ve built something special here,” I say. “You can feel it.”
She smiles, puffing her chest. “We’ve fought for it. These women on the team… they didn’t quit when it got hard last year, and we were stadium hopping and unable to really offer salaries. And now, here we are about to kick-start our inaugural preseason with a full, talented roster. It’s a great time to be a part of the team, Jay.”
I like the sound of that—a lot.
“Sounds like the kind of story worth capturing.” We make our way back into the building.
“That’s the idea,” she says, holding the door open to a glass corridor lined with framed team posters and sponsor mockups. “Come on, let’s make some introductions.”
We turn a corner, and I nearly trip over my own feet.
Standing at the far end of the hall, talking animatedly with a woman in a Valkyries jacket, isBobby Wilson. Co-captain of the Knights, the male team of the city.
Kate smiles, oblivious to the quiet awe tightening my chest. “Micah, Bobby—good to see you both.” Kate turns, gesturing.“Micah is our assistant coach, and Bobby, well, he’s here for Micah, mostly.”
