Page 129 of Hometown Halftime

“You did the right thing by questioning your pain and seeking answers. Now we just need to treat and monitor.”

And somehow that almost makes me cry right there in the exam room. Instead, I hold myself together long enough to schedule follow-up appointments and walk back through the office with numb hands and a polite smile glued onto my face.

But the second I climb into the safety of my Jeep and shut the door, the silence settles over me hard enough to steal the air from my lungs. I just sit there gripping the steering wheel while reality finally catches up to me. I have a chronic illness. There will be injections. The pain that might never fully disappear. And there’s the possibility of my body changing in ways I can’t control.

The thoughts crash into each other so fast that my chest shakes with every breath. An exhale leaves me before tears spill over without warning.

“Fuck,” I whisper, wiping at my face.

But more tears come anyway. Because I’m scared.

Not just of the diagnosis itself, but of what it means long term. What happens if it gets worse? What if rugby becomes impossible someday? Once people know, what if they look at me differently?

What if Riley sees me differently? That thought seems to hurt the most.

I press the heels of my palms against my eyes while another broken breath leaves my chest.

This morning I was dancing barefoot in the kitchen with a man who makes me feel safe and wanted, and happy. Now I’m sitting alone in a parking garage trying to figure out how to accept the fact that my body has betrayed me.

Chapter fifty-three

Riley

Saturday mornings in Cedar Falls belong to rugby now.

The sidelines are packed by the time warmups start, folding chairs lining the edge of the pitch while parents, students, and half the damn town crowd near the touchline holding coffee cups and wearing anything with Cedar Falls royal blue.

It’s kind of incredible.

Before the referee calls the captains over, I catch Kinsey digging through the side pocket of her equipment bag.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“Ibuprofen.”

The answer comes easily, before twisting the cap off a water bottle and swallowing a couple of tablets.

“Are you okay?”

She focuses on putting the bottle back in her bag. “Just a little stiff today.”

I scan her legs, and when Kinsey looks up, she must catch whatever flashes across my face because she bumps her shoulder lightly against mine.

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Give me the I’m concerned look. I’m fine.” She points toward the field. “We've got a rugby game to win, Coach.”

Then she grabs her clipboard and heads toward the touchline before I can argue.

The girls stretch across the field, warming up with passing drills while music blasts softly from the speaker near the equipment bags. Kinsey moves between groups, adjusting positioning and calling instructions, clipboard tucked against her hip while the chilly morning air turns her cheeks pink.

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to watching her coach. Because every time she steps onto this field, she becomes magnetic. Focused, sharp, competitive, and beautiful, she commands the field in a way that makes it impossible to look anywhere else.

“Are you going to stare at Coach Malone all game or actually help, Coach?” Lee asks from behind me.

I grab my clipboard from the bench without looking away from Kinsey. “I can multitask.”