Rolling my shoulders back, I stood and clapped my hands once. “Alright,” I said, voice steady now. “Eyes up. This is ours. Hands in. Valkyries on three.”
And just like that, the pit in my stomach loosened enough to run.
***
My jersey clung to my back, the fabric rough where mud had dried into it as I crouched low, eyes locked on the Siren’s carrier. Their kick had pinned us deep, and the turf was slick beneath my boots. When Evie scooped it up, she barely had time to brace before their tackle folded her into the ground, the thud echoingthrough my chest. The ball flashed loose, a glimmer in the churn of boots and bodies, and my muscles fired before I could catch them.
I dropped low, the earth soft beneath my studs, and drove forward. My shoulders slammed into the chaos, breath tearing at my throat, and my hands clamped down on… mud, not leather. A Siren forward scooped it instead and pushed it out. My stomach felt like led, and I knew that particular missed ball would haunt me later.
Lola staggered off in the brief pause, blood glowing from her busted lip she took in the first half, and Mara stormed in fresh, her boots pounding like war drums. She came up alongside me, an iron-steady weight at my flank, anchoring the Valkyries’ line. “Let’s give ’em the worst ten minutes of their lives,” she said, glancing at me.
My pulse pounded in my ears now. The Sirens pressed in again, their bodies desperate, but each carry we made was more deliberate, each recycle a blade cutting seconds from the clock. We looked stronger again. Mara stole the ball on a pick and play and took her first hit, the smack of colliding bodies ringing out, and she fell clean, presenting the ball. I hovered, guarding the breakdown, sweat dripping into my eyes, watching for overreach.
I barked at the line, holding us together. The ball spun wide, and Evie streaked down the wing, mud spraying from her boots. I chased in support, heart racing, the roar of the crowd suddenly swelling around us, fueling each move we made. As she hoofed it into touch, the ball vanished into the stands, and the whistle shrieked.
One minute left of additional time and we could win this.
The Sirens had the ball, but they were rattled, their passes hurried, their runners isolated.
Delany thundered in over the top, driving them backward.
Evie was there in a flash when the ball spilled loose, scooping it up, her voice sharp as she called the play. “Hands!” she barked, and Lola cut across the line, dragging the others with her.
I tracked inside, lungs burning as Evie shaped to kick but held, slipping a pass to Mara on the wing.
Mara darted forward, drew the last Siren, and flicked the ball back inside.
It was chaos—bodies colliding, shouts splitting the air—but there was a gap.
Evie’s eyes met mine for a heartbeat, and then the ball was in my hands.
I drove through, boots tearing at the turf, shoulders braced against the last desperate tackle.
The line rushed up, but I stretched, every muscle screaming, and grounded the ball.
Signaling the end of the game, the whistle blew in succession.
I lay there for a moment, chest heaving, the roar of the crowd washing over me, before Delany hauled me upright, her grin wild, eyes bright. “You beast!” she shouted in my ear, crushing me in a hug.
Hands were everywhere then, on my shoulders, my head, my back. Laughter, cheering, tears.
I looked around at my team, mud-streaked, breathless, powerful, and felt it settle deep in my bones.
We weren’t borrowing this space. We weren’t proving anything anymore.
We had taken it.
And every woman watching knew it was possible now.
24
Connor
That was fucking sensational to watch. The way Teddy’s legs powered her through the entire game, never stalling, never hesitating. Setbacks didn’t stop her. Neither did the questionable calls or the bodies thrown at her from every angle. She just adjusted and kept going, like friction only sharpened her. There were moments she disappeared into the mess—rucks collapsing, bodies stacked—and then she’d reappear a second later, back on her feet, eyes up, hunting again. It was relentless. A performance that wears the opposition down without them realizing quite how it’s happening.
I leaned forward without noticing, hands braced on my knees, tracking her instinctively. Every time the Sirens looked like they might break through, these women didn’t let them have more ground. They were there, closing space, forcing them sideways. Teddy was always buying her team another breath, making space for everyone on her side.
She was a force out there.
