Page 30 of Just Say Yes

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“LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOO!”My voice was raw from screaming. Beside me, Maria was jumping up and down with her fist in the air.

The energy in the stadium was electric.

From this vantage point, I had a clear view of Logan as he prepared to go on the field again. He was rubbing his hands together, but his eyes were on me. He watched me scream from the seats before he tore his gaze away. His attention was laser focused, his jaw tight.

Fire raced through me.

In subtle ways, Logan had watched me the entire game.

I was surrounded by die-hard rugby fans who’d been more than happy to explain every detail, play, and position. It was way too much information for me to remember, but I loved feeling like I was a part of the crowd. The rush of adrenaline was unreal—like spinning out of control at the edge of a cliff with your arms spread wide.

Chills ran down my back, but I wasn’t cold. I’d taken pictures and videos and asked Maria hundreds of questions. The grunts and slinging mud only added to the rush of the experience, and this was anexhibitionmatch. I couldn’t fathom what it was like during a seasonal game, let alone the Olympics.

Logan was unstoppable. A beast on the field. When the opposing team scored, it was like a switch was flipped. His intensity darkened and when he pointed and barked orders, I couldn’t imagine a man or woman alive not listening.

He was sweaty, covered in mud, and the corded muscles of his thighs were one of the most impressive things I’d ever seen, but the team was struggling.

The score was against them, and every time they lost ground, Logan seemed to push harder, directing his teammates with quick, decisive gestures. Maria explained that in his position as fly-half, he was in the thick of it, constantly moving, setting up plays, and orchestrating the line.

It was like he could see the entire game three steps ahead of everyone else. He read the field as though every move was planned and rehearsed, even as the game moved faster than I could follow. He’d take the ball in hand, sidestep, pass, and slip through tackles, keeping his balance with a raw, honed power that seemed to pulse through him. The crowd was electric, roaring with every near miss and cheer, but I barely noticed them, too caught up in the way Logan took control of every play.

And yet, despite his best efforts, they were still down. I could feel his frustration. He wore it like an extra layer of sweat, jaw clenched, eyes focused and unyielding. Then, the moment he broke free with the ball, I couldn’t breathe. Logan charged forward, cutting through the defenders, his determination blazing like a dare to anyone who could reach him.

He darted past one defender, then another, his moves almost impossibly quick for someone of his size. The opposing team closed in, bodies slamming into each other as they scrambled to close the gaps, but Logan slipped through each time, twisting and pivoting with an ease that left his opponents a step behind. Just when it looked like he was about to be taken down, he spun, offloading the ball to his teammate with a perfectly timed pass, setting them up for a break down the line.

The crowd roared, and I found myself leaning forward on the half-wall and screaming, heart pounding as I watched the play unfold. Logan was back on his feet instantly, racing up to support the drive as his teammate bolted toward the try line, defenders rushing to intercept. A tackle hit hard, sending Logan’s teammate sprawling, but Logan was right there, scooping up the ball with hands that seemed remarkably steady amid the chaos.

He charged forward, now just a few yards from the line, and the crowd went wild. The tension in the air was palpable. Every breath I took seemed to catch in my throat. Logan’s eyes narrowed, his focus laser sharp as he barreled toward the try line. Two defenders closed in from either side, but Logan didn’t falter. He surged forward, muscles straining, teeth gritted as he pushed through, diving just as the opposing players slammed into him.

He crossed the line, the ball clutched in his hands, and the whistle blew. Cheers erupted all around me, the noise deafening, but all I could hear was the fierce, victorious shout he let loose as he hit the ground. The team swarmed him, lifting him up, clapping him on the back, but even amid their celebration, his eyes found mine across the field. A flicker of something intense passed between us, an unspoken current that left me breathless.

Maria’s arms wrapped around me as we screamed and celebrated.

The Wildhawks won, but it felt like more than that. Watching Logan on the field was a rush I’d never experienced before. After the final whistle blew, the team gathered in a line, shaking hands with their opponents, exchanging brief nods and claps on the shoulder. There was a camaraderie in it, a respect that lingered even after all the tackles and hard hits. As the Wildhawks turned to leave the field, Logan glanced back, his eyes sweeping over the stands until they landed on me. I felt the thrill of his victory radiating all the way from the field, igniting something deep and undeniable.

He jogged toward me. Something in his gait was off, and my nursing instincts screamed at me that there was something wrong.

Logan came to a stop in front of the wall that separated us. “Meet me outside the locker room.” He glanced at Maria. “Can you show her where?”

Maria’s smile widened. “Sure can.”

He exhaled and winked at me before turning around to join his team. I turned to see Maria grinning. She gathered her blanket and flipped her long, black hair over one shoulder. “Well, you heard the man. Let’s go.”

My stomach bunched as I followed her out of the stands and through a long corridor. Muffled cheers and excited chants echoed through the door.

“After their showers, he’ll come out here. Want me to wait with you?” she asked.

I swallowed and shook my head. “I’m good. Thanks for everything today.”

Maria leaned forward and wrapped me in a hug. “My pleasure. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you around.”

We said our goodbyes, and my palms started to sweat as I waited for Logan. I checked my watch. It took two hours to get home, and it was getting darker by the minute.

When the heavy door opened and Logan appeared, my breath caught. Freshly showered, he looked just as intense as he had on the field, but now there was a softness in his eyes, a quiet pride that made my heart stutter. His damp hair fell just slightly over his brow, and he wore a hint of a smile, like he was just as reluctant to say goodbye as I was.

“Heading out?” he asked as we walked down the ramp toward the parking lot. His eyes landed on my car parked under a flickering light.

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