Kye’s gaze softens, and for a moment, he’s not just my agent—he’s my mate. “At least you would walk away knowing you tried everything.”

I nod, my mind already running in a dozen different directions. This could be something… or it could be nothing. But Kye’s words echo in my chest, steady and relentless.

What if there’s still a chance?

Kye turns up the last of his old-fashioned. “Want me to set up an appointment?”

“I guess a consultation wouldn’t hurt.” I play it cool, but it hits me harder than I want to admit.

Kye smirks, seeing straight through my bullshit. “Right. Just an inconsequential consultation. No big deal.”

He takes out his phone. “Any dates we need to work around?”

I shake my head, the answer coming too fast. “No.”

Nothing. No obligations. No one waiting on me.

“Claire. Hey, love. Do me a favor, and call Dr. Tate’s office first thing tomorrow and book a consultation for The Wall.”

He pauses, listening for a moment before adding, “The Achilles specialist in Dallas. Priority booking, whatever it takes to get Alex in with him ASAP.”

Dallas, Texas.

The United States.

The words hit me square in the chest. Texas is in the South. And Charleston…

How far is Dallas from Charleston?

My jaw clenches, annoyed at myself for even wondering it. Months have passed. I should be over this. Past her. But Magnolia’s never left my thoughts. She’s there always, woven into the quiet spaces of my mind.

Kye carries the confidence of a man who’s got life figured out. “Three years… I reckon you’ve got at least that much left in you if you get healthy again. I wouldn’t say that about just anybody. But you… you’re built different.”

Three years.

For the first time in a long while, something flickers inside me.

Three more years on the field. The roar of the crowd, the rush of adrenaline, the bone-deep satisfaction that comes from doing what I love most. It’s a future I hadn’t dared to consider since my injury.

It’s been two years. The road back won’t be easy—hell, it’ll be brutal. I’ll have to fight harder than I ever have, push my body past limits I haven’t tested in a long time. And even then, there’s no guarantee I’ll make it.

The idea gnaws at me, refusing to let go. The possibility that I’m not done yet.

I swirl the last sip of my drink, staring at the amber liquid as if it might offer some kind of answer.

Rugby would give me purpose, something to focus on besides the emptiness Magnolia left behind. If I can’t have her, this might be the next best thing.