“Right.” I cleared my throat. “Uh, she said most of it better than I could, so I’ll keep it short… The Knights are grateful. This year didn’t start the way we planned. But having the Valkyries’ support—especially during their own first season prep—means ahell of a lot. We’re not just teammates within our own squads anymore. We’re rebuilding together.”
More applause.
Teddy turned just enough to glance at me, a flicker of surprise in her expression. Maybe she thought I’d show up and wing it. Truth is, I’d spent all night rehearsing that short speech.
“Great, thank you both. Now, let’s take some questions…”
Hands shot up, and the first question was selected. “Teddy, is there concern about tension or clashes between the teams?”
She didn’t flinch. “We’re adults. Competitive ones, sure. But we know how to work toward a common goal. We’ve been doing it our whole careers. So, no.”
“Connor, you and a lot of your team have a reputation within certain social circles… Do you feel as though training with the Valkyries will serve as a distraction to you and the rest of the team?”
I wasn’t crazy about that accusation. A lot of male athletes were held to some kind of standard where we were either playboys for dating or assholes for not dating. The media loved to spin shit either way, but my guys were worth more than that. So were the women we were sharing this space with.
I held the reporter’s gaze and kept my voice even. “As Teddy has said, we’re professional athletes. We’re here to train, not screw around. And anyone on my team who forgets that won’t be on the pitch come game day, but I guarantee I’ll have a full squad from day one.”
A few heads nodded. Someone scribbled something in a notebook. I didn’t care if it made headlines—I meant it.
The questions kept coming, some surface level, some digging. A few tried to bait conflict, asking if Teddy was prepared for her first season as captain, or if the team could be outshined by the Valkyries’ newer stadium.
Teddy’s fists clenched more than once, but we danced around them cleanly until one reporter asked, “Teddy, with women’s rugby still growing in popularity, do you worry that hosting the Knights will overshadow your team’s season?”
Teddy’s response was all too familiar to me. For as long as I’d known her, she always let questions like that take up space, let the echo of them hang in the air for just long enough for everyone to recognize how ridiculous they were. Almost as if she was giving the room a chance to hear the subtext out loud before she cut it cleanly in half.
She lifted her chin, the slightest inhale steadying her.
“No. The only people who worry about being overshadowed are the ones doing the underestimating. We know who we are, and we know how we play. Sharing a stadium doesn’t threaten our season. If anything, it puts more eyes on a sport that deserves them. We’re hoping that the Knights can become allies, which is a much more positive outlook on this situation. Don’t you agree?” Her head tilted toward the reporter with a take-no-shit look that blew right through the whole room.
There were a few nods and smiles, mostly the beacon of red emanating from that one reporter as though he’d been berated in front of everyone outside the principal’s office.
“Anyone who’s actually watched the Valkyries train wouldn’t ask that question,” I said, meeting the guy’s eyes. “The Knights are proud to be here.”
Another ripple of camera clicks.
Teddy didn’t look at me, but I didn’t need her to, to feel that spark ignite between us. We’d spent years being on opposite sides and now we were on the same team. Those sparks didn’t travel back and forth; they festered between us. Even after a few days, they were simmering.
By the time the press part ended, my shoulders had started to relax.
Then the PR rep said, “We’ll now do a short photo call with the captains. Please stand closer.”
She stiffened beside me, I’m guessing because the request to be closer wasn’t her idea of a good time this morning. I got it. No one likes being told to fake chemistry in front of a dozen cameras. Especially not her.
Still, like the pro she was, she didn’t argue. Just inhaled slowly through her nose and took the smallest step toward me. I followed suit, careful not to crowd her. Careful not to let the press see what I knew to be true—that even standing this close, she was miles away from wanting it.
But it didn’t matter, as soon as I got close enough, whatever she used in her hair, something fruity but clean, took me right back to being in college, swapping insults with her in a classroom, pretending it didn’t set my blood on fire at all. Like right fucking now.
The photographer gestured. “Little closer.”
Teddy didn’t move, so I did. The side of my dress shoe met her heel, it was only half a step, and I kept my arms folded behind my back as I angled toward her. My shoulder brushed hers lightly, more out of necessity than choice, but she held her ground. She didn’t flinch or shift away from me. Then the side of her jaw ticked, and I would’ve missed it had I not been so close. I leaned in slightly, just enough that my voice would reach her without anyone else hearing. “You can punch me after,” I murmured.
Her shoulders eased a fraction, the ghost of a breath catching in her throat as she muttered, “I’ll hold you to that.” Maybe it was a laugh. Maybe not. But whatever it was, she didn’t pull away. And for now, I’d take that.
Then the camera flashes hit.
We stood together in unity.
And I tried really fucking hard not to think about how her shoulder felt pressed against mine, or the way her shampoo still lingered twenty minutes later.
