Page 14 of Beloved Beauty

Krishna grins. “Love that. Long enough to enjoy the planning, short enough to keep everyone from losing their minds.”

Kye lets out a low chuckle. “So it is possible to plan a wedding without losing your mind? Good to know. We planned for something small—casual beach ceremony, family only. Somehow it turned into a four-piece string quartet, a guest list we lost control of, and a budget that still gives me hives.”

Krishna shoots him a look, half amusement, half warning. “You mean the wedding that turned out perfectly?”

He holds up his hands, grinning. “Wouldn’t change a thing. Just saying it’s nice to see a couple aiming for sanity.”

Our drinks arrive—Kingfisher for Kye and Alex, a crisp riesling for me, and sparkling water with lime for Krishna. Kye lifts his glass. “To fresh starts, bold moves, and people who leap at the right time.”

We toast, the soft clink of glass against glass ringing out under the mellow hum of sitar music.

I know why we’re here.

The rugby conversation is coming—it’s humming under Alex’s skin in the way he keeps flexing his hand, as if he’s working through the nerves in his palm. But Kye hasn’t rushed him. He’s opening up with discussing our life first, not Alex’s comeback.

That matters to me. It says this isn’t only about getting a player back on the field. It’s about the person sitting beside me.

We eat, passing dishes around. The butter chicken melts on my tongue. Krishna orders extra garlic naan and insists I take the last piece.

Talk drifts from weddings to baby names.

“We’re not finding out,” Krishna says, patting her belly. “Kye wanted to, but I told him there are so few surprises left in the world. Might as well let this be one.”

“I’m on board now,” Kye says, though the twitch of a grin suggests it might not have come easily. “She banned gender reveal parties from day one. Said if anyone shows up with a confetti cannon, they’re uninvited to the christening.”

The plates are cleared, and Kye leans back, folding his hands. His tone shifts, lined with purpose. “Talk to me about the surgery. How’s the ankle?”

Alex sets down his beer, ready to talk business. “It’s solid. The surgeon said the procedure was a success. Physio’s gone better than I expected. I started light training in the States—range of motion, conditioning, building the muscle back. Still got a way to go, but Doc gave me the all-clear for full-contact drills.”

Kye nods, processing. “It feels good this time?”

“Better than ever. I’ve done things right.”

Kye studies him for a long second, the agent in him surfacing—calculating, cautious. “What’s the verdict, Sebring? Are you coming back?”

I want this for him—God, I do. He lights up when he talks about the game and comes alive in a way that nothing else seems to match. I’ve seen the fire in him, the way training has sharpened his focus and softened some of the tension in his shoulders. He’s worked hard. Steady. Determined. No cutting corners.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.

Scared of another injury. Scared of the chaos this might bring. Scared of how much I adore a man whose first love has always been a field lined with white paint and blood.

Still… I’m proud in a way that sits in my chest like both a balloon and an anchor.

If this makes him feel more himself again, I want it for him for as long as he can chase it.

“I’m ready to come back.”

Kye nods, his expression softening. “Let’s do it, mate. We’ll talk to David, set up a training schedule, get ahead of the press before the rumors swirl. You’ve got one hell of a comeback story. Might as well write the next chapter before someone else tries to write it for you.”

Alex’s whole face lights up—brighter than I’ve seen in weeks. There’s a fire in his eyes, the kind that only shows up when a man’s stepping back into the thing that makes him feel alive. And in that moment, I know. This is more than a good decision. It’s the right one.

He exhales like he’s finally breathing the air that belongs to him again.

“Let’s do it.”

Alex leans into Kye’s enthusiasm, the two of them already tossing around ideas about training schedules and off-season strategies. It’s like watching someone slip back into their skin, and I can’t stop smiling—even if part of me is still catching up to the weight of what this all means.

Dessert is finished, and the mood at the table is bright with talk of all the possibilities.

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