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.
