Surrendered in his arms

“During this trip, you won’t be doing any of the work, amore,” Vic said as he took my shirt off. His hands were firm but tender, reverent in the way they moved over me. “You’ve been working so hard that you need to relax and get out of your head….it’s no wonder you’re so exhausted and stressed.”

The simple statement was profoundly grounding. The tension I had carried all week—the clashes with Scott, the stress of the mental health initiative with the players and the coaches, the weight of the owner’s confidence—seemed to dissipate with the removal of my shirt. The plush carpet of the hotel room was silent beneath my feet, a world away from the echoing concrete of the rugby arena.

He turned, dropping my shirt onto the floor, and smiled. It wasn’t the sexy smirk he reserved for the turf, but a deep, affectionate smile that reached his eyes, the kind that made my heart thrum.

“Exactly what kind of work am I not doing, Papi?” I asked, meeting his gaze.

“None of it,” he promised, stepping closer until I could feel the brush of his breath against my neck. “No reports, no coaching, and definitely no fighting with that blond caveman.”

“Oh? The psych reports that need and demand my review before Monday?” I tilted my head, offering him more of me, aching for his mouth. “What about sex?”

“Yes, amore, we’re having sex,” he said as he kissed me, the heat of his lips silencing the protest in my chest. “However, you’ll be my pillow princess… you’ll only be on receiving end.”

“What about you?” I whispered.

“My pleasure will come secondary,” he said firmly, his eyes dark and certain. “The more pleasure you have, I will know that you’re satisfied… and that will give me pleasure.”

We stripped naked and our clothing pooling around our feet. Vic laced his fingers with mine, tugging me toward the bathroom like he had planned it from the start. The shower was luxurious, wide, with rainfall streams that poured down over us in heavy sheets. Steam curled around the edges of the glass, cocooning us in warmth.

Vic worked shampoo into my hair, massaging my scalp in slow, careful circles that made my knees soften. I hummed in pleasure, leaning into his touch. The conditioner left my hair silky-soft, and the gentle soap he lathered across my body exfoliated and tingled, awakening my skin everywhere his hands slid.

“See?” he murmured, his palms gliding down my shoulders, over my tits and down the rest of my body. “You deserve this. To be touched without rushing, without pressure. Just cared for.”

I leaned back into him, the hot water streaming down my face. “If you keep doing that, I might melt right here.”

“Then I’ll catch you,” he promised, kissing the damp curve of my neck.

By the time we stepped out, our skin was flushed and tingling. We dried off slowly, brushing against each other in playful, unhurried touches. He snagged the towel I had my hair wrapped up in.

“Papi, give it back,” I teased, swatting at him with the damp corner of my towel.

“Sharing is romantic, amore,” he said, grinning, though he handed it back.

Once my hair was mostly dry, I sat at the edge of the bed and braided it so I wouldn’t wake with bedhead from sleeping with it slightly wet. Vic sprawled across the mattress, sheets riding low around his hips as his eyes followed every movement.

“You always braid it before bed?” he asked.

“Unless you want me waking up looking like a sea witch,” I said.

He chuckled, low and warm. “You could wake up with horns and scales, and I’d still want you in my bed.”

I shook my head, smiling as I tied off the braid. “You say that now.”

“I’ll say it every morning that we wake up together, too,” he replied without hesitation.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was warm, weighted with intimacy. I slipped beneath the sheets, and Vic pulled me into his arms. His skin was still hot from the shower, his scent clean and grounding. His lips brushed my temple as he whispered, “Now you’re ready to sleep, princess.”

I laughed softly, my braid trailing across his chest as I nestled in closer. “Only because you made me.”

And in the safety of his arms, wrapped in clean sheets and the quiet pulse of his heartbeat, I finally let myself surrender.

We slept for a few hours, the kind of deep, restorative sleep that only came when I was cocooned in his warmth. The shrill buzz of my phone cut through the dark, dragging me up from dreams. Groggy, I fumbled on the nightstand and answered without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” My voice was thick with sleep.

“Hey, it’s Kay.” Her voice was tight, edged with stress. “I didn’t want to wake you, but I had to call. Someone broke into your house.”

I shot upright, heart hammering. “What?”

“Mike heard the commotion from next door. He went over and stopped them from doing more damage. He stayed until the police arrived, gave them his statement. They’ve already filed a report.”

A shaky breath left me as I pressed a hand to my forehead. Relief tangled with dread in my chest. “Thank fuck for him. Did the cops say what was taken?”

“Not much. They didn’t get far before Mike caught them before they could do anything else. Just a window broken, a couple things tossed around. But it’s enough that you’ll need to file with insurance.”

I said, forcing steadiness into my voice. “Kay, submit everything you have to the homeowner’s insurance. I’ll add you as an authorized person so you can deal with them directly,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice.

“Really?” she asked. “That would make things so much easier.”

“Kay, thanks for calling me and taking care of this for me.”

She exhaled, her voice softening. “Of course. I’ve got your back. I’ll text you the police report number as soon as I have it.”

“Perfect,” I ended the call and set the phone in my lap, rubbing my face.

Vic stirred beside me, eyes opening, brow furrowed. “What happened?”

 “Someone broke into my house. My neighbor, Mike, stopped them from doing far worse, stayed until the police got there. Kay’s handling it now, but I need to update the insurance company and make her their point of contact.”

His jaw flexed. He reached out, brushing his hand down my arm, steady and grounding. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just pissed, honestly.” I picked my phone back up, opened the homeowner’s insurance app, and navigated to the policy settings. My fingers flew as I added Kay’s name and details, then I dialed the insurance agent directly.

The line clicked. “This is Morgan with Highland Home Insurance. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Morgan, it’s Deppgrl. I need to report that break-in that happened at my home tonight or this morning. I’m in New Zealand for work right now and I don’t even know what time it is over there. The police have already been on scene, but I want to give you a heads-up. I’ve also added a contact person who will be handling things on my behalf.”

“Understood. Let’s get their information on file.”

I explained that I had already updated the contact information via the app but read off Kay’s number and email so Morgan could confirm that Kay’s info was already uploaded.

“Got it,” Morgan said, efficient and calm. “We’ll follow up with Kay for photos and reports. You’ll receive an email confirmation once everything is logged.”

“Thank you.” I hung up and dropped the phone back onto the nightstand, finally exhaling.

Vic’s arms slid around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. “Handled?”

“For now,” I murmured, my body finally loosening against him.

“Good,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. “Then let me love you, amore. The rest can wait until later.”

I turned to him, pressing my body against his. I ran my hands over his shoulders and chest, feeling the warmth of him. When his lips found mine, his kisses were slow, deliberate, full of care. He eased me onto my back, his hands cupping my tits, rolling them gently, pinching and sucking my nipples. I moaned softly, leaning into him, letting my hips rise to meet him.

He positioned the head of his dick at my pussy, then asked: “You’re still on birth control?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

He slowly pushed his dick inside my pussy, giving me time to adjust, to feel every inch and I felt every inch of his dick

I gasped, gripping his shoulders, pressing into him. “Yes… right there…”

He held me close, letting his hips rock in slow movements. “I’m right here,” he said, his mouth brushing my ear, his hands tracing the curves of my body. “Only this, only us.”

Every motion was deliberate, intimate. His hand slid to my clit, circling, stroking with care, syncing with the rhythm of his hips. I shivered, my breaths coming fast, my moans soft and uncontrolled.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, kissing my jaw, my neck. “Just us together….”

The pleasure built gradually, intimate and consuming. I cried out, gripping him as my climax broke over me, my pussy pulsing  around him and clamping down on his hard dick. He followed soon after, thrusting hard until he came so deep inside me, holding me through the aftershocks, screaming my name as he came.

We lay together for a long while, the air between us still warm, our breaths gradually falling into rhythm. My cheek rested against Vic’s chest, his hand tracing idle lines along my arm. The silence wasn’t empty — it was full, weighted with the kind of closeness that didn’t need words.

“I could stay like this forever,” Vic murmured, pressing a kiss into my hair.

I tilted my head just enough to glance at him. “And miss dinner?”

His mouth curved into a lazy smile. “Depends. Is dinner worth leaving this bed for?”

I laughed softly, reluctant but knowing we couldn’t stay wrapped in that moment forever. “We’ll find out.”

We eventually rose, slowly, with a kind of reverence, dressing carefully as though each movement still belonged to the intimacy we’d just shared. My snug maroon dress hugged me as Vic straightened his shirt and jacket; the dress once fit better but I’d gained enough weight to make it snug. Once ready, we left the suite, fingers brushing but not quite letting go.

A sleek black car waited at the curb. The driver stepped out, nodding politely as he opened the back door for us. We slid inside, the cool leather seats greeting our warmed skin.

Vic laced his fingers through mine as the city lights began to streak past. “So,” he said, squeezing gently, “do you think Charlie’s going for flashy or chill tonight?”

I smiled, glancing out at the passing skyline. “With Charlie? Flashy and thoughtful. He can’t resist.”

“Guess we’ll find out,” he murmured.

We did.

The car pulled to a smooth stop thirty five minutes later, and when the driver opened the door, we both stepped out in front of a glowing façade: The French Café. One of Auckland’s finest and expensive, its reputation for elegance, expensive foods and wines. The perfection was well known.

Vic let out a low whistle. “Of course.”

Inside, the restaurant glowed with candlelight, each table draped in linen, each detail refined. The air smelled of butter, herbs, and wine. We were led to a quiet table by the window.

Vic leaned closer as we settled into our seats. “All right. What’s the plan? I can already tell you’re going to order in French, and I’m going to sit here and look impressed.”

I smirked. “You know me too well.”

When the waiter returned, I didn’t hesitate.

“En entrée, deux carpaccios de bœuf Wagyu, avec truffe noire et huile de noisette.”

Vic raised his brows. “What did you just say?”

“Wagyu beef carpaccio, with black truffle and hazelnut oil,” I translated smoothly.

He leaned back, smiling. “Fancy. Keep going.”

“Comme plat principal… le filet de canard rôti, servi avec une purée de céleri-rave et une réduction de cassis… et le filet de bœuf, cuisson saignante, accompagné d’asperges grillées et pommes fondantes.”

“That sounded even fancier,” Vic murmured, eyes warm.

“Roast duck breast with celery root purée and a blackcurrant reduction,” I explained. “And medium-rare beef with grilled asparagus and melting potatoes.”

Vic gave a low appreciative whistle. “Remind me never to argue with you about dinner again.”

I smiled as I finished the order. “Et pour terminer… le soufflé au chocolat noir, servi avec glace à la vanille bourbon.”

He grinned. “I don’t even need the translation. That’s chocolate soufflé, right? You’re spoiling me.”

When the sommelier approached, I asked for “une bouteille de Chablis Premier Cru, s’il vous plaît.”

As the server and sommelier departed, Vic leaned across the table, his grin softening. “That was dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” I teased.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “You order like that, and I’ll never want to eat without you again.”

Course after course arrived. The carpaccio melted on the tongue, delicate and perfumed with truffle. The duck was tender, its richness cut perfectly by the tart blackcurrant reduction. The beef was everything Vic wanted — seared on the outside, rare within, paired with buttery potatoes that nearly dissolved at first bite.

“This is insane,” he said, savoring a piece of the duck. “You didn’t oversell it.”

“I told you to trust me,” I replied, my glass of Chablis catching the candlelight as I raised it in a toast.

“To you,” he said, clinking his glass gently against mine.

The meal lingered, each bite punctuated with laughter, glances, and the kind of conversation that felt effortless, flowing like the wine. By the time dessert arrived — the soufflé tall and trembling, with its molten heart of dark chocolate, paired with the cool sweetness of bourbon vanilla ice cream — Vic leaned back with a groan of satisfaction.

“Charlie wins,” he admitted. “But only because you did the ordering.”

The server appeared quietly, bowing slightly. “There is no bill this evening. Everything has been taken care of.”

Vic shook his head with a laugh. “Of course it has.”

Moments later, we were guided back outside where the waiting car pulled up once again. We slid into the backseat, the night folding around us as the driver eased into the streets.

At first, the drive felt like a tour of Auckland by night. The Sky Tower glowed above us, throwing its colors over the skyline. Ponsonby was still buzzing, music spilling from bars, clusters of people laughing on sidewalks slick with neon light. At the Viaduct Harbour, the water shimmered with reflections from yachts and late-night restaurants. Then the car wound out toward Tamaki Drive, the black sweep of the ocean on one side, the soft gold of streetlamps on the other.

Vic leaned closer to the window, pointing lazily. “That’s the Sky Tower again, right? Or maybe I’m seeing double.”

I laughed. “That’s the same one. It hasn’t moved.”

He gave a faint grin. “Good. Thought I was losing it.” His voice was warm but thick, his words dragging at the edges.

“You’re jet-lagged,” I said softly.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, though his head tipped toward me, heavy. “Just trying to keep you entertained.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, brushing my hand over his.

“I like hearing you laugh,” he murmured, then yawned, covering it with the back of his hand. “God, sorry. Not very impressive, huh?”

“You’ve been on three different time zones in over twenty seven hours,” I reminded him. “You’re allowed to be human.”

He tried to smile again, his eyelids sinking. “Still… don’t want to fall asleep on you.”

“You won’t,” I said gently. “You’re right here.”

He gave a faint hum of agreement, his words slurring as he tried again to joke. “Tell me when we get to… wherever Charlie’s sending us next. Hopefully not Antarctica.”

I pressed his hand, smiling at the way his voice trailed off mid-sentence. That was when I glanced at the dashboard clock. 2:07 a.m.

Leaning forward, I caught the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Would you mind taking us back to the hotel now? Please?”

“Of course, ma’am,” he said smoothly, angling the car toward the city center. “I remember the first few times I drove you around when you were that jet lagged. Let him sleep in, ma’am.”

By the time we arrived at the hotel, Vic was nearly asleep against the window. I nudged his shoulder gently. “Hey. We’re here.”

He blinked, sitting up slowly. “Already?”

“Yes,” I said with a smile. “Come on.”

Inside the suite, silence wrapped around us. I sighed as I kicked off my stilettos, the relief immediate. “Finally.”

Vic moved behind me, fingers sliding to the zipper of my maroon dress. He pulled it down slowly, his voice soft at my ear. “You looked stunning tonight – as always, amore.”

I let the fabric fall to the floor, turning just enough to meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

Piece by piece, he stripped out of his clothes, leaving them in a careless trail across the carpet. He caught my hand as he unbuttoned his shirt. “You ready for bed?”

“Yes,” I said softly, exhaustion catching up at last.

He took his shirt off and left it in the pile of clothes on the floor.

The bedroom welcomed us with low lighting, sheets turned down, bottles of iced water waiting on either nightstand. It felt prepared, expectant.

Vic slipped beneath the covers first, holding them open for me. I slid in beside him, the sheets cool, his warmth immediate as he pulled me close.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired,” he whispered into my hair, already half gone to sleep.

“Then sleep, Papa” I said gently. “I’m right here.”

He kissed the crown of my head, murmuring as his words blurred with sleep. “Good because I don’t want to let you go.”

I nestled closer, the steady rise and fall of his chest anchoring me, his arms tightening around me. The city outside could keep its lights and noise — here in the dark, in his arms, was where I wanted to be and never wanted to leave.

Friday: Owner's backing, surf showdown, and a surprise Papi

The week commenced under a shroud of palpable hostility. My interactions with Scott were strictly minimal inside his house, creating a suffocating atmosphere. Keys in hand one morning, he snapped, “I don't need a babysitter.”

“Yes, you do. Your continued actions prove that necessity,” I retorted. That friction made navigating the subsequent days of practices at the arena increasingly challenging.

The morning sessions—which included scrimmages, drills, and the players teaching me rugby—were all fundamentally modified to accommodate my healing nose and fading black eyes. Ironically, the integration of the mental health team—a major, and very expensive, organizational investment—coincided with an immediate dip in performance; the players seemed to be making more unforced errors and acting out under the added scrutiny. I made the executive decision to end the turf practices early, granting the players two and a half hours to shower, change, and have lunch.

The afternoons were then dedicated to mandatory, small-group sessions. Players were organized in groups of two to three to meet with a team of mental health providers, specifically including a psychiatrist, a therapist, and a psychologist.

"I need to know exactly how the team is managing this new tension," I stated out loud in the coaches’ office to no one in particular as I reviewed the constantly changing schedule. The core mandate of these afternoon sessions was to ensure the team learned their triggers and understood how to apply professional communication in their words and actions. While the players and coaches met with the specialists I had retained, I also scheduled sessions with my own therapist. Everyone was utilizing the new team structure. "Please feel free to share your notes with the main owners of the All Blacks," I instructed my therapist, and he immediately complied.

On Friday morning, en route to the turf, the owners called me to the clubhouse over the announcement system. "I'm going up to the clubhouse for a meeting with the owners," I informed the Jasons. They exchanged a grim look and simply nodded. I took the elevator.

When I walked in, the owners greeted me with professional warmth. Charlie, the main owner, initiated the conversation.

"We were happy to see that you gave your therapist permission to share his notes from the last few visits, though your authorization was technically unnecessary as we have complete confidence in you," Charlie stated. "We remain fully aware of your history with ADHD, anxiety, depression, and sleep issues from when you first worked with us. We not only accept this but understand it completely, as many of us are neurodivergent ourselves. We know and appreciate your ability to remain calm in all situations. We’ve seen you manage some of the toughest—and strangest—scenarios. We all genuinely appreciate your transparency and willingness to be open with us."

“I appreciate that understanding, Charlie,” I replied. “To be honest, I was rather nervous coming up here for this unofficial official meeting. However, I am a firm believer in open and honest communication. The exact purpose of assembling this amazing team of mental health professionals is to assess each player's capacity to redirect their reactions toward a more positive and healthier mindset. Fans, sportscasters, and paparazzi won’t tolerate poor sportsmanship or a well-known sports team retaining players who chronically lack composure. I am hoping this process helps them, and helps you, identify those who can effectively take correction and serve as reliable public role models.”

“We understand,” Barb said. “This gives us clear new rules and guidelines the players will need to follow moving forward. And yes, we agree that the occasional joint or drink is acceptable, but excessive use of either—in public or private—will definitely affect their performance in practice and in matches.”

I nodded in agreement. Barb, Charlie, the other owners, and I continued our discussion until we realized I had missed a substantial portion of the morning practice.

“Sorry, guys,” I said, gathering my belongings. “We got completely caught up, and I lost track of time. I better get down to the turf!”

I joined the players and coaches on the turf for the final 45 minutes of the morning session, choosing to observe their interactions closely. I was anticipating the final, confidential reports from the mental health team, which I intended to review privately in a hotel over the weekend to ensure Scott couldn't see the sensitive findings concerning him and the team.

As I leaned down to tie my shoe, the players stopped mid-drill, the ball dropped, and every eye snapped toward the tunnel entrance. Before I could even turn, a few chimed in, saying: “Oooooooh, Deppgrl!! Someone has a secret admirer!”

I immediately turned to see Vic walking toward me, his arms overflowing with well over three dozen flowers. I was so startled I dropped my chapstick. The moment he located me, our eyes met, and we both broke into wide smiles.

I ran toward him. As we embraced, he leaned in to kiss me, and I kissed him back, momentarily forgetting my professional location and Scott's immediate presence. When we finally pulled apart, I leaned against his chest, wrapped tightly in his strong arms. His familiar, compelling scent—a mix of clean soap, deep sandalwood, musk, and a trace of bonfire—enveloped me. His kiss carried the warm, complex flavor of coffee layered with whiskey.

“Hola, mi amore,” he murmured in his sexy Spanish accent. “I heard from Kay that you’ve run into a few hiccups already. I needed to ensure that you’re truly okay.”

“Hey, Papi,” I replied softly. “Yeah, a few. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Can you spend the weekend with me?” he asked hopefully.

“Most of it,” I said honestly. “I have some comprehensive mental evaluations on the coaches and players that I need to read and integrate into their official files.”

“Sounds incredibly boring,” he said, flashing that sexy smirk I loved so much.

“How did your boss and your wife react to this sudden visit?” I asked, testing the waters.

“The boss is fine; he knows I’ll be back and will pay me even though I am not physically there,” he said. “The wife? She knows exactly where I am and hates that I’d rather spend time with you. How does your current boyfriend feel about my arrival?”

“He doesn’t know anything about our history, Papa,” I said. “Would you like to meet everyone?”

“If that includes him, then yes, I do, amore,” he said before kissing me again. “These are for you.”

“Thank you, Papa,” I said. “They truly are beautiful!”

“They’ve got nothing on you, amore,” he whispered. “I’d love to meet the guys you supposedly ditched me for.”

“Let’s head on over,” I said, taking his hand in mine. “The scowling blond over there is Scott. He’s the head coach and my designated ‘boyfriend’ while I’m here. The two laughing hysterically are Jason Ryan and Jason Holland—I call them the Jasons.”

As we walked over, I quickly identified the remaining coaches and introduced them all. We then approached the players, who immediately started clamoring over each other to meet Vic. The situation became loud and disorderly very quickly. I blew the high-pitched whistle hanging from my ID lanyard, and the players instantly stopped and covered their ears. They knew that signal meant business.

“All of you are disappointing and embarrassing me right now,” I stated. “Did you learn absolutely nothing from the professionals I brought in to help you?”

The players began to talk over each other until they saw me lift the whistle toward my lips again. Vic muttered, just loud enough for me to hear, that there was something else he’d like to put to my lips. I shot him a severe glance, and he responded with his stunning, unapologetic smile.

“I’ve been here a week, and I still don’t remember all your names. What we’re going to do is have you guys line up in descending order from practice jersey number… that means highest to lowest number,” I commanded. “I know we’ve all had a few hits to the head this week—in my case, directly to the nose. We’re going to demonstrate manners, shake hands, and make eye contact!”

I drew a few relieved chuckles.

“What kind of handshakes are we going to have?” I asked.

“Firm!” was the unanimous, shouted answer. “You hate dead fish and limp handshakes. Limp handshakes from a man shows exactly how he is in bed!”

“Exactly!” I grinned.

Vic looked at me, thoroughly amused, and I told him I would explain the rule later. The players lined up and behaved themselves impeccably while introducing themselves. Just as the last player finished, Charlie, the main owner, walked down holding a massive folder—the confidential reports from the mental health team. I knew a challenging weekend was ahead. Charlie and Vic shook hands, then stepped aside after Charlie handed me the folder.

I used a call-and-response clap to regain attention and informed the players that Chinese food was available up in the clubhouse, provided they showered and changed first. As they started moving, I told them they were welcome to head home for the weekend after lunch. They looked genuinely surprised, as coaches typically handle dismissal. I reminded them, "While I’m here, I outrank the coaches by a small margin, and if the coaches have an issue with it, they can suck it."

A few minutes later, Charlie and Vic returned.

“Hey, Charlie,” I said. “Thanks for bringing this information down; you didn’t have to. I appreciate the delivery.”

“Not a problem at all,” he said. “It was nice of you to order them food and release them early for the weekend.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I used the company credit card,” I said.

“How did you use it? It’s locked in the office,” he countered.

“I memorized the information,” I said simply. “Also, I am still included in the bank account access after all these years.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he remembered. "Look, I helped Vic secure an upgraded room for you. I have someone there now installing a lock box to securely store the information I just gave you. Barb also grabbed some of your personal belongings from Scott’s place, so you won’t need to go back there. Food, drinks, and everything else is already taken care of.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” I said, glancing toward Scott. “How’s he taking this surprise visit?”

“Not well, but I explicitly told him to tone his anger down as he’s still married, and if he fails to, you have the full authorization to suspend him for as long as you choose… without pay,” he confirmed.

“Thanks, boss man. I genuinely appreciate that backing,” I said.

Charlie smiled and left. I grabbed my belongings and led Vic up to the clubhouse for lunch. The players and coaches were already calling Vic “Uncle Vic,” recalling that I had previously told them to consider me their aunt.

“¡Besame el culo gordo, pendejo!” I called out to them in response, a big smile plastered on my face.

A few players responded with: “Si, Jefa (yes, boss)!” while most of the team responded with: “Si, Ama (yes, mistress)!” Loud laughter erupted afterward. I loved how something so simple—yet technically an insult, though meant as a humorous truth—elicited such a lighthearted response.

We grabbed some food and ate with the players for a bit before we headed to the hotel that Vic booked. When we arrived at the hotel, it was far fancier than I expected. I knew that he wasn’t made of money and the original room he booked would cost more for two nights than what he earned in a month and a half – and he’s well paid. I don’t want to know how much it cost Charlie and the rest of the owners to upgrade the room but I was thankful that they stepped in. I unloaded my heavy bag, set up both of my phones to charge and secured the folder that Charlie handed me inside of the lock box. The instructions were easy to set up; it was a fingerprint and a key….the box wouldn’t open without both but I added a six digit code as added security. I knew he wouldn’t open the lock box but I wanted to stay  onboard with the All Blacks for as long as they needed me. As I turned around, Vic was putting the flowers he bought me into the different vases and spread the vases around the room. When he was done, he asked me what I wanted.

“You, sleep, food, shower, a nap, you, some peace and quiet from the team and more food,” I said. “Not necessarily in that order.”

“How about we both take a shower and then nap,” he whispered in that sexy Spanish accent. “When we wake up from our nap, we can decide what to do afterwards.”

“What if I want to ride you, Papa?” I asked with a sly hint of trouble in my blue green eyes.

He smiled that stunning smile that made me fall in love with him eleven long years ago.

Controlled Chaos: Sweat, Strategy, and Impact

I woke up two hours before my alarm went off. Light spilled through the blinds, pale and soft, but there was no chance of going back to sleep. I rolled out of bed carefully—my broken nose still throbbed significantly, and my muscles ached from yesterday’s long practice and the trip to New Zealand’s version of the ER. I dressed in the same clothes I’d worn after showering at Scott’s the night before. I brushed my teeth then slid my contacts into my eyes, blinking to adjust.

I grabbed Scott’s spare key from the kitchen cabinet from above the coffee maker and considered my morning run. I planned to run two miles but exhaling through my nose hurt too much as I ran. I slowed to a walk. Ninety minutes later, I returned to the house, drenched in sweat. I drank around thirty-two ounces of water, letting the cool liquid soothe my throat. A hot shower followed, loosening tight muscles, and I dressed in clothes similar to yesterday but without the padding; leggings, sports bra, socks, sneakers and a loose long sleeved shirt.

Breakfast was deliberate but big: Greek yogurt, scrambled eggs, oatmeal, bacon, and a tall glass of milk. While cleaning up, I brewed enough coffee to fill a 40-ounce tumbler, adding sugar and thin mint Chobani creamer. A second tumbler I filled with ice only, to keep ready. I grabbed my phone to text the Jasons.

Me: Hey, can either of you come pick me up? Scott’s still asleep, and I’m waiting on my NZ license. Forgot which one of you lives closer.
Jason Ryan: We’re both close.
Jason Holland: We’ll figure it out.

I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote my note to Scott: Heading to the arena. Meet me there when you decide to wake up, Sleeping Handsome.

With a few minutes left, I packed my tote bag. Both phones and chargers went in, along with my wallet, both passports, and a small packing cube for luggage containing shower shoes, a tiny travel case of toiletries (shampoo, conditioner, comb, toothbrush, toothpaste), and a change of clothes. I wasn't sure if I would need a shower or not but wanted to be prepared. Tote bag slung, tumblers in hand, and Scott’s spare key tucked in my wallet, I stepped outside.

Seconds later, the large neon orange SUV arrived. I laughed so hard. Jason Ryan was behind the wheel and Jason Holland in the front passenger seat. Holland jumped out and moved to the back.

“Front’s yours,” he said.

“Thanks.” I climbed in, placing the tumblers into the cup holders and my bag at my feet. Both Jasons laughed immediately.

Ryan smirked. “Your feet don’t even touch the floor.”
Holland leaned forward. “Seriously, do you need a booster seat?”

“At least I can still walk a two-mile run,” I said sarcastically. “Crap. I forgot my pain meds.”

Holland pulled out his keys. “Where’d you leave them?”

“In the kitchen cabinet with the water glasses.”

“I’ll grab tissues too, just in case your nose starts bleeding.”

"Thanks!" I half-joked, “I’m counting the pain meds when you get back.”

The smile vanished. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not the point,” I said quickly. “I don’t mind sharing over-the-counter meds. Prescription? I don’t mess with it. Even with coaches.”

He nodded. “Understood.”

Three minutes later, Holland returned with the meds and three boxes of tissues. I shoved the tissues into my tote bag and counted the pills—all there.

“Really?” Holland asked.

“Really. Just making it clear.”

Ryan chuckled. “Message received loud and clear.”

On the ten-minute drive to the arena, I told them, “I’m not just working with the players today. All coaches are included too but in the afternoon.”

Both stiffened.

“What do you mean?” Ryan asked.

“I hired teams of psychiatrists, psychologists, and therapists specializing in anger management. They had thirty-six hours to meet with each other and read the same reports I did—on all players and my detailed reports on each coach. They’ve got a game plan to help all of you out.”

“You’re serious?” Holland asked flatly.

“Completely.”

Ryan laughed nervously. “Shocking. Hurtful too.”

“I understand,” I said calmly. “Coaches are role models. Players will mimic your behavior—fighting with refs and with each other. They’ll take advantage if you act poorly and assume that what you’re doing is fine and they can do it as well.”

Both went quiet.

“You both have kids, right?” I asked.

“Two,” Ryan said.

“Two here as well,” Holland added. “Our four kids are all under seven years old.”

“How do you teach them to behave? Just words?”

“No, we use actions as well so they can see what we mean,” Ryan said.

“Exactly. Players are just older versions of your kids. They need examples of words and actions both on and off the field.”

Holland sighed. “When you put it that way…”

Ryan nodded. “Makes sense.”

At the arena, Ryan parked. Holland jumped out, opened my door, and offered a hand.

“Careful.” He grabbed the tumblers after I got out; Ryan took my bag. I retrieved them all from them

“Independent,” Ryan said with a grin. I smiled back.

By security desk to enter the arena, Susan, lead HR, handed me an ID badge. “This will get you in and out without signing in each time. I scanned the photo from your NZ passport for the picture.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“If you ever need peace and quiet, come to my office. I’ll reserve a boardroom and get food sent in.”

“Thanks, Susan,” I said sincerely.

She left. The Jasons introduced me to the security team.

“I don’t always look like this,” I said.

They laughed. “We believe you.”

We headed to the field.

I finally took a sip of coffee as I stretched with the players, modifying movements to avoid stressing my nose. The stretch felt good, loosening muscles that hadn’t fully recovered from yesterday.

“Huddle up,” I called.

No groans. Players circled around me, careful of my face and I.

“I know yesterday's elbow to my nose was an accident,” I said. “Accidents happen, and you move on. You learn from mistakes, knowing it was unintentional, and try not to repeat it. However, I will not tolerate intentional elbows to faces or any other part of a player in practices or matches. If it happens in practice, you will not play for half the next game. If it happens a second time, don’t bother getting dressed—you’ll be sitting in the stands rooting for your teammates. In a match, I will pull you for half the game, and if it happens a second time, you’ll be fined and then sent home at your own expense.”

Murmurs of understanding rippled through the players.

“You never know who’s watching—fans, local news, paparazzi. Your reputation matters,” I added.

After a pause, I dropped the heavier news. “After practice of drills and plays, you’ll shower and enjoy catered lunch – which I’m providing and paying for - you’ll meet with psychiatrists, psychologists, and therapists specializing in anger management.”

Grumbling began.

“We’re not crazy,” one muttered.

“I hear you,” I said. “I can’t officially diagnose anyone—I’m not licensed to practice in New Zealand—but I hired specialists to help you identify triggers and work through all emotions, not just anger.”

“Even the coaches?” one asked.

“Yes, all coaches will work with their individual team too,” I added. “They need to work on their own shit as well."

A long pause. “Makes sense,” one said quietly.

Another added, “If they’re doing it too… fair’s fair.”

“Exactly. This isn’t punishment—it’s about making you stronger on and off the field.”

We moved into practice drills. Players demonstrated positions and techniques, explaining plays as they went. I participated with modified drills—no full contact—so I could fully understand each play.

“Like this,” one player said, demonstrating a scrum. “Push together, communicate, stay low.”

I mimicked carefully. “Coordination, not force.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Keep your head up and watch the ball.”

“Got it,” I said. “How about lineouts?”

They laughed and demonstrated in pairs. “See how timing matters,” one explained. “If you jump too early or too late, the other team steals it.”

I called a water and snack break two hours in. Interns brought cut fruit that the nutrition team worked on while we were practicing.

“You know,” I said, handing out fruit, “many of you are away from your families. Think of me as your surrogate aunt who loves you.”

They laughed.

I dropped strawberries into my tumbler—ice and water now from the melted ice. They stared.

The team doctors and nutritionists approached. “Adding fruit gives flavor and some nutrients without manufactured powders,” one explained. "Those powders have too many chemicals and we want you to be at your peak. While Deppgrl is hear, she'll have us meet with you guys a few times a week to help you guys out."

“What fruits do you like?” they asked me.

“Strawberries, blackberries, raspberries,” I said.

A few players teased, “Kiwi?” referencing my sexual relationship Scott. I laughed. The doctors and nutritionists looked uncomfortable.

“You can also add fruit to hot or cold teas,” I said. “Guava can replace sweeteners, but just a little; too much will ruin the drink.”

I finally sat and finished my coffee. Players sprinted to the bathroom, returned, re-stretched, and practiced for several more hours with me doing modified drills, calling out plays and walking me through scenarios.

Later, the Jasons called the end of this part of practice. Players showered and headed to the clubhouse for soup, sandwiches, soul food, and salad for lunch.

I turned to the coaches. “Dig in.”

After everyone had three plates each, I grabbed food and sat in a corner. I ate a bit, then took my pain meds from my tote bag. I knew taking both would make me foggy and tired, but the pain needed to be managed.

Players kept going back for more. “There’s plenty of food,” I texted Susan. “Call all departments—HR, IT, everyone—down so they can eat too.”

As players cleared tables from their plates and utensils, I handed half the group cleaning supplies. “Work as a team. Respect the space and others around you.”

No complaints. Minutes later, tables and the benches were spotless. I returned the supplies to custodial staff.

I asked the Jasons to split players into mixed groups – putting players together that normally don’t get along. Psychologists, psychiatrists, and therapists took the groups.

Heading to the coach’s main office, Scott intercepted me.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he demanded, livid.

“It’s not my job,” I said. “You’re a grown adult – you’re more than capable to handle yourself. There’s a psychiatrist, psychologist, and therapist in your private office.”

“Why?”

“All players and coaches are working with a team. What I see now shows you need it too. I’ve got the most experienced ones for you.”

I turned down a hallway to HR as I turned to say “Refuse, and I’ll know. Susan and the owners gave me authority to suspend you without pay until you participate.”

He stormed into his office as I continued to HR.

Susan met me at HR doorway and led me to a boardroom she’d prepared with a futon. “Here you go,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said, taking out my contacts. She left. I locked the door, climbed onto the futon, set my alarm, and immediately fell asleep.

Ninety minutes later, I woke, went around to the bathroom around the corner to brush my teeth and I put my contacts back in, returned, cleaned up and gathered my stuff. On my way out, I texted Susan “Thanks!” and met the team and coaches in the clubhouse.

“Are the players ready to go home?” Holland asked.

“Yes, they can,” I said. “I expect them same time tomorrow morning, and I don’t know what I have planned for tomorrow afternoon.”

The Jasons and the other coaches sent the players home as Scott returned. He looked ragged, mad from being forced to meet with the specialists, though he knew it was necessary. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m too mad at you to even go back to my place,” he muttered.

“I don’t give a shit,” I said. “No coach or player is authorized to stay at the arena, especially without my OK. You can either sleep in your bed or on your deck, but you’re not allowed to stay here.”

The Jasons came over, asking if I needed a ride home. “Yes,” I said, and they happily drove me back. As I got out of the SUV at Scott’s house, they made sure I had a few to-go boxes of catered lunch saved just for me—mac and cheese, buttered green beans, and chicken and dumplings. I hugged them both tightly.

Once inside Scott’s house, I put the food away, showered, and came downstairs in just a T-shirt that barely covered what needed to be covered. The food was still mostly hot, so I didn’t bother reheating it. I ate directly from the to-go containers, drank more water, and put the tumblers in the dishwasher. I left a note for Scott, letting him know I was sleeping in the guest bedroom again and that he was fending for himself for dinner.

I went upstairs, took out my contacts, set my alarm, and went to bed. Hours later, I heard the door squeak open and then squeak closed. I immediately fell asleep, remaining in deep sleep until my alarm woke me up the next day.

Blood, sweat, and surrender

When Scott and I finally pulled up to his house, the first thing I noticed as we walked in to get a drink of water and use the bathroom was the smell of citrus. It was crisp and bright, unmistakable. His house always smelled like that, and it fit him—refreshing and steady. We both grabbed some water and went to the bathroom before heading back out to his SUV to get my luggage.

When we finally found the energy, we lugged my bags inside, both of us already running on fumes, but neither of us would relax until my clothes were unpacked. Together we carried my suitcases upstairs, talking through where things should go. The decision was the guest bedroom as there’s no room for my clothes in his room.

“I’d love for us to get ready together in the morning but there isn’t enough space in the main bedroom,” Scott said, pulling open the sliding doors. “I hope there’s enough space for your pile of clothes in the walk-in closet and all the dressers.”

“I’ll have more than enough room,” I said. “You have way more clothes than I do anyway.”

He smirked. “Are you saying I overdress?”

“I’m saying you own too many clothes,” I teased. “You could change your clothes a five times a day and you’d still have more than I would!”

We laughed through the exhaustion, side by side, tucking my things into drawers, hanging up dresses, setting shoes in place. By the time we finished, I collapsed back on the bed. We both took a few twenty-minute naps in the guest bedroom, too exhausted to move, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around us.

“I’m beat and could definitely use a shower,” I sighed when we woke up. “I want to just skip dinner and go straight to bed.”

Scott arched a brow. “Care for company? Showers are always better with someone else.”

“If my shower companion is you, then yes, I do want company,” I said with a smile.

We stripped in the bathroom. I threw our discarded clothes in the hamper basket as Scott turned on the water and made adjustments to the temperature. With a small gesture, I joined him in the shower; thankful that there were two showerheads instead of the one.

“Fuck, the water feels great,” I moaned, tilting my head back. “Thank you for getting my favorite shampoo and conditioner. And soap!”

“You’re very welcome, babe,” he said, grabbing his usual three-in-one.

I smirked. “One day, I’ll convert you to real shampoo, conditioner, and soap.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” he winked. “This makes it easier for me when we have long practices into the night or early morning meetings with the owners.”

I rinsed the suds from my hair while he scrubbed down quickly, letting the hot water soothe travel fatigue. When we finished, I grabbed my deodorant/antiperspirant from the cabinet while he brushed his hair. That’s when I noticed his things weren’t crowding the shelf anymore.

“You moved your stuff,” I said softly.

“So you’d have space – my things are in the bathroom in the basement,” he replied simply, pulling on boxers and linen shorts. “And about sleeping arrangements—you’re welcome to join me in my room, but if you’d rather the guest room, that’s okay too. Your choice every night.”

I smiled, touched. “Thank you. I’ll be down in a few minutes—looks like attire tonight is casual.”

“You could wear a burlap sack and still look good.”

I kissed him before heading naked into the guest room to grab an oversized shirt with nothing else underneath it as I was too tired to care. I hung my towel, brushed out my hair, and padded downstairs.

“Dinner smells great,” I said as my stomach growled. “I don’t even remember what I ate last or when I ate last.”

Scott glanced up from the oven. “Thanks, babe. Very, very late last night on the plane—you probably had a yogurt drink or three at the arena. Want to pour some wine while I take the egg and bacon pie out of the oven?”

“Sure.”

It took me a minute to find the wine glasses and I found my favorite bottles of white wine and rosé chilled in his fridge. By the time I set the glasses down, Scott was plating the egg and bacon pie with extra bacon. We sat at the island, but before I could lift my fork, he took my hands in his.

“I know it’s important to you to pray,” he said gently. “Out of respect for your beliefs, we’ll pray each time we sit down to eat.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. “But you don’t need to.”

“I want to.”

He bowed his head and prayed, and I squeezed his hands back. Once finished, we dug in, both of us silent until halfway through our second slice.

Scott shifted uncomfortably.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You have a question about how I can be sexually active while believing in God?”

“Did your God tell you that?” he smirked.

“No. My God doesn’t talk to me much but shows me things. Like in Song of Solomon—it’s also called Song of Songs. Some read it as God’s love for us. Others as a love and sex story between two people. To me, it means we aren’t meant to be denied sex but to enjoy it.”

“Interesting point of view,” he said.

“I’m liberal. I read the Bible as a guideline, not a rulebook,” I added, sipping my wine.

Scott grinned. “And the other question—why Bongo?”

“Because at an open mic night here, you sang way off key while playing bongos. And because your balls are the size of bongos.”

“What?”

“Yep. Not only do you have the largest dick I’ve had, but your balls are massive.”

“You’re honest!” he laughed, shaking his head.

“Want another slice?”

“Of course. More bacon for more answers.”

“And wine,” I grinned.

“Definitely wine after that one.”

We finished the pie and three bottles of wine between us. My contacts were killing me, so I went upstairs, removed them, and used rewetting drops. When I came back, Scott was asleep on the couch, lips parted, arm draped over his chest. Peaceful. I covered him with a blanket, grabbed a glass of water, and went upstairs to his bedroom.

Hours later, I was woken up with him joining me in bed. He pulled me close to him, his arms around me from behind; one squeezing my large tits and the other fingering my wet pussy. I moaned in pleasure.

“Do you want more, baby?” he asked huskily in my ear.

“Yessssssss,” I moaned.

Scott helped me to roll onto my back. I spread my legs as he was kissing and caressing my body. He made his way down to my waiting pussy and expertly used his tongue and teeth. I repeatedly climaxed on his tongue. When I thought I couldn’t climax anymore, I did three more times. After the last time, he slid up my body and pressed the tip of his unusually large dick to my pussy.

“Do we need to use condoms?”

“No,” I whispered. “I’m on birth control.”

In one swift thrust, he was deep inside of me. I screamed his name in pleasure and he came inside of me instantly, shooting a thick stream after thick stream of cum deep inside of me. He was significantly larger than Vince in length, width and girth…I was stretched was an understatement.

Once Scott caught his breath, he began to thrust his large dick in and out of my pussy. Within seconds, he was suckling one of my nipples and was rolling the other in his forefinger and thumb – often switching between nipples. The more he suckled and bit my nipples the more I climaxed on his dick and he climaxed inside of me as often. An hour or so later, he shifted my legs over his shoulders so he could thrust deeper inside of me. He picked up the pace and how hard he thrusted.

“My god, babe,” he moaned and grunted. “Your pussy is so tiny and tight…..I can’t stop climaxing in you!”

“I love how you stretch me…it hurts,” I moaned in pleasure. “Don’t stop, babe. I love the pain…yesssssssssssssss!”

Scott climaxed in me one last time, screaming my name as if he were in the scrum. It took him many minutes to shoot his last load of cum in me…his dick continued to twitch in me. As he pulled out, we both climaxed once more.

“I wish you could stay forever,” he murmured as I was falling asleep in his arms.

We were so jet lagged and tired from the previous day talking with each player that we slept through the alarm. It finally woke me ninety minutes later. I shot straight up and woke up a heavily snoring Scott. We rushed through our shower and breakfast then stopping for coffee before we hit the arena.

The players were already scrimmaging when we arrived inside. When they saw me hand in hand with Scott, they groaned. I smiled. We stopped at the bench where there was padding for me - shoulder pads, mouth guard, helmet clipped tight…..the helmet resembled the football helmet of an American football player from the 1920s however it contained current updated padding and technology. The tech in my gear monitored impacts, flashing red if a headshot was too strong and the helmet was soft enough that if a player hit my helmet with any part of their body, they wouldn’t be hurt.

The drills were the players were participating in looked intense, and I stretched with the medics and junior coaches before joining scrimmage. When I was properly stretched, I asked the players to not take it easy on me. For a few hours, it was going well as they taught me defensive and offensive plays until one of the players swung his elbow wrong and slammed me straight across the nose.

White-hot pain exploded. Blood gushed. Ears rang.

Scott was on the ice instantly, shouting at the player, face red with rage.

“Scott!” I barked through the blood and swelling. “Chill out! It was an accident. I’m fine.”

The medics wanted me sit while the others finished drills. By the time everyone showered, I’d stopped bleeding, though the swelling was bad. Instead of leaving right away, we gathered in the video room to watch films of the players.

The coaches rolled footage of past matches and practices, pausing to highlight sloppy passes, defensive holes, and refs’ reactions.

“You see this?” one junior coach said, pointing to a clip of an old match. “That’s misconduct territory. Fighting with each other, arguing with refs —it all adds up. The owners are watching and they’re not happy….which is one of the many reasons why Deppgrl is with us.”

I leaned forward, holding an ice pack to my face. “That’s exactly what we need to talk about. I’ll be notifying the owners of future misconduct issues It has to be addressed now before it escalates.”

The room went quiet. Some players looked nervous. Scott backed me up. “She’s right. This isn’t just about penalties—it’s about reputations. Yours, and this team’s.”

We went clip by clip, breaking it down, my throbbing nose forgotten in the flow of strategy. When we wrapped, Scott gave me a look that said, Enough—we’re going to the hospital.

At the hospital, the intake staff member clucked as she checked me in. “Oh my. Now that is a broken nose. Did he do it?”

“Nope. He wouldn’t be standing if he ever laid a finger on me,” I said to the intake staff member smugly. “He’d be in more need of the services provided than I would be.”

Both she and I laughed as she finished checking me in. Before Scott and I could sit down in the waiting room, I was called back but Scott stayed back because he noticed my nose started to bleed again as he gets queasy by blood. I had my vitals taken by the nurse and then provided pain meds by IV for pain as a nursing student tried to help me stop my nose from actively bleeding. Scott rejoined me a few minutes later.

The ER physician examined me. “Swelling’s bad  but it appears to be a clean break. We’ll get imaging done first, then realign your nose. Due to the injury, you may have a black eye or two.”

Scott hovered at my side, arms crossed but eyes soft with worry. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

The doctor chuckled. “She’d have to be, Coach. It looks like the boys did quite the job!”

“Hey, dorkwads….you know that I’m right here, right?” I said as I was getting frustrated. “Doc, just because I’ve got amazing tits doesn’t mean you have the right to mansplain or over explain shit me unless its neurosurgery. I am right here with a broken nose. You talk to me – the patient…the All Blacks’ newest coach and Social Emotional Learning supervisor – not the head coach.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the doctor said realizing he was in te wrong. “I’ll get someone to transport you to imaging immediately.”

As I went for imaging, Scott had the intake nurse upload pictures of me scrimmaging with the All Blacks players and asked her to include that I am the team therapist and coach. For future billing, they were to bill the owners at their personal expenses. By the time he got back to the exam room, I was back from imaging and waiting on the plastic surgeon

The plastic surgeon came in, brisk but kind. “We can reset it today. Pain meds will help as you’re healing. You’ll be sore but healed in weeks. All that I ask is for you to be careful blowing your nose and sneezing.”

“Good. I just want to breathe and not look like a Picasso painting.”

Scott squeezed my hand. “You’ll still be beautiful. Broken nose and all.”

I rolled my eyes, heart softening.

I held onto the exam room bed as the plastic surgeon put my nose back into alignment. I groaned in pain as soon as he felt the cartilage get back to where it needed to be, he inserted internal nasal splits afterwards to help my nose heal and appear how it looked previously.

After leaving the hospital, we stopped to get dinner to go from the place Scott ordered from when I received my discharge papers and care instructions of my nose. When we arrived to the restaurant, I started to open my door to pop inside to grab the food.

“Deppgrl, stay in the car,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to think that I hurt you.”

“No one is going to think that unless you come inside with me.”

“For my sanity, would you please stay in the car this time while I get the food?”

“Fine!” I said as I was plotting my plan.

Scott hopped out of the SUV and closed the door. I immediately sent pics of the practice, me getting my nose broken and my trip to the hospital to the primary owners of the All Blacks.  By the time that Scott returned to the SUV, I was finishing the last call I had with te owners.

“Why am I getting texts from the owners?”

“In my country, anything like this would make news,” I said. “You could lose your job and your reputation. God forbid any news company comes to the arena for practice and sees me like this? The whole country knows that you’re still legally Jane but you’re romantically involved with me – you or her could be accused of hurting me. Is losing your job, reputation and your private life worth it?”

“No, it isn’t,” he sighed as he put his SUV in gear and headed home.

“The owners will leak pictures of me scrimmaging with the guys and one of the pics where my nose gets broken anonymously over the next couple of days. They’ll add some kind of tagline of me being the only coach willing to gear up and scrimmage against the guys.”

A few minutes later, we arrived to his house and unloaded the bag and took the food containers and the plasticware to eat.

“I’m going to eat out on the deck,” I said knowing that the cool night air soothing after a long day.

“I’ll be upstairs in the office,” he sighed.

Later, when we bumped into each other in the kitchen, plates in hand, he smiled softly.

“I’ll clean up,” he said.

“No, I’ve got it,” I said.

“You’ve had quite the day.”

“I’m the one who could potentially save your job if any press or paparazzi spins an accident into something else.” I said as he conceded.

I tossed the takeout containers and plastic ware while he lingered, then suddenly he leaned in, kissing me. Soft at first, then deep, hungry.

“You joining me in my room tonight?” he murmured.

“No,” I said as I looked at him. “I don’t expect you to understand what is considered normal for me in my country. I know that you don’t see it but what I did was to protect you. What would happen if any of the owners show up at practice tomorrow and see what I look like while they know that I’m staying with you? You have a history of having a short fuse; it’s been televised throwing water bottles, arguing with the refs and the other coaches, kicking benches and the like. The owners, the players and I all know that you wouldn’t hurt me but the public doesn’t. Once the pics are watermarked with a made-up social media handle and then leaked, the heat will be off of you and you will still have your reputation and job.”

He kissed me once more. “Fair enough. Hope you sleep well.”

I carried my water upstairs, stripped, took out my contacts and went to bed.

 

 

A whirlwind departure - part two

The drive to the private terminal was a study in contrasts, a tranquil buffer between the recent chaos and the storm I was headed toward. City lights streamed past the window, a blur of gold and red, an abstract testament to the world left behind. The low hum of the engine was a calm counterpoint to the events of the last few hours.

"You alright?" Scott asked, his voice low as he squeezed my hand.

"I'm processing. It was difficult leaving him like that. He was at my place to heal and wait until he was able to get a new vehicle."

"He's a strong man from what you’ve told me in the past," Scott said. "He'll be fine. And Vince is a good man; he'll take care of him."

"I know," I said. "He's in love with me, Scott. It's becoming more obvious."

“They both are but it’s hard to not be,” he said.

“I feel like I’m running away from them,” I sighed. “I’ve known Vince for just over half of my life and no mater what happens between us, we can never get rid of the other. Matteo is a different story. We know each other but not as well as Vince and I. He’s healing at my place and now you guys need me.”

"You're not running away. You're doing what you were meant to do," he said. "This is your purpose - it's who you are. He'll understand, even if it hurts right now. It just shows how special you are. He'll be okay."

"I hope so."

We arrived at the tarmac, where the New Zealand All Blacks team plane was waiting, its sleek body gleaming under the security lights. The flight crew greeted us with professional smiles as we boarded.

A flight attendant named Emily was the first to approach. "Welcome aboard, Bongo," she said with a warm smile. “You must be Deppgrl. Bongo won’t stop talking about you!”

Another flight attendant, Hector, stepped forward. "I'm Hector.”

"This is the best team there is," Scott said with a wide smile. "I'm counting on you to take good care of her. I'll be back shortly. I want to talk with the main pilots."

"We most certainly will," Hector said. "I was just about to conduct a safety check and make sure we have everything we need, and then we’ll be at your service.”

Twenty minutes later, both Emily and Hector were done with their safety checks and the less senior flight attendants were finishing up the rest of the checks. As they were walking over to me, Emily asked me what I wanted to drink. "Hot chocolate, if you have it," I replied. "I could use something warm."

"Absolutely," she said. "I'll be back as soon as we’re in the air and cleared to take off our seatbelts."

Bongo came back as the one pilot came on the speaker to ask all of us to have a seat and put on our seatbelts on. Bongo and I sat next to each other while Emily and Hector sat with the rest of the cabin crew. I stroked his dick as we were waiting to taxi down the tarmac.

As the plane lifted off the ground, I watched the city lights slowly disappear. When we reached cruising altitude and the seatbelt sign turned off, Scott left but returned shortly with a few bankers' boxes. He set them on the floor in next of me, then placed a bag of supplies beside them, pulling out a variety of highlighters, pens, pencils, and erasers.

"Alright, here you go," he said. "Everything I've got on them. Reports, psych evaluations, interviews with each player, write-ups... it's all here." He gestured to the boxes. "I'll leave you to it, but do you need anything else?"

A sense of purpose built inside me. "Do you mind if I just spread all of this out on the floor? I work better with a bit of a controlled mess, you know."

He chuckled. "The cabin is all yours - do what you need to do. Just be careful not to trip Emily or Hector. They're both used to my unconventional work habits, but you'll be a new challenge for them."

Emily returned with my hot chocolate and stopped, her eyes wide as she saw the boxes. "Oh my," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Looks like you have your hands full."

"I do," I said. "Just a bit of light reading. I'm afraid I'll need to work on the floor to get everything organized."

“We’ll work around you,” she said.

I took a sip of the hot chocolate. "Thank you so much," I said. "This is exactly what I needed."

"My pleasure," she said, patting me gently on the shoulder. "Enjoy the flight."

I thanked her again and watched her go. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I slid out of my seat and sat on the floor, surrounded by the boxes. I stared at the boxes for a full hour, the sheer volume a testament to the task ahead. The emotional weight of leaving and the daunting work took their toll. After drinking six hot chocolates, two coffees and three gallons of water, a trip to the bathroom was necessary before I could devise a game plan. The paperwork, as expected, was a complete disaster.

As I headed toward the back of the plane, I saw Scott motioning to a different door. "Hold on there. Use the coaches' bathroom. It's more comfortable and you'll appreciate the space."

I nodded and changed my path. The bathroom was a welcome surprise. It was four times the size of a standard plane bathroom, with a large, polished vanity and enough room to turn around. It even had a spacious shower stall with a sliding door.

After using the bathroom and washing my hands, I returned to my pile of boxes. Scott was out cold, a victim of jet lag. I didn't want to wake him, so I just headed back to my pile of boxes, my mind already racing with potential solutions.

"Pardon me, Deppgrl," a voice said, and I looked up to see one of the pilots. "I’m Pierre and one of the primary pilots on the flight. I wanted to welcome you aboard."

I tried to stand up to shake his hand but he held up a hand. "No need for major formalities, please. We'll be making the smoothest landing in Auckland anyone has ever seen. The boys are anticipating you."

"Thank you, Pierre," I said. "I appreciate the welcome. How much security clearance does everyone on board have?"

Pierre's eyes twinkled. "That's an excellent question. Most of our employees know nothing more than what has been released publicly. However, there are two employees with the highest level of clearance. They know every detail about the boys' issues, and they have the authority to act on it if needed."

I stared at him, a sudden understanding dawning on me. "And who would those two people be?"

"One is sound asleep, snoring in his seat," he said, nodding toward Scott. "The other is sitting on the floor, surrounded by paperwork….."

“Oh,” I said defeatedly.

He started to turn away, but I stopped him. "Pierre, wait. One more question."

He turned back. "Of course. "

"The paperwork is a total mess," I said, gesturing to the boxes. "I'm going to sort through it all. When I'm done, I'll put everything into individual sealed folders, labeled one through forty-two and the numbers won't correspond to their jersey numbers. So, if a crew member is available, would they be able to help me put them in the boxes in sequential order?"

"You're a woman of foresight," Pierre. "That's a very clever way to keep things confidential. I'll speak to the other primary captain about it and get back to you with an answer."

After Pierre left to head back to the cockpit, I started with the first box. I grabbed some paperwork and used the seats to keep things organized by using one seat per player. Each seat. Due to this process, I was able to get through all five boxes within a few hours. Halfway through, Pierre said that he and Markian, his fellow primary pilot, said since everything will be in large envelopes, there wouldn't be an issue with Emily and Hector helping me rebox the documents in the boxes.

Pierre said that it was time for me to have a break. He said that he and Martian would join me in the cramped coaches office in a minute. I headed there and stripped. By the time they joined me, I was naked and in no time, so were they. Over the next forty five minutes, Pierre and Markian shared me and also took their turns. I loved having Pierre’s dick in my pussy and Markian’s in my ass as well as them switching spots; Markian in my pussy and Pierre in my ass. We finally made our way back to our spots on the plane.

By the time I was finished with putting each player’s individual paperwork in folders and numbering them, Emily and Hector came to assist. They gathered all the envelopes and handed them to me as I boxed the envelopes, their movements swift and silent. The three of us worked in a quiet rhythm, a team in our own right. As I sealed the last box, a deep sense of relief washed over me. The emotional weight of the past few hours finally began to lift, replaced by a quiet sense of accomplishment.

Just as I settled back into my seat, Scott stirred, stretching his arms over his head with a low groan. He blinked a few times, clearing the sleep from his eyes, then looked down at the perfectly stacked boxes on the floor.

"Looks like the mess has been tamed," he said, a wry smile spreading across his face. “And you got my surprise.”

"It took six hot chocolates, two coffees, three gallons of water, and a lot of floor time, but yes," I replied, a tired but genuine smile of my own. "It's all organized, labeled, and ready to go. I hope it's not a pain to get it into the baggage hold when we land."

"No, we've got it," he assured me, reaching over to squeeze my hand. "That's why we bring so many crew members. You did incredible work. I knew you would, but to see it…it's really something else."

His eyes held mine for a moment, the gratitude in them a comforting balm. I hadn't realized how much I needed to hear that. The anxiety of leaving Vince and Matteo behind, the fear of the unknown, had been a heavy blanket. But sitting here, in this quiet cocoon of a plane, with the boxes neatly stacked beside me, the purpose of my journey felt tangible and real.

"This is just the beginning," I said softly, more to myself than to him.

"It is," he agreed, his voice a low rumble. "And you're exactly where you're meant to be."

As the sun fully crested the horizon, the cabin lights dimmed for the landing. Pierre's promise of a smooth descent was almost true, but a sudden crosswind gave the plane a jolt as the wheels touched the tarmac. The landing was slightly bumpy, a minor protest from the storm I'd been flying toward.

"That wasn't the smoothest landing I've ever seen," I teased Scott as we gathered our belongings.

He chuckled. "It's a good metaphor for what's about to happen. The assistant coaches, Jason Holland and Jason Ryan, will be picking us up."

Once the plane was fully parked and cleared, I pulled out my phone. I sent a quick text to Kay, Tara, Vince, and Matteo, all individually, to let them know I'd landed safely. I also provided them with my new Kiwi phone number and told them to email me if they needed me to call.

After the airport crew unloaded our baggage, the two Jasons took the boxes and my bags and threw them in the trunk of one of the SUVs. As we got in the car, I asked what the next step was.

"It's going to be a long day," Jason Holland said. "We've called an emergency meeting for 25 minutes from when we got in the car."

"What time is it?" I asked, a feeling of dread building.

"It's 6," he said.

"AM or PM?" I asked, my heart sinking.

Scott, who was already half asleep in the front seat, chimed in, "Very, very AM!" I groaned, knowing there would be no more rest for me.

I tried to get a few more minutes of sleep during the short ride to the arena, thankful that I'd been able to get some sleep on the plane. The Jasons woke me up just as we pulled into the lot. The groundsman had a few carts ready for us to bring the boxes inside.

We walked in, and the first thing I saw was a coffee waiting for me. I gratefully accepted it from the head of HR.

"You must be Deppgrl," she said, her smile professional. "We're all very happy to have you here. I'm Susan."

"Thank you, Susan," I said, handing over my passports, work visa, and other government IDs. "I appreciate the coffee and the warm welcome."

"It's the least we can do," she replied. "We'll get you back on the payroll right away. Here's all the paperwork you'll need to fill out, and once that's done, you're all set to go."

After a quick moment to get everything settled, the Jasons, Scott, and I walked into the locker room, with me leading the way. The second the players noticed me, a bunch of shouting and cursing erupted. Their loud, boisterous energy filled the room, but it died the second I raised a single eyebrow. The silence that followed was instant and absolute.

"I'm not happy with you, and I'm certainly not happy with your behavior," I said, my voice low but firm. "I have every piece of paper about every single one of you for the past three years, and there is going to be a ton of work from today on."

A collective groan filled the room, but it didn't last long. My silence and piercing stare seemed to stifle any further complaints.

Scott brought me up to a large, sunlit boardroom, with a long mahogany table in the center and a stunning view of the practice field. The Jasons followed us in, each pushing a cart loaded with the three bankers' boxes.

"This is your space for as long as you need it," Scott said, gesturing around the room. "The boys will come in one by one. We'll start with the leadership."

We opened the first three envelopes, labeled 1, 2, and 3. Inside were the files for Fabian Holland, De'Plessis Kirifi, and Scott Barrett. The Jasons and Scott helped me get organized, placing the documents for each player in their own pile. We worked quickly, a silent, efficient team.

The first to come in was Fabian Holland. His face was a mask of skepticism. I poured over the paperwork, my eyes scanning the reports, psych evaluations, and personal notes. He sat across from me, his arms crossed, waiting for me to speak.

"Fabian," I began, my voice calm. "Your file shows a pattern of escalating aggression on the field, particularly in the final ten minutes of a game. Your discipline record reflects it. Can you tell me what's going on there?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "I'm just playing hard. It's a physical game."

"Playing hard is not the same as losing control," I countered, sliding a sheet of paper with his penalty stats across the table. "This isn't about physicality; it's about a lack of mental fortitude under pressure. We're going to fix that."

De'Plessis Kirifi came next, and then Scott Barrett. The conversations were all different, but the core of them was the same. We went over each player's individual struggles, their strengths, their weaknesses, and how their behavior was affecting the team. The Jasons and Scott were a quiet presence in the room, watching and listening, providing context when needed.

This process took several hours. My mind was completely fried, but I was just getting started. As I was about to open the next envelope, Scott came to get me. "Susan needs your paperwork completed ASAP," he said.

"I'm fried," I said, leaning back in my chair. "I can't even remember my name right now, let alone fill out government paperwork."

Scott chuckled and pulled out his phone. "I know. Don't worry, I've got this." He called Susan into the boardroom, and she arrived a few minutes early with a new stack of papers.

"I figured you'd be a little overwhelmed," she said with a kind smile. "I've already inputted the information from your work visa and both of your passports. All you have to do is sign."

I stared at the neatly typed forms, a wave of relief washing over me. "Thank you, Susan," I said, my voice full of gratitude. "This is a lifesaver."

I quickly signed each page, my hand steady. After I finished, I took the original blank papers that she had given me, found the shredder in the corner of the room, and shredded them, then handed her the copies that I had just signed. She gave me my government documentations back, along with a business card.

"Welcome back to the team," she said. "If you need anything at all, just call."

The last player was called into the boardroom. He was one of the chillest players on the team, but his file indicated a recurring issue with refs.

I handed him a paper from his file. "This is a record of your communication with refs. You're losing them with your tone and your unsportsmanlike behavior, and it's costing the team."

He shrugged. "I'm just passionate. I'm not trying to be a jerk, but sometimes a ref makes a bad call."

"There are better ways to question a call than getting in a ref's face," I told him, looking him in the eyes. "We're going to work on that. You can be passionate without being aggressive."

"I'll work on it," he said, nodding. "You've got a point." He got up, left, and closed the door behind him.

Once the door was shut, a collective sigh of relief filled the room. The Jasons, Scott, and I began the process of packing up the boxes. We worked efficiently, putting everything back in a far more organized manner than they'd arrived.

"Alright, let's get these to the office," Scott said, pushing the last cart toward the door.

We brought the boxes to the coaches' office and put them under lock and key. Each of the four of us received a key, a silent agreement of shared responsibility.

"Well, that's it for us," Jason Holland said, pulling his keys from his pocket. "Our partners have the rest of the day off, so we're on kid and pet duty."

"Time to switch from rugby to dog leashes and soccer practice," Jason Ryan added with a laugh.

"You guys have earned it," I said. "Thank you both for everything. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You too," Scott added, clapping them on the shoulder. "Get some rest."

With a nod, the two Jasons headed out, leaving me and Scott alone in the quiet office. The day's work was done, but the real challenge was just beginning.

Scott turned to me and asked, "You ready to head home?"

I slumped against the wall, a wave of exhaustion hitting me. "Yes," I sighed. "I want to sleep for the next 24 hours straight."

He laughed, a warm, low sound. "I get that. We'll get you back to the house, but I want you to promise me something. Don't go straight to bed. Take a shower, nap for a little bit, then wake up, eat a good dinner, and get hydrated. You can go to bed early, but don't sleep the day away."

"I feel like I could," I said, but a small smile touched my lips. "I appreciate the advice. I'll take a shower, eat something, and then try to get to bed a little earlier than usual."

He nodded, already grabbing our bags. "That's my girl. Let's get out of here. The real work starts tomorrow, but for tonight, you need to recharge."

He drove slowly through the silent streets of Auckland. The city was just starting to stir, the sky a faint bruised purple over the horizon. Neither of us said a word; the long flight and the intensity of the day had taken their toll. The silence was comfortable, a shared understanding that words were unnecessary.

As we neared his house, a familiar knot of anticipation tightened in my stomach. I turned to him, the soft light from the streetlamps illuminating his profile. "You know how much I'm looking forward to getting our sex life back on track?"

He smiled, a slow, genuine curve of his lips. "You have no idea, Deppgrl. I've been thinking about it all week. And every minute of this trip."

My heart fluttered. "Really? What's on your mind?"

"I've got a lot of ideas," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. "But I have a rule."

I blinked, surprised. "A rule?"

"Yeah," he said, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "Out of respect for you, I want you to be on New Zealand time before we start anything. I don't want you so jetlagged you're not fully present. It's not fair to either of us. I want you to be here with me, not still half-asleep back home."

The thought was so caring, so utterly Scott, that my exhaustion momentarily vanished, replaced by a deep wave of affection. It was a perfect blend of passion and respect.

"I can respect that," I said softly, reaching over to put my hand on his. "Thank you."

"Can we still mess around a bit, though?" I asked.

He turned his head and gave me a playful smirk. "Of course. Anything to keep you happy. But don't blame me if it gets a little heated."

A whirlwind departure - part 1

The morning began with a quiet grace, sunlight slanting through the blinds to illuminate the soft curves of my body next to his. We were wrapped in the comfortable intimacy of shared space, a stillness that had become the anchor of our days. Our movements were a familiar, practiced ballet, and our connection was a quiet crescendo of heat built from lingering gazes and the lightest touch.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my hair. "Don't move. Stay right here."

"Morning yourself," I whispered back, burying my face deeper into his chest. "I could stay here forever. The world outside is a distant, irrelevant hum."

"Good," he chuckled, his arms tightening around me. "My only agenda is you. A hundred pizzas and the rest of the week is just us. What do you say?"

"A great plan," I said as I looked up at him, "but I have an urgent errand to take care of."

He smiled, a lazy, contented curve of his lips. "Mostly a promise. The world’s demands can always wait."

“I need to go, Matteo,” I said as I got up.

I showered, got dressed and put my glasses on. I didn’t want to deal with my contacts as my allergies were bothersome.

The drive to my doctor’s office was what I needed to clear my head; I needed to get Matteo back to his place and put some distance between us. Having him in my bed with me had been amazing but I knew it was leading him on. Inside, I was quickly ushered into an exam room. Alex, the male nurse, came in with a clipboard and a wide grin. I had grown to trust him implicitly; he was the only male nurse I was comfortable with, and only he, my doctor and I knew his secret: he was a FTM man.

“All right, let’s get this done,” he said, his voice easy. "How have you been?"

"Better now," I smiled. "How are you doing, Alex? I know you were having issues with your new place. If there’s any more trouble with your landlord, please let me know. A dear friend of mine is an attorney and can get you the right person to represent you. She has zero tolerance for discrimination."

His grin widened. "I'm doing great, thank you. The transition has been a journey, but I'm finally feeling like myself. My therapist – the one that you recommended? – has been a great support to me. The apartment is settled, too. As you know, the landlord was having a hard time with my new name and pronouns and misgendered me – plus it was bordering on harassment. You really saved me a headache when you stepped in and mentioned that what he was doing was discrimination."

“It was my pleasure,” I said. "It's baffling that people are so conditioned by what they see on the outside, they forget that sometimes we have to have the bravery to find out who we are. You have always been Alex; you just had to find your way home. If you come across problems with your landlord again, text me and I will get you in touch with my friend who is an attorney. She works on business related legal stuff but she’ll get you in touch with a civil rights attorney. "

“I appreciate that,” he said. “I think after the last time, it set him straight. Ready for your injection?”

“Yep! Let’s get this party started!”

Alex laughed. I pulled down my sweatpants just enough to expose the curve my upper butt, then laid down on my stomach on the exam table. He swabbed the area with an alcohol wipe, the familiar cold sting a brief distraction.

“A little pinch coming,” he warned gently.

The needle slid in, and I barely flinched. The slight pressure of the liquid entering my muscle was all I felt.

“All done,” he said, pulling the needle out and placing a small bandage on the spot. “And you’re in luck today. Dr. Evans sent an auto-injector to your pharmacy. Said you could take care of it yourself in the future. Less hassle for you.”

“That's amazing,” I said, relieved as I pulled up my panties and sweatpants. “My business has become busier – which is great – but  I've been having a hard time stepping away from the office every time as it pulls me away from the clients and staff. Thanks, Alex. You're the best."

"Anything for a friend," he said with a wink. "Don’t be a stranger."

"Never," I promised.

When I got back to the house, the easy calm I’d left behind had been shattered. The air was thick with tension, a conversation that had gone terribly wrong. As I walked into the living room, I found Dom and Matteo on the couch, a smirk on Dom’s face, while Matteo stood a few feet away, looking annoyed.

"Matteo, what's he doing here?" I asked, my voice a whisper that held an edge of irritation.

"I invited him over. We're friends from back in the day. I thought I'd introduce you two," Matteo said.

"Deppgrl and I dated for about two months, which is why I'm familiar with her house," Dom stated. “I got a tattoo in her honor and joked that if we ever broke up, I would cover it up. She didn't like the joke, and she broke up with me.”

"Dom, seriously?" Matteo said, his frustration clear. "That's pretty rude no matter how you intended it. It's like spending money to honor someone and then stating you don't respect them by covering it up if it didn't work out. No wonder she broke up with you."

“I was going to ask her to marry me a few months down the road," Dom tried to defend himself.

“Get out of my house, asshole,” I stated, my voice low and dangerous. “Never accept any invitation from anyone to come here again. You step foot on my property without my explicit permission, and I will have you arrested for trespassing.”

Dom got up, walked to the door, and left. I slammed the door behind him and turned to Matteo, who stared at me with an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know," he said.

"It was a few months ago, and it’s not important,” I said. "It was short and messy, and I didn't want to bring it into our friendship. You don't tell me about every woman you’re with, do you?"

"No, but that's not the point," he said. "The point is, I just found out something personal about you from him. I feel like I'm getting a highlight reel of your life, not the real thing. What else don't I know?" He shook his head and pulled out his phone. "I’m ordering pizza. I can’t even think right now."

The silence that followed after he ordered the pizza was suffocating. We went to my room, the only place we could escape the ghost of Dom’s visit. We stripped and got on the bed. I laid down on my back with my legs spread, waiting for Matteo’s impressive dick. The sex was less about passion and more about forgetting Dom. Matteo didn’t rush but took his time. We climaxed several times, and he came inside me each time. After the last time he came in me, he collapsed next to me.

When we caught our breath, we got up to shower and get dressed. I put on a clean oversized shirt, and he put on clean boxers and shorts. We headed downstairs just as the doorbell rang with our pizza. Matteo grabbed the door, and knowing him, he not only paid but tipped the delivery driver well. We then settled in to watch movies, the quiet company and simple comfort a welcome change. I knew Matteo was still upset, jealous that I had a past with Dom, and frustrated that I hadn’t shared it with him myself. I also knew he was still in love with me, and that this moment was a test of what we had. Like I realized earlier, I knew that I needed to put space between us.

As the last movie—an old Humphrey Bogart classic—played, I began to stroke Matteo’s dick, hoping it would help him relax before bed. My grip was gentle but sure. With each slow stroke, he shook, his hips instinctively thrusting up to meet my touch. I watched his face; his eyes were closed, and his mouth was parted, gasping in pleasure. The room filled with the soft sound of his quiet moans rising with every movement. I could feel his desire building under my hand, the tension coiling through his body as I stroked him faster. When he finally let go, his climax was sudden and overwhelming, every nerve alight beneath my touch. He came so much all over my hand.

As he was catching his breath and I was in the kitchen wash my hands, the front door opened, and a familiar Kiwi voice call out, “Hey. Deppgrl? It’s your favorite mate, Bongo.”

“Hey! I am in the kitchen washing my hands!” I yelled out.

As I dried my hands, I felt Scott’s—Bongo’s—arms around me, hugging me from behind. I then felt his lips on my neck. I turned and hugged him fiercely. It had been too long since we last saw each other. Had it really been two years?

Before I could properly kiss Scott, Matteo joined us in the kitchen.

Matteo’s shock registered instantly, his posture shifting as he gently exited the room, protective but tense. "Who is he? I've seen him before," he whispered.

"This is Scott Robertson," I said. "He’s a friend of mine from New Zealand."

“Oh?” Matteo asked.

“I went to a sporting event and in my travels during my tour afterwards, I bumped into Scott,” I explained, my voice quiet. “One thing led to another and we had an affair the few weeks that I was staying in New Zealand. His wife, Jan, found out. It almost cost him his marriage, but she decided against a divorce.”

“Something else you never told me about,” Matteo muttered to himself.

“Like you and that tattoo of my name on your chest,” I stated.

“Touché, Deppgrl,” Matteo smiled a little. “Touché.”

Scott’s tone was all business. “We need you…the boys need you. I  need you. It's a crisis."

Matteo blinked rapidly, the pieces snapping together. “The All Blacks,” he breathed. "You're their head coach? The most famous rugby team in the world?”

“What kind of crisis are we talking about, Bongo?" I asked.

Scott’s jaw was set, his expression grave. “It’s worse than the stress, extra practices, extra gym time and work for the championship and preparation for the Rugby World Cup. It’s a complete breakdown of the team. There’s been both verbal and physical arguments during practice as well as some bullying. Some of the physical fighting is so bad that it takes all of us coaches to break it up. And it’s not just that, Deppgrl. The coaches and authorities have caught some players for excessive non-medical use of weed, and they're not even trying to hide it. Us coaches look away if it’s half a joint here or there for the players smoking but the players just keep lighting up. They're falling apart and you're the only one who can fix this. You know their minds. You know how to get them back on track." He looked from Matteo to me, a silent plea in his eyes. "They're counting on you. I'll run to your lock box for your paperwork—give you two some privacy first."

“Is she the only one that can help the team?” Matteo asked. “I just got this incredible woman back in my life and she’s got to just like that?

“Yes,” Scott replied. He immediately headed toward room holding the lock box. “I need you there in less than twenty-four hours. This isn't just about a game - this is the championship and the World Cup. They need you to get their heads back in the game. It's a team of forty two incredible men and they're falling apart. I’m falling apart.”

“Do you have the team’s private plane?” I asked slyly before he completely left the room.

“Yes,” he said, knowing the full reason why.

“Good because I need the privacy to focus and figure out to get these lug heads back together as a team of forty two instead of a team of one,” I replied

Soon as the door closed, I turned to Matteo. “Call Kay. Get her here with my paperwork as soon as possible—I need to sign what’s needed. She knows what it is. Ask her to bring the other paperwork that gives her temporary ownership of my company while I am out of the country and the power of attorney paperwork for the house, bills and other shit.”

He nodded without hesitation and reached for his phone. “On it.” He stared at me, a new, respectful awe in his eyes. "I had no idea. You're... incredible. First Dom, now this. You lead a completely different life when I'm not around, don't you?"

"I know. It's a lot," I said softly. "But it's my life. It's a part of who I am. I keep a lot of it separate, but it's me.”

“Clearly," he said.

“I’ll shower and pack while Kay’s on her way,” I said, trying to anchor myself in action instead of nerves.

Matteo rose with me, worry and pride all tangled in his eyes. “I’ll help any way I can,” he promised softly, dialing Kay’s number. "Kay? It's Matteo. Look, I know this is out of nowhere, but Deppgrl needs you to get over here with her paperwork. All of it. The All Blacks need her. Right. She'll explain everything. Just... hurry. Please"

As I disappeared down the hall to shower, the steady hum of activity and anticipation replaced the quiet intimacy, and my heart thudded with the certainty of leaving for whatever awaited next.

I showered quickly. When I got out and dried off, I could hear Scott and Matteo having words. I immediately called Mark, Matteo’s primary doctor, to see if Matteo could fly super long distance. The answer was no, that he needed more time to heal. I thanked him and then called Maddie. She wasn’t thrilled but said that she already sent out to ALL airlines that I was temporarily on a do not fly list however, she was going to do her best to lift that and also said she’d knew something like this would happen so she’s going to send me an email attaching a letter clearing me in case the airlines wouldn’t lift me being unable to fly. I thanked her.

I texted my pharmacist to see if they could get me an override from my insurance company to provide me at least a six month supply on all my medications as there was a family emergency outside of the country. My pharmacist, Tom, said that he’d get it done for me as soon as possible.

From there, I grabbed my largest suitcases and called out to Scott to see how many bags I could take and what clothes I needed. He told me that I could take up to six large bags, three medium bags and two smallish carry-on bags then told me to bring a variety as it’s their spring and the weather is all over the place. I thanked him. As I was raiding my bathroom for beach towels, bath towels and shampoo and conditioner, Scott came to join me in the bathroom.

“You know, you don’t have to bring a bathing suit if you don’t want to,” he murmured as I spun around. “New Zealand has unofficial beaches for nudists and naturalists. We can go for a nice, long walk by ourselves.”

“I remember,” I said slyly as I kissed him. “I need to wear something in front of the boys when we go to the beach. I don’t want to traumatize them before the championship. Besides, I'm sure you have something for me, anyway."

“Touché,” he said, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. “Don’t bother to pack sunscreen as the crap here isn’t allowed there. Save some space with contact solution, all kinds of towels and your shampoo and conditioner. I have all that stuff back at my house. Just focus on packing clothes you feel good in.”

“So, I’m staying with you then?” I asked as his hands slid up my shirt and stopped at my breasts. “Hope we’ll have some privacy. Will Jane be around?”

“We definitely will. The boys know how special you are to me,” he said. He leaned in, his voice a low rumble. "In fact, I've already set up a surprise for you. A little welcome back gift...a private retreat just for us for a few days. We'll have a few hours to ourselves before the madness begins. And no, Jane will not be around – she is on a retreat with her tennis coach."

“I’m sure you’ll be showing me how special on the plane, right?” I asked. "Is it an overnight flight?"

"The best ones always are," he replied with a grin. "Just a few hours of pure, uninterrupted us. I'e been looking forward to this for a long time."

Before he could kiss me, Kay comes running upstairs with all the paperwork. Matteo served as the witness and since Kay is also a notary, she said everything is official. "This is a Power of Attorney, too," Kay explained, her voice breathless. "It gives me temporary ownership of your assets so I can handle things while you're away. I'm honored you trust me with this. Just... promise to call me when you can." 

I told Kay that there’s more than enough money in our joint account to cover my monthly mortgage, water bill, cell phone, heating or cooling or whatever is needed. 

"Just let me know if there are any unexpected bills that pop up, and I’ll add more funds to our joint account. You know where the card and checks are. Use it if you need to. I'm counting on you, Kay." She and I hugged then she left. As she was leaving, Tom came inside hollering my name. I ran downstairs.

“Hey, Tom. What’s the good news?” I asked.

“Good news? It’s amazing news!” he said, holding up a rather large box of medication. “Well, it was a bit of a struggle but I let your insurance company know that you have a parent in the hospital in New Zealand and the prognosis isn’t great and let them know that you don’t know when you’ll be back,” he said. “I also looked into what medications you’re on to see if New Zealand has them and not every med of yours is in New Zealand. So I had to work some magic.”

“Long story short, Tom?”

“You have nine months of medications, no co-pays,” he said, a proud smile on his face. “The insurance said that if you run out, you’ll have to come back to get refills and since this is considered an emergency, they doubt that they’ll do another emergency refill in the same calendar year. You're set for a while. Just don't lose it. Oh and your specialty med that you can only get from the specialty pharmacy? I am getting it shipped to the hospital closest to where the All Blacks practice and play out of."

“Thanks so much, Tom! I appreciate it,” I said. “You’re a lifesaver. I owe you one. Better let you go before they find out you’re missing from the pharmacy.”

“Scott, do you have room for one more?” Matteo asked sheepishly.

“Matteo, I already called Mark and he said that you’re not cleared to fly yet,” I said. “Take it up with him. He was pretty clear about it. You can't just ignore doctor's orders."

“Did you tell him that you didn’t want me to go?” Matteo asked as his face became red.

“No,” I said, pulling out my phone and putting Mark on speaker. “Mark, Deppgrl. Sorry to bother you again. Matteo doesn’t seem to understand the severity of his injuries and flying.”

“Matteo,” Mark’s voice came through the phone, firm and direct. “It’s over a seventeen hour flight from where we are to New Zealand. Within an hour into the flight, you will be in severe pain. I do not suggest you fly over two hours at any point in the next few weeks. You're still recovering from the accident. A flight that long could cause a serious setback, or even worse, a medical emergency. You need to stay put until I clear you."

“Thanks, Doc,” Matteo said, his voice defeated. I hung up after thanking Mark for the second time in three minutes.

I pulled him aside. "Matteo, look at me," I said, holding his hands. "I know this is confusing. First Dom, now Scott, and I'm about to leave. This isn't what I wanted to happen, not right now."

"Then why are you going?" he asked, his voice raw. "Why don't you just stay?"

"Because I have to," I explained gently. "This is a part of my life – a very big part. The part I keep separate. I'm asking you to live your life. Go on dates. Move on from the pain of seeing Savannah with Paul. See people. Just don't put your life on hold waiting for me. That part of our lives is over."

"I don't want to see anyone else. I want to see you," he said, the hurt clear in his eyes. "How am I supposed to just... forget about you?"

"You won't forget about me but you need to move on from your current pain as do I. We'll talk. I promise. This isn't a goodbye, just... a see you later." He nodded, a little defeated, but accepting, and kissed me softly on the lips. “When I come back, you’ll be welcomed back into my bed but we’re completely different people. At any point, Bongo – sorry, Scott – will come get me. Or some politician.”

“Hey, baby cakes,” Scott said out of breath. “Here’s all of your paperwork, visas, passports, phone converter, the Kiwi phone and a certified copy of your birth certificate – just in case!”

The three of us headed upstairs. "Alright, let's get this done," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "How many bags did you say I could take again, Bongo? Because it feels like I'm packing for a small army."

"Six large, three medium, two small carry-ons," Scott recited with a grin. "Seriously," he laughed, zipping a suitcase. "Are you packing for a trip or an entire new life? I don't know where we'll fit all this. My SUV isn't a moving truck, you know."

"I'm a woman who's prepared for anything. You've taught me that much," I said, playfully elbowing him. "Besides, you said I could bring a lot!"

Matteo, holding up a pair of boots, looked confused. "Do you really need these? I thought you said the weather was warm."

"It's spring in New Zealand," I explained. "The weather is all over the place. You'll pack all the shoes you can for spring in a place where the weather is unpredictable. One minute, I could use rain boots and the next, I could use snow boots."

"You think about everything, don't you?" Matteo said, looking impressed.

"I have to. Now hand me that other suitcase, will you? And Bongo, did you remember the phone converter? I'll also be needing my New Zealand phone as it's an international phone that only works in New Zealand."

"Of course. It's on the counter with your paperwork and your Kiwi phone, remember?  I've got a bag packed with essentials, too. You won't need to lift a finger once we're on the plane."

"Always one step ahead. It's why I need you." It took about an hour for the three of us to fill up my bags. I did call my current phone carrier to let them know that I was traveling out of the country for some time. "Okay," I said, holding my hair straightener, "got it. Last piece of the puzzle."

Between the three of us, we were able to load Scott’s SUV quickly. As we loaded the last bag, I called Vince to come get Matteo as I had to fly out of the country. No questions asked and Vince was on his way….he said that he’d help Matteo find a replacement vehicle. I thanked him. I shared the conversation with Matteo. "Vince will be here soon. He said he'll help you with the car and get you sorted. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything," Matteo said.

"Please make sure you and Vince lock up. Don't forget the back door."

"I'll double-check everything. And I'll water the plants. Please let me know when you land. I'm going to be worried about you until I know you're safe."

We kissed again before I took my work visa, the passport of the country that I was born in and my New Zealand passport from Scott. Matteo looked at me oddly. "Wait, you have two passports?" he asked. "And a work visa? What do you do? I thought you were just a who worked on stocks and portfolios?"

"I have a work visa because I spend most of my time living outside of New Zealand, even though I'm a citizen. I also have a New Zealand passport by grant because I had spent over a thousand days in New Zealand over five years and I had to commit to live in New Zealand every so often….this trip will help me keep my passport and my citizenship. As for what I do... that's a story for another time," I said with a teasing smile.

"Two passports and you're the head coach of the All Blacks. You're a woman of many secrets," he said, a genuine smile returning to his face. "I can't wait to hear the rest of the story when you have time. Be careful out there….you’re far tinier than the players!”

“I’m three times as feisty and seven times as mean as any of the players on and off the field,” I said. “When they see me, they know that their asses are mine! Proverbially of course!

Matteo kissed me again, a sense of awe in his eyes. "Be safe," he murmured. "I'll see you when you get back."

“You got, Matteo,” I said. “Go find the love of your life.”

I turned and followed Bongo to his car. Like me, he has dual citizenship and has a driver's license in both countries. Halfway to the private airport, I asked Bongo if we would really have privacy and asked if Jane was in rehab again.

“Yeah, sweetie,” he sighed. “We’ll have privacy and yes, she’s in rehab again. Still alcohol and sex.”

“Tennis coach?”

“All three of them.”

We were silent for the rest of the trip to the airport. Once we arrived, Bongo drove on the tarmac up to the plane. Airport staff unloaded the SUV and asked which bags I needed and Bongo said that there’s enough storage in the passenger area and it was fine – just to make sure that is balance out for safety purposes. They nodded and loaded the plan with my bags and Bongo’s overnight bag.

In an hour, we were cleared for takeoff.