I chuckle at her boldness.
Keeley smiles knowingly.
“Loretta’s right about the special bond here,” she says. “As the PR manager, I want to showcase that to the world. Women supporting women—that’s what it’s all about. Lifting each other up and putting all types of professional athletes in the spotlight where they belong. I can’t wait until Shay, the captain, arrives… her club wouldn’t let her out of her contract in time for the first game, which isn’t ideal, but you and she are going to get along like a house on fire.”
I nod along as Keeley speaks, her enthusiasm lighting a fire in me.
Their passion is contagious. For the first time in ages, I feel that spark—the thrill of being part of something bigger than myself. Something groundbreaking.
“The women’s game has come so far, but you’re right—we still have a long way to go to get the same respect and visibility as the men’s leagues,” I say.
Keeley’s eyes shine. “Exactly! That’s been my mission since joining the team. Giving women’s rugby the coverage and hype it deserves. And now, with you leading the squad, I just know we’re going to take things to the next level.”
She gives me an appraising look. “You’re the perfect poster girl to spotlight what we can achieve. Talented, driven, not to mention gorgeous.” She winks.
I blush, not used to such direct praise. But her belief in me and in the future of the women’s game is empowering.
“Well, I’m honored to help carry that torch,” I say sincerely. “This team, this sisterhood—it already means the world to me. I’ll do whatever I can to help you shine a light on what we’re building here.”
Keeley grins and pulls me into an enthusiastic hug. “Just you wait, we’re going to take this league by storm!”
As we chat and laugh together, I feel lighter than I have in years.
Like I’ve finally found my people.
With these women by my side, I know I can soar.
The future for women’s rugby has never looked brighter.
Chapter 17
Dylan
Thewhistleblowsandmy feet pound against the grass, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I dart left and right, dodging defenders as I make a break for the try line. The ball feels like an extension of my hand, the perfect oval shape gliding between my fingers.
I spot an opening and push forward, my legs burning as I sprint the last few meters.
With a final burst of speed, I smash through the tackle and slam the ball down across the line.
The ref’s hand shoots into the air—try!
My new teammates let out a roar and rush over, surrounding me in a mass of grinning faces and high-fives.
I’m shocked. Hookers don’t usually score tries. But here I am, at my first practice, and I can’t even be accused of being a ball hog because it literally landed in my hands, and I saw a clear path so I took it.
“That was insane!” A girl with spiky black hair claps me on the back. “Dylan, right? I’m Sarah.”
Another teammate squeezes my shoulder. “Seriously impressive footwork there. I’m Beck.”
I can’t stop smiling, their praise warming me from the inside out. After feeling overlooked for so long, it’s incredible to finally be seen for my athleticism.
“Thanks, you two played great as well,” I say. We fall into easy conversation as we walk towards the locker room, the three of us laughing and joking like old friends. They seem just like the type of teammates I was hoping for. No interest in politics or drama—just the sport we love and the chance to prove our worth.
“So get this,” I say as we reach the locker room. “As you know, I just moved here, and there’s been a total mix-up with my housing.”
Sarah’s eyes go wide. “What? Girl, spill!”
“Well,” I sigh, “I was supposed to stay with some of the other new recruits, but when I got to the house, it was already full. So the housing office stuck me with...”