Page 51 of The Break Down

I blink.

Wait—a haka? Here? Hmm.

I’ve definitely seen footage of that. It’s an incredible idea. A great way to draw hype and teach Americans some of what rugby is about.

I step back instinctively, not used to this level of public attention. This isn’t just a few Instagram thirst comments.

This is real, screaming fan energy.

Cell phones out. Pens and markers appearing out of nowhere. Flashing smiles and sparkling eyes.

And Koa?

He handles it effortlessly.

He signs shirts, poses for selfies, answers questions. “Nah, not yet. But who knows? Maybe before a home game. The haka’s sacred—you don’t just throw it in for show.”

His voice is smooth, respectful, and that Kiwi accent suddenly feels a lot heavier. More grounded.

This is the first time I’ve seen him in his element.

Not just the guy whose hands make me forget my name, but the professional rugby player.

A man who played internationally.

Someone who once led his provincial team in New Zealand through a season that made headlines.

Who’s now here, helping anchor a brand-new franchise and slowly becoming the face of the entire Carolina Rovers team.

And me?

I’m just the social media girl who didn’t even know what a breakdown was until last week.

The truth is, I still know little about rugby. Sports and I aren’t really friends.

A week ago, I couldn’t tell you if Koa’s a big deal or a benchwarmer—not without Google and a few hours to spare.

I didn’t grow up watching this. I couldn’t name another player on the team without checking my spreadsheet.

But I know this.

I know how people look at him.

How that couple glowed when he smiled at them.

How every woman in a ten-foot radius keeps sneaking glances.

I see the ease in his body language, the quiet power in the way he stands.

Like he’s used to being watched. Admired. Wanted.

Suddenly, I feel like I’ve wandered onto a stage I don’t belong on.

Not because he’s doing anything wrong. Not at all.

But because without any warning at all, I’m right now wondering if I ever really understood the gap between us.

The one between sweaty kisses behind a snack shed and the man who carries a legacy with him every time he laces up his boots.

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