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.

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.

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.

"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 bag 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."