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ELLIOTT

The roar of the crowd swells around me, a tidal wave of sound crashing against the stadium walls. I take a deep breath, tasting the crisp autumn air tinged with sweat and anticipation. This is it—the moment that could define our season.

"Oi, Iceman!" My teammate Sam's voice cuts through the noise. "You ready to freeze 'em out?"

I nod, a ghost of a smile playing on my lips. "Born ready, mate."

I line up for the play, and my mind sharpens to a razor's edge. The familiar weight of the ball in my hands grounds me, a connection to every practice, every drill, every moment that's led to this. The opposition's defense looms before me, a wall of muscle and determination.

I can almost hear my old man's voice: "Remember, son, rugby's not just about brute force. It's a chess match played with your body."

The whistle blows, and time seems to slow. I drop back, my feet finding their rhythm on the pitch as if it were the worn path between the farmhouse and the barn. My teammates move in perfect synchronization, a well-oiled machine honed by countless hours of practice.

I spot an opening and my body reacts before my mind can catch up. The ball leaves my hands in a perfect spiral, arcing through the air like a bird taking flight. For a breathless moment, I'm that barefoot kid again, tossing stones across the river, dreaming of this very stadium.

"Go, go, go!" I shout, urging my wingman forward as he catches the ball and tears down the field.

The defense shifts, adapting like a living organism. I push forward, my muscles burning with exertion, ready to support the play. The crowd's cheers build to a crescendo, a wall of sound propelling us forward.

I near the try line, and I think, 'This is why I do it. This is what I was born for.'

The moment of impact approaches, and I brace myself, every fiber of my being focused on the task at hand. Whatever happens next, I know I've given it my all. Just like Dad taught me on the farm—you reap what you sow.

The collision hits me like a freight train, sending shockwaves through my body. Time slows to a crawl as I feel something in my knee give way with a sickening pop. The roar of the crowd fades to a distant hum, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in my ears.

"Bloody hell," I gasp, my vision blurring as I crumple to the ground.

The grass beneath me feels impossibly soft, like the downy pillows Mum used to make from our farm's geese feathers. I blink hard, trying to focus on the concerned faces hovering above me.

"You alright, Iceman?" my teammate asks, his voice muffled and far away.

I open my mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a grunt. The pain in my knee flares, white-hot and insistent. I've had my share of knocks, but this... this feels different.

As the team medic rushes over, I think of all the times I've pushed through pain before. The early morning training sessions in the biting Canterbury cold. The countless bruises and sprains I've shrugged off like they were nothing.

"Not now," I mutter through gritted teeth. "Not when we're so close."

I try to stand, but my knee buckles beneath me. The crowd's collective gasp washes over me like a wave, and I feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on my chest.

"Easy there, Elliott," the medic says, gently pushing me back down. "Let's take a look before you try anything heroic."

As he examines my knee, my mind races. What if this is it? What if this is the injury that ends it all? I think of the farm, of the life I left behind to chase this dream. Of all the people counting on me—my teammates, my fans, my family back home.

"I can't let them down," I think, clenching my fists in determination. "I've come too far to give up now."

But even as I try to summon that icy focus I'm known for, a nagging doubt creeps in. What if my body's finally telling me it's had enough?

"How bad is it, doc?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

The medic's hesitation speaks volumes. "We'll need to run some tests, but..."

I close my eyes, letting out a slow breath. The smell of grass and sweat fills my nostrils, grounding me in the moment. I've faced setbacks before. This is just another challenge to overcome.

"Right then," I say, forcing a smile. “Let’s start the rehab now so I can rejoin before the season ends.”

“Let’s get me patched up.”

But as they help me to my feet, I can't shake the feeling that this might be the beginning of the end of the only life I've ever wanted.

The locker room buzzes with a mix of concern and forced optimism as I limp in, supported by our team physio. My teammates crowd around, their faces a blend of worry and encouragement.

"Oi, Iceman!" Stevie, our jovial prop, calls out. "You're made of tougher stuff than that, eh? Bet you'll be back on your feet faster than a sheep fleeing the shearing shed!"

I manage a chuckle, grateful for the attempt at levity. "Might need to borrow some of that famous prop padding of yours next time, mate."

But beneath the banter, I can sense the undercurrent of tension. Whispers flutter around the edges of the room like uneasy birds.

"...could be career-ending..."

"...what if he can't come back from this?"

"...who'll step up if he's out?"

I pretend not to hear, focusing instead on the ice pack being strapped to my knee. The cold seeps into my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the locker room.

"Alright, lads," Coach booms, silencing the murmurs. "Snow's tough as old boots. He'll be right as rain in no time. Now, let's talk about that second half..."

As Coach drones on about strategy, my mind wanders. I think of the farm back home, of Dad's weathered hands guiding mine as I learned to mend fences. "There's always another way, son," he'd say. "You just gotta be stubborn enough to find it."

I set my jaw, determination flooding through me. This isn't over. Not by a long shot.

The physio couldn’t give me a clear answer yet—still waiting on the MRI results, and the tests earlier didn’t tell us much.

I’ve felt worse, sure, but this knee… it’s different.

There’s something in the way it’s holding me back, something that feels like more than just a knock.

But I can’t afford to think about that right now.

I’ve made up my mind. The second I’m cleared to get back out there, I’m going. I can’t wait around for answers. The team needs me, and damn it, I need the game.