Page 3

CHAPTER 3

DYLAN

T he longer I walk through the halls of this place, the smaller I feel.

When I first arrived, I was excited. Confident. Ready. But now? Now, I’m wondering if I was just lying to myself.

This isn’t like my old club. Everyone here is good.

Not just good—razor-sharp, their movements instinctive, fluid, practiced. I catch glimpses of them in the gym, lifting with perfect form. On the field, their footwork is unreal, their timing precise. They move like they already know what the others are going to do before it happens.

A well-oiled machine.

And me? I’m the new piece that might not fit.

My steps slow slightly as the tour continues. No one else notices, but I do.

I was supposed to come in confident, ready to dominate. But the longer I watch, the more I start questioning—am I fast enough for this? Is my passing game as clean as I thought? What if I’m just some impulsive idiot who dyed her hair bright colors and thought she could keep up with professionals?

I clench my fists, trying to push the thoughts down.

If I let myself spiral now, I’ll psych myself out before I even have a chance to get an offer.

I try to focus as the rep finishes the tour, rattling off information about schedules, training expectations, club rules.

I nod at the right times, and try to act like I’m absorbing it all. But my head is spinning, and not from the overload of details.

It’s the pressure.

It’s the fact that I have no idea if I’m a good fit.

I shove my hands into my pockets as we walk through the last part of the facility, my stomach twisting.

What if I made a huge mistake coming here?

I’ve never doubted myself like this before. Rugby is the one thing I’ve always been sure about. But standing in a facility full of players who already know their place, know their strengths, know each other—I feel like an outsider.

Like I’m one misstep away from proving I don’t belong.

As soon as the tour wraps up, I head outside, needing to breathe.

The crisp air fills my lungs, and I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders.

I need to snap out of this.

I need to pull my head out of my ass before I let self-doubt choke me before I even have a chance to step onto the field.

I dig my phone out of my pocket and scroll to the name I need—my best friend and roommate, Kat.

It only rings once before she picks up.

“Hey, loser.”

A snort. “You call me at this time and I’m the loser?”

“You were probably sitting on your ass doing nothing.”

“Excuse you, I was deeply invested in a show that requires my full emotional attention.”

“Oh, you mean you’re not waiting to watch the latest Love is Blind episodes with me ?”

“You caught me,” she confesses. “But I’ll rewatch with you. No spoilers, I promise.”

I huff out a laugh, the tension in my chest loosening slightly.

This is why I called.

But of course, Kat doesn’t let it slide. Her voice shifts slightly, more serious. "Okay, spill. What’s going on?"

I hesitate. I don’t want to say it out loud. Because if I say it, it’s real. But I also know she won’t let me off the hook. I grip the phone tighter, my voice quieter than before. “What if I don’t belong here?”

No hesitation on her end. “You’re overthinking again, aren’t you?”

I sigh. "Maybe."

"Dylan. Shut up."

I snort. "Wow, thanks. That was inspiring."

"I’m serious."

There’s a long pause, then Kat’s voice softens slightly. “You’re one of the best players I know. You’re going to crush it.”

I press my lips together. I want to believe that. “Yeah… but what if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll figure it out. But you didn’t fly all the way there to doubt yourself. You didn’t get here by accident. You worked your ass off for this. You earned it.”

Her words hit deep.

“Everyone second-guesses themselves,” she continues. “But you? You don’t quit.”

I exhale slowly, staring out at the empty section of the training field in front of me.

“I’ve watched you take hits that would break other people and get up like it was nothing,” she says. “So what’s different now?”

“This is different,” I admit. “It feels like I’m out of my league. Way out of my league. This is the real deal. It’s a step too far.”

“No, it’s not,” Kat counters. “It’s just another game. You can either let your head screw you over, or you can walk onto that field tomorrow and do what you always do—kick ass."

My heart pounds. Because deep down, I know she’s right. “But what if I mess up?”

“Then you get back up. Like you always do.”

A slow smile tugs at my lips.

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is”. I can almost hear her shrugging through the phone. “You just like making things harder than they need to be.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re annoying.”

“You love me.”

I don’t realize how much lighter my chest feels until I hang up.

I stare at the field in front of me, my fingers loosening around my phone. The doubt is still there, but it’s quieter now. I’m still nervous. Still unsure of what’s coming next. But one thing is crystal clear—I’m not giving up before I even try.

No distractions.

No impulsive mistakes.

No self-doubt getting in the way.

Tomorrow, I walk onto that field and prove I belong here.

And if I fall?

I’ll get back up.

Like I always do.