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Chapter Seventeen

T he final whistle pierced the humid Gold Coast air, and George doubled over, hands braced on his knees, lungs burning as though the match had stolen every ounce of oxygen he possessed.

Around him, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar, their cheers rolling like waves along the stadium stands.

A victorious grin tugged at his lips despite the ache in his body.

They’d done it. His team had pulled off one of the toughest wins of the season.

“Oi, George!” Lachie slapped an arm around his shoulders, nearly knocking him sideways. “You beauty! That try was a bloody masterpiece.”

George chuckled, breathless but buzzing with adrenaline.

“Team effort, mate.” He clapped Lachie’s back and joined the knot of teammates huddling mid-field, arms slung over each other, the exhilaration of victory binding them together more tightly than any game plan ever could.

Sweat dripped down his temple, mixing with the salt of triumph.

“Next round’s on you, Captain!” someone shouted through the laughter, and George raised his arms in mock surrender. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll think about it,” he called, grinning wide. These were his people. His turf. And today, they owned it.

As the group began to scatter, some heading toward the locker rooms, others lingering for interviews, George scanned the edge of the field out of habit.

The stands were still packed with fans waving banners and snapping pictures, a sea of maroon and gold jerseys blending into the sunset hues streaking the sky.

Then, just beyond the barrier separating the crowd from the pitch, something, or rather, someone, stopped him dead in his tracks.

Myst stood there, leaning casually against the railing, her petite frame impossible to miss even amidst the chaos.

Her long dark hair shimmered in the fading light, cascading over her shoulders like silk, and she wore a simple white tee tucked into faded jeans, a bright scarf tucked around her throat.

But it was her smile, bright, unrestrained, and aimed squarely at him, that knocked the wind clean out of him.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, blinking as if she might disappear. She didn’t.

“Well, don’t just stand there gawking,” Lachie teased, elbowing him before jogging off toward the changing rooms. George barely noticed. His feet were already carrying him forward, cutting across the grass with purposeful strides.

“Thought I’d surprise you,” Myst called out as he approached, her voice carrying over the din. There was a mischievous lilt to her tone that made his heart stutter. “Figured it was my turn to cheer you on for once.”

“Colour me surprised,” he said, unable to stop the grin stretching across his face.

He reached her and pulled her into a hug without hesitation, lifting her slightly off the ground.

She let out a soft laugh, her arms looping naturally around his neck.

Her warmth, her scent, something faintly floral mingled with the tang of ocean air, it all grounded him in a way nothing else could.

“Careful with the PDA, Captain,” she teased when he set her back down. “You’re going to steal the spotlight from the team.”

“Me? Steal the spotlight?” He arched a brow, stepping back enough to take her in properly. “You’ve got that covered, love. Half the crowd’s probably forgotten we even won.” Everyone around them was staring and pointing, and he could see probably fifty phones pointed in their direction.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Myst shot back, laughing. Her pale blue eyes sparkled with amusement, the kind that always seemed to disarm him completely. “This is your world, not mine.”

“Maybe,” he allowed, his grin softening into something quieter, more private. “But you fit into it pretty damn well.”

For a moment, the noise of the crowd, the flashing cameras, everything faded into the background. It was just the two of them standing there, her presence as natural and steady as the earth beneath his cleats. And for the first time in weeks, George felt like he could finally catch his breath.

George slung an arm over Myst’s shoulder as they walked around the edge of the field. The air still buzzed with post-match energy, his teammates clustered in small groups near the sidelines, their voices rising and falling in celebration.

“Oi, Dennis!” Lachie called out, a grin plastered across his face as he jogged toward them. “So this is the famous Myst, huh? Finally!”

“Famous?” George drawled, tilting his head down toward Myst with a smirk. “I don’t know about that.”

“Please,” Lachie cut in, eyes wide as he looked at her like she’d just descended from the heavens. “You’re Myst . My mum’s a huge fan, would kill me if I didn’t at least say hello.”

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” Myst quipped, her pale blue eyes sparkling as she extended a hand to him. “Nice to meet you, Lachie.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Lachie stammered, clearly trying not to trip over his words. He shook her hand a little too enthusiastically before scratching the back of his neck. “Uh… any chance you’d mind a quick photo? For my mum, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Myst echoed with a teasing smile. She glanced up at George, who was valiantly trying, and failing, not to laugh. “Is this what it’s like for you after games?”

“Pretty much,” George said, shrugging. “Except no one ever asks me for selfies.”

“That’s because your skills are on the field,” Myst said smoothly, turning back to Lachie. “Not that I blame anyone for being impressed, it’s pretty incredible watching this guy play.”

“Alright, alright,” George muttered, his ears heating despite himself. “Let’s not inflate my ego too much.”

“Too late,” Myst teased, leaning into his side briefly as Lachie fumbled with his phone. She posed effortlessly for the photo, her charm utterly disarming as she laughed and gave Lachie’s camera a casual thumbs-up.

“Thanks so much,” Lachie said, practically bouncing as he backed away. “You’re a legend. Oh, and great game, Cap!”

“Yeah, yeah,” George muttered, waving him off as Myst stifled a laugh.

“Your friend’s adorable,” she said once Lachie was out of earshot.

“Adorable wasn’t exactly the word I had in mind,” George replied dryly, though there was a flicker of amusement in his expression. “Come on, I need to get a shower and change.”

The stadium was nearly empty by the time they found a quiet spot high in the stands, the roar of the crowd fading into memory.

George stretched his legs out in front of him, resting one arm along the back of the seat behind Myst. She tucked her knees up, wrapping her arms around them as she gazed out at the field where the floodlights cast long shadows across the grass.

“Can’t believe this is your life,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of awe. “Watching you out there… it was like seeing a whole different side of you.”

“Different how?” he asked, glancing at her profile. Her hair caught the light, tumbling over her shoulders in dark waves.

“Like you belonged,” she said, turning to meet his gaze. “Completely, undeniably. It’s not hard to see why everyone looks up to you, on and off the field.”

“Guess it’s not so different from watching you on stage,” George replied after a moment, his voice quieter now. “You light up your world the same way.”

She smiled at that, a soft, private smile that made his chest tighten in the best possible way. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely.” He reached over, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Though I reckon you’ve got better lighting.”

“Touché,” she murmured, leaning into his touch briefly before settling back against the seat.

For a while, neither of them spoke, letting the silence stretch comfortably between them. The weight of everything they’d been through, individually and together, seemed to settle lightly in the air, not heavy but present, like a thread connecting one moment to the next.

“Kind of crazy, isn’t it?” Myst said eventually. “How we ended up here. Feels like just yesterday we were trying to figure out if this…” she gestured between them, “could even work.”

“Yeah,” George agreed, his voice warm. “But we’ve done alright, haven’t we?”

“More than alright,” she said, her pale blue eyes meeting his again. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Me neither.” He rested his hand lightly on hers, the simple gesture grounding them both. “We’ve come a long way.”

“And we’ve still got more to go,” she added, her tone turning playful again. “Think you can keep up, Captain?”

“With you?” He grinned, squeezing her hand gently. “Always.”

The smell of eucalyptus mingled with the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling sausages as George pulled his ute up the long gravel driveway.

Myst sat beside him, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve.

She’d been quiet for the last few minutes, her usual flowing conversation replaced by a contemplative silence.

“Relax,” George said, glancing at her with a crooked smile. “They’re going to love you.”

“That’s what everyone says right before things go horribly wrong in rom-coms,” Myst muttered, though the corners of her lips twitched upward.

“Pretty sure this isn’t a movie,” he teased, reaching over to gently squeeze her knee. “And if it is, I’m the ruggedly handsome lead who gets the girl in the end.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re the lead,” she shot back, her nervousness briefly forgotten as she arched an eyebrow at him.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he said with a wink, throwing the car into park. The old Queenslander house loomed ahead, its white weatherboard exterior glowing in the afternoon sun. From the front verandah, George’s mum appeared, waving enthusiastically.

“Here goes nothing,” Myst murmured under her breath, stepping out of the vehicle.

“Here goes everything,” George corrected, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they approached the house.