More.
The whistle shrieks, the pack breaks apart. I wipe sweat from my forehead, inhaling deeply, letting the air cool my skin, my thoughts.
One of my teammates grins, nudging me. “Damn, Dylan. You got something to prove?”
I force a smirk, shake out my arms. “Always.”
But the truth?
I’m not just competing against myself.
I’m competing against the ghost of a night I refuse to let mean anything.
Coach calls for a water break. I jog to the sideline, grabbing my bottle, tilting my head back as I take a long pull of water.
The field stretches out before me. My future.
I exhale sharply, steadying myself.
One night. No strings.
I’m here for rugby.
That’s all that matters.
And yet… my body still remembers. My skin still burns in places his hands have never touched in the light of day.
I shove it down. Swallow it whole.
And I walk back onto the field.