Page 143 of Scrum Heat

He looks up at her, flushed and fidgeting, like he doesn’t know whether to smile or cry. She leans in and wraps her arms around his neck, and he squeezes her back.

“You’re doing so good,” she whispers. “You’re my light out there.”

Finn nods once, his jaw tight as she turns to Theo. He gives her that twitchy, cocky half-grin he always does when he’s two seconds from combusting.

She doesn’t tease him, though. She walks straight in and presses her forehead to his for a beat before pulling him in for a hug. His arms band around her waist instantly, one hand curled into her denim jacket like he needs the grounding.

“You’re playing smart,” she murmurs. “Keep doing it.”

Then she turns to Rory. His arms are crossed, but the second she steps close, he drops them. She hugs him without hesitation—tight around the middle, cheek against his chest.

“You’re leading them,” she says softly. “Don’t doubt that.”

He breathes in once through his nose, eyes closed, then nods.

And then, she’s in front of me.

She reaches for my hand first. Warm fingers curl between mine before she leans in, arms sliding around my shoulders. I hold her there—carefully, completely; one hand on her back, the other in her hair as her glorious scent hits me square in the chest.

She doesn’t need to say it. Not really.

But she does anyway.

“You’re my anchor,” she whispers into my neck.

I close my eyes—just for a second.

She pulls back, kisses the corner of my mouth, and then she’s gone—out the door before anyone can stop her.

Her scent lingers behind her, sweet and steady, threading through every inch of me like armor. Coach steps back into the room half a minute later, barely missing her.

He claps once, rounding us all up with his eyes.

“C’mon, boys. Second half. Let’s finish it.”

We stand.

We move.

And I already know—I’ll kill to protect this.

*

We go back through the tunnel, back into the light, and the second we step onto the pitch again,everythingshifts.

The crowd is louder. The wind has picked up. And Denton Vale isbuzzing.

I can feel it in the air—the edge. The change.

The ball’s live again, and they come harder this time; sharper.

And worse?

Smarter.

Because this time, they start talking.

“Shame about your little social media girl,” a winger scoffs as he brushes past Finn. “Hope she doesn’t get too distracted watchingreal players.”

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