Page 60 of Steel Beauty

“I met someone––an American in Sydney on a job assignment for three months.”

Dr. Whitfield nods, jotting down a note. “Okay. Tell me how that’s going.”

“It’s early on, but it feels good. She’s uncomplicated. And for the first time in a long time, I feel at peace. Like she’s exactly what I need right now.”

“Uncomplicated. That’s interesting, given what you’ve told me before. You said you want something serious and long-term—a marriage, a family, the whole package. So why this? Why choose a relationship that’s likely to end when she goes back home in three months?”

Dr. Whitfield leans back in his chair, giving me space to find my words.

“For one, she’s different.”

“How so?”

“Everyone I’ve ever been with wanted the image, the status, the lifestyle that goes along with dating someone like me. But with her, there’s none of that She doesn’t care about what I’ve done or what I have. In fact, she doesn’t know about it at all. She likes being with me.”

Dr. Whitfield studies me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “It’s understandable that your past relationship, particularly with your former girlfriend, would influence how you approach things now.”

I let out a slow breath, his words settling over me. “Unfortunately, it shapes everything I do when it comes to women.” The words feel heavy, like I’ve been carrying them for far too long. “With Celeste, it was all an act. She pretended to love me, but the whole time she was using me—turning our relationship into content for likes and comments on social media.”

My jaw tightens at the memory, the sting of betrayal still fresh despite the time that’s passed. “The worst part? I didn’t see it coming. She made me feel safe, like I could trust her, and then she gutted me.” And that makes me feel stupid.

Dr. Whitfield lets the silence settle, giving me the space to untangle the knot of emotions that comes with saying it all out loud. That’s his thing—he never rushes.

“But Charleston is nothing like that. I’m safe with her. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can be the real me.”

“It sounds like you’ve found something meaningful that truly matters to you.”

“It’s early, but yeah, I believe I may have.”

“So, the real question becomes this––what happens when it’s time for her to leave Sydney and return home?”

I shift in my seat, my fingers fiddling with the clasp of my watch. “I’m not thinking about that right now. If I let myself go there, I’ll ruin what we have in the present. And I don’t want that.” I inhale and exhale to slow my racing thoughts. “Being with her is peaceful. I want to hold on to that feeling for as long as I can.”

Dr. Whitfield nods, flipping a page in his notebook with the same calm, measured demeanor he always has. “All right then. Let’s switch gears and revisit something we haven’t talked about in a while. Where are you with your rugby career and processing how it ended?”

The familiar knot tightens in my chest, and I press my thumb harder against the clasp of my watch. “Badly,” I admit, the words cutting sharper than I intended. “That’s how it ended. And I still haven’t processed it… or accepted it.”

Dr. Whitfield doesn’t push, doesn’t prod. He watches me with that steady, practiced look that always seems to say,There’s more on your mind, and I’m not going anywhere.

I exhale slowly, feeling the burden of memories I’ve kept buried for too long. “The injury wasn’t bad luck. He did it on purpose. And I never said or did anything about it.”

“We barely touched on yourinactionbefore. Where are you with that now?”

Frustration rises, hot and simmering just beneath the surface. “At first, I couldn’t do anything—I was too injured to go after him, no matter how much I wanted to. Then I convinced myself I’d heal, that I’d make a comeback, and going after him wouldn’t help my career. But that comeback never happened. I didn’t recover. And I told myself it wasn’t worth it, that going after him wouldn’t change anything. But here I am, two years later, still stuck. Still madder than hell. And I can’t shake it.”

“That anger is weighing you down. Have you thought more about what closure might look like for you?”

I drop my gaze to the floor, a sharp exhale escaping me as the corner of my mouth twists in a bitter, almost involuntary scoff. “What’s the point? Confronting him won’t undo what he did.”

“Closure isn’t about undoing the past. It’s about releasing the control it has over you.”

His words land like a punch I’m not ready to take, heavy with a truth I’ve been dodging for too long. I nod, barely, just enough to acknowledge what he’s said though the idea of acting on it feels impossible. The anger still runs too hot. If I tried to confront him now, I wouldn’t trust myself to keep it together. One smug look, one careless comment, and I’d lose it—completely. And then what? I’d be the one painted as the villain in the story he started.

The frustration bubbles over. “I get it, I do. But right now? If I saw him, I’d probably throw the first punch. I’m still too pissed off.”

The familiar ache of regret stabs at me, sharp and unforgiving. I had at least three more years left in me—three years of playing the game I loved. And he stole that from me. I didn’t get to decide when my career ended. He made that call, and I’ve been stuck with the fallout ever since.

Dr. Whitfield watches me, letting the silence stretch long enough for me to feel the impact of my own words. “You’re not ready yet. And that’s okay. But at some point, you’ll need to deal with it—whether it’s through confrontation or finding peace another way. Otherwise, it’ll keep holding you back.”

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