CHAPTER 3
DYLAN
The longer I walk through the halls of this place, the smaller I feel.
When I first arrived, I was excited. Confident. Ready. But now? Now, I’m wondering if I was just lying to myself.
This isn’t like my old club. Everyone here is good.
Not just good—razor-sharp, their movements instinctive, fluid, practiced. I catch glimpses of them in the gym, lifting with perfect form. On the field, their footwork is unreal, their timing precise. They move like they already know what the others are going to do before it happens.
A well-oiled machine.
And me?I’m the new piece that might not fit.
My steps slow slightly as the tour continues. No one else notices, but I do.
I was supposed to come in confident, ready to dominate. But the longer I watch, the more I start questioning—am I fast enough for this? Is my passing game as clean as I thought? What if I’m just some impulsive idiot who dyed her hair bright colors and thought she could keep up with professionals?
I clench my fists, trying to push the thoughts down.
If I let myself spiral now, I’ll psych myself out before I even have a chance to get an offer.
I try to focus as the rep finishes the tour, rattling off information about schedules, training expectations, club rules.
I nod at the right times, and try to act like I’m absorbing it all. But my head is spinning, and not from the overload of details.
It’s the pressure.
It’s the fact that I have no idea if I’m a good fit.
I shove my hands into my pockets as we walk through the last part of the facility, my stomach twisting.
What if I made a huge mistake coming here?
I’ve never doubted myself like this before. Rugby is the one thing I’ve always been sure about. But standing in a facility full of players who already know their place, know their strengths, know each other—I feel like an outsider.
Like I’m one misstep away from proving I don’t belong.
As soon as the tour wraps up, I head outside, needing to breathe.
The crisp air fills my lungs, and I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders.
I need to snap out of this.
I need to pull my head out of my ass before I let self-doubt choke me before I even have a chance to step onto the field.
I dig my phone out of my pocket and scroll to the name I need—my best friend and roommate, Kat.
It only rings once before she picks up.
“Hey, loser.”
A snort. “You call me at this time and I’m the loser?”
“You were probably sitting on your ass doing nothing.”
“Excuse you, I was deeply invested in a show that requires my full emotional attention.”