Page 83 of Steel Beauty

I manage a small smile. “Yeah, good to be in the stadium again.”

He nods, taking a sip from his drink, his eyes scanning the field below. “It’s different, though––watching instead of playing.”

“Quite.” The word slips out sharper than I intend.

“I get it, Sebring. I retired on my terms. My body gave me a few warnings, and I knew when it was time to call it quits. But you––” He glances at me, the rest of his thought hanging unspoken between us, clear without him needing to say it.

“No, I didn’t get a choice.” Bitterness claws at the edges of my words, threatening to break through.

Nate nods, giving my shoulder a quick clap. “That’s rough, mate. I don’t envy that.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Memories flash through my mind—grueling recovery sessions, sleepless nights, and the endless frustration of knowing everything I’d worked for was ripped away. But I shove it all back down, unwilling to let it surface here.

Nate leans back in his seat, his gaze distant. “Still, it’s good to see you here.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I’d be sitting here as a spectator this early in life.”

Nate gives a small nod, his lips pulling into a half smile. “At least you had a good run. A great run actually.”

“It was good.” A part of me can’t fully embrace the words. “But it didn’t end the way it should have.”

The players charge the field, their cleats striking the turf with a rhythm that feels alive, each movement sharp, deliberate, powerful. My eyes follow the action until they land on him—my replacement. He’s good, I’ll give him that. Strong, fast, disciplined. But he’s still missing something, the finesse, the instinct that only comes with time.

My thoughts drift as I watch him, unbidden memories pulling me back to those first days after the injury. The crutches, the endless cycle of physical therapy, the constant ache that dulled with time but never truly disappeared. And the questions—always the questions. Would I recover? Could I come back? And the hardest one of all—what would I do if I couldn’t?

Nate nudges me, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Been a while since we caught up. You probably haven’t heard, but Julia and I are expecting! It’s a boy.”

“That’s brilliant.” I manage a genuine smile for him. “Congrats to you and Julia.”

He grins, practically radiating pride. “Thanks, mate. Wasn’t exactly planned—getting pregnant right before the wedding—but hey, it happens.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “That’s one way to keep things interesting.”

Nate laughs, the sound easy and unbothered. “You’re falling behind, you know. Time for you to find a missus now that you’re retired. Gotta get some sons while you’re still young—so we can turn them into rugby stars before we’re too old to keep up.”

I smirk, shaking my head lightly to brush off the comment though the thought persists, heavier than I want to admit.

“If you spot a missus for me running around out there, let me know.”

Nate chuckles, turning his attention back to the game. My gaze is fixed on the field, but a quiet thought sneaks into my head—what would it be like to have a son out there one day? To pass on everything I know. The idea tugs at something deep, but it’s quickly joined by another image—a daughter. A little girl I’d protect with everything I’ve got, who’d no doubt grow up tougher than I could ever imagine. Especially if Charleston were her mum. That kid would be steel-willed, no question.

The game wraps up, and before I know it, I’m swept along with Nate and a few others to one of the usual post-match gatherings. It’s the kind of scene I used to thrive in—music, laughter, drinks flowing, a blur of teammates, fans, and women eager to be part of the celebration. The kind of night where everyone blends together into one big, buzzing, chaotic family.

But now it feels different. Off. Like I’m watching it all from behind glass. The laughter, the clink of glasses, the hum of conversation—it’s just noise, amplifying the realization that I don’t belong here anymore.

I sip my drink, barely tasting it, scanning the room out of habit. The women flirt and laugh, leaning into conversations with the guys who soak it all up, the kind of easy, carefree attention I used to enjoy. But now? It feels hollow, like a version of myself I’ve left behind.

And then, through the blur of movement and noise, I see her. Across the room, she catches my eye, and everything else fades.

Celeste. She’s dressed to be noticed, her smile sharp and deliberate, cutting through the room like a blade. Our eyes meet for a fraction too long, and that’s all the invitation she needs. Her gaze locks on to mine, predatory intent in her eyes as she moves through the crowd. The room seems to part for her as if she commands it. Every step, every glance, is calculated—charm wielded like a weapon, designed to get exactly what she wants.

“Alex.” She draws out my name, her hand grazing my arm—a touch I don’t want.

I stiffen, polite but distant. “Hello, Celeste.”

Her smile widens as her gaze sweeps over me. “Oh, come on, Alex. Don’t be like that. We’ve always gotten along, haven’t we?”

“‘Gotten along’ might be a stretch.”

---