Page 20 of A Game of Ruck (Carolina Rugby #2)

It’s my first time watching professional rugby and I’m blown away by everything.

But mostly by him.

Luca Warden.

Crowd favorite.

Starting forward.

Owner of my foolish heart.

The match is chaos.

Beautiful. Violent. Unrelenting chaos.

I have never ever seen anything like it.

Giant men crash into each other like freight trains.

There’s mud, sweat, blood, and shouting.

The ref barely keeps control. And right in the thick of it is Luca.

My Luca.

I can’t help it now. It’s how I think of him, and he is sublime.

A beast in motion.

A warrior.

A fucking god.

Rugby doesn’t even resemble American football. Not really.

There’s barely any padding. No helmets. No timeouts every few seconds. Just continuous, raw, intense action.

And the ball? It’s not even shaped like a regular football. It’s like… an angry egg.

An angry egg of chaos.

The game is fast.

Brutal. And weirdly beautiful in its violence.

There’s tackling, for sure. But there’s also that move where the players literally hoist a guy into the air by his shorts like he’s Simba from The Lion King , and I don’t even know why— but it looks like it hurts.

What blows my mind, though, is that these men aren’t wearing much in the way of protection.

A little bit of padding here and there, maybe a mouth guard, but otherwise?

Just thighs, grit, and testosterone.

And my God— they are massive.

Like, someone should check the soil here in Consequence because these guys were definitely grown in a lab.

Muscles on top of muscles. Calves like tree trunks. Shoulders that belong in a Marvel movie.

And they’re just out there, barreling into each other like this is normal.

Like it’s not the hottest, scariest thing I’ve ever seen.

I don’t really understand all the rules yet, but I want to.

I want to learn.

I want him to teach me— if he ever talks to me again.

Please talk to me, Luca. Forgive me for running.

Some of the guys are ridiculously attractive, too—tattoos curling across sweaty skin, bold haircuts, thick thighs for days. Daniela wasn’t lying.

Rugby players might actually be the ultimate thirst trap.

But my eyes?

My eyes are locked on one man.

Luca.

And he is—beyond words.

He explodes across the field like a missile, barreling through two defenders like they’re nothing more than inflatable dummies at practice.

His thighs pump like pistons, calves flexing with every brutal step, jaw clenched, eyes laser-focused.

I feel like I’m watching a battle.

A sexy , muddy, testosterone-fueled battle.

And then he slams the ball down in the try zone with a roar that punches straight through me.

My body jerks like I just got shocked.

“Oh my God ,” I whisper, hand to my chest. My heart is racing, hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. “He’s going to kill someone out there.”

Beside me, Daniela just grins like this is totally normal.

“Isn’t it hot?” she says, sipping her lemonade like she didn’t just witness a grown man commit consensual murder with his thighs.

I swallow, eyes glued to Luca as he jogs back toward the huddle, sweat gleaming on his skin, muscles coiled and perfect and so real.

“Hot is an understatement,” I murmur.

Because this isn’t just about lust anymore.

It’s him .

And for the first time since I ran, I’m not wondering if I should talk to him again.

I’m wondering how the hell I ever thought I could stay away.

“Terrifying,” I mumble. “But also? Yeah. Hot. I mean, a little.”

When the final whistle blows, the Carolina Rovers surge together in a huddle of arms, shouts, and pounding backs.

They won.

Barely.

And Luca?

He’s still standing tall in the center of it all, dirt and sweat streaking his face like war paint.

I think I’m in love with him.

I think I always was.

And I think I really, really screwed things up.

My heart is pounding so hard, I wonder if it’s possible for it to break right out of my chest.

Then it happens.

The noise dies down as Luca steps out of the circle, waving for silence.

My breath stutters, sticking in my throat, as every member of the team turns to face him like he’s the sun and they’re orbiting him.

One big guy wearing a number 8 jersey joins him at the front.

Luca clasps his forearm, and he does the same in some kind of manly gesture of brotherhood no one but real athletes could possibly understand.

“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Luca shouts and someone comes running handing him a mic.

“Thanks. Okay, some of you may recognize the Haka as being an unofficial tradition for New Zealand rugby,” Luca says, voice loud and clear across the pitch. “And though I’m a born and bred Jersey boy, I am a Carolina Rover. And this team’s heart—its roots—were founded in New Zealand.”

The crowd is quiet now. Even the reporters have stopped typing.

“With our captain leading us,” he continues, nodding at a broad-shouldered number 8— Daniela tells me his name is Koa Jackson —who steps forward, “we’d like to perform the Haka today.

This time, it’s dedicated to the woman I love.

The woman I’m asking to marry me right here, right now, in front of all of you. ”

He turns, and his eyes lock on mine.

“Annabeth,” he says, voice breaking just a little. “I’m sorry I made you run. I’m sorry I made you doubt me. I promise to make it up to you. Because I love you, Angel. You and only you.”

I barely have time to gasp before the team drops into formation.

Feet stomp.

Voices rise.

Bodies move in perfect sync—primal, powerful, alive.

Faces growl and tongues stick out.

“Ka mate, ka mate! Ka ora! Ka ora!

Ka mate, ka mate! Ka ora! Ka ora!

Tēnei te tangata pūhuruhuru

Nāna i tiki mai whakawhiti te rā

ā upane, ka upane!

ā upane, ka upane, whiti te rā!”

Their eyes blaze.

Their hands slap against bare thighs and arms.

It’s mesmerizing.

It’s like nothing I have ever seen.

And he did it all. So very publicly. Just for me.

The rhythm, the energy—it crackles through the air like lightning.

I can feel it in my bones.

And Luca?

He’s at the front.

Fierce. Proud. Mine.

I press a hand to my chest.

My heart is pounding so hard I think it might bruise my ribs.

This isn’t just a performance.

This is a declaration.

A vow.

A promise.

A question.

The most important question of my life.

My heart is pounding in my ears, my hands trembling slightly, the world spinning a little too fast—and then?

“Well, mija . What do you make of this one?”

I jump at the sound of my father’s voice.

“ Papa? ” I whirl to face him, startled. “What are you doing here?”

He lifts an eyebrow like I’ve just asked a silly question. “I couldn’t miss my daughter’s first real proposal. What kind of father would that make me?”

My jaw drops. “But how did you—? Oh, my God .”

Realization crashes into me, and I am equal parts shocked, impressed, and pissed.

“Did he ask you first?”

My father chuckles, low and rich.

“ Ask me? Not quite. Tell me? That’s more like it.”

I blink.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s stubborn, this one.” My father’s smile deepens with something like admiration. “Refused to be bought. Didn’t blink when I threatened him. Just looked me dead in the eye and said he loves you—and swore he’d make you see it too.”

My throat goes tight. “He did?”

“He did. Oh, and he said he would sign a prenup and NDA for my peace of mind, but wouldn’t do it behind your back.”

“He did?” I say, smiling so widely it hurts my face.

My father nods slowly, placing a warm, grounding hand on my shoulder.

“Yep. Oh, mija, here he comes, and I think he has something to ask you.”

I turn.

And there he is.

Luca.

Looking like a golden god. Striding toward me like he owns the damn world—no, like I am his whole world.

Cerulean eyes locked on mine, jaw set, face flushed with emotion and intensity and need.

His jersey is soaked with sweat, clinging to every powerful line of his body.

His teammates are still behind him, breathless and amped, but he only sees me.

Just me.

My knees go weak.

My heart lifts.

And all the stupid doubts that once tried to bury this moment disappear like smoke in the sun.

Because I know my answer.

I’ve always known.

And the second he stops in front of me, dropping to one knee with a ring in hand and his soul in his eyes, I don’t wait.

“Yes,” I whisper, before he even asks.

His grin could light up the whole damn state.

“Gotta let me ask so there is no misunderstanding,” he says and gives me that drop dead gorgeous smirk of his.

“Okay,” I reply.

“Okay,” he says. “First, I want you to know I disowned my father before I could legally vote. Anthony Moretti is a monster. He mistreated me and my mother for years. When we finally got away and he went to jail? I was able to move on with my life. Mom died when I was in college. But him? He’s been dead to me for years. ”

“How did he know about us?” she asks.

“He didn’t, mija. I found him. I needed to check out your young man here. Please, forgive me,” Marco interrupts.

“Papa, how could you?”

I’m so mad right now. But also, I feel relieved because Luca has never betrayed me.

He’s always been true and honest. And he doesn’t even blame me for thinking what I thought.

That just makes me love him more.

“It’s my job to look out for you.”

“He’s right, Angel. Don’t be mad at him. Now, will you marry me?” he says loud enough for my father to hear, too.

He’s on one knee now.

Just to do it right.

Because he’s him.

Because he’s mine .

My Luca.

I laugh through tears— big, happy, embarrassing ones —and before I can stop myself, I drop to my knees right along with him, cupping his gorgeous, stubborn, perfect face in my hands.

“Yes,” I whisper, then louder, stronger. “ Yes. A thousand times, yes .”

He grins like the sun just came out. Then he kisses me— hard, deep, like he means it.

Like we’ve waited a lifetime to get here.

And maybe we have.

People cheer. Someone whistles.

And yeah, Daniela is absolutely snapping photos with her phone, tears in her eyes and a wide grin on her face.

Finley, the redhead I met earlier, is recording the whole thing like it’s her job—which it technically is.

But you know what? I don’t mind sharing this part with the world.

Because the truth is, this is our story now.

Ours to tell. Ours to live.

It’s our forever.

And I can’t wait to see what comes next.