Games, Sweat, and Breakthroughs

Thank fuck, I thought. The guys were finally beginning to become a team.

The players, the coaches, and I started cleaning up the games. The turf still smelled faintly of turf spray and sweat, the air cooling as evening crept in. The board games and cards were scattered across the low tables, and the sound of laughter mixed with the rustle of pieces being boxed up. I bent down to stack a few of the heavier boards into a crate while Jason Ryan folded a table nearby.

“Careful with that,” I said, nodding toward a wobbling tower of game boxes in his arms.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, grinning. “Wouldn’t want to be the guy who drops ‘Guess Who.’”

“That’d be a tragic legacy,” I said dryly.

The players were quieter than usual, more focused. A few of them were still joking, but the kind of joking that carried the ease of people who’d finally gotten comfortable with each other. Charlie appeared from the tunnel, hands shoved in his pockets, watching us with an expression halfway between amusement and pride.

“You’ve got them cleaning now?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Teamwork comes in all forms,” I said, dragging a garbage bin closer. “Besides, I wasn’t about to do this alone.”

He smirked. “Efficient and ruthless. You haven’t changed.”

“Someone has to keep order,” I said, tossing in a handful of paper cups.

Jason Holland gave me a crooked grin as he rolled a bin toward the back doors. “He’s gonna let us play these again, isn’t he?”

“If you earn it,” I said, grinning back.

“Figures,” Jason Ryan said, chuckling as he shoved the bin toward the dumpsters outside.

We worked for another twenty minutes, hauling garbage, stacking chairs, and clearing the last of the tables. The sound of wheels clattering on concrete echoed through the hall as several of the guys dragged the massive garbage cans toward the back exit. I followed with Charlie beside me, both of us pushing the heaviest one together.

“Remind me to never underestimate your ability to command an army,” he said.

“Noted,” I said. “And they’re not an army. They’re just learning how to act like one.”

Charlie chuckled. “Semantics.”

Once the last bin lid slammed shut behind the building, the players clapped each other on the back and drifted toward the showers, leaving the turf spotless. The coaches lingered a bit longer, making sure the storage closet was locked.

I leaned against the railing and looked down over the turf. “You know,” I said to Charlie, “I think we actually made progress today.”

He followed my gaze. “Yeah,” he said. “You did.”

The players and coaches filtered away toward the locker rooms, laughter echoing faintly off the concrete walls. When the last of them disappeared, Charlie stayed back with me.

“I’ve got the condo keys,” he said, pulling an envelope from his jacket. “Everything’s sorted except moving your things over.”

I checked my watch. 5:15 p.m. “Fridge running?” I asked. “Cold?”

“Running and stocked,” he said. “Put in some fruit, water, and a few meals. Thought you’d appreciate not having to grocery shop tonight.”

I smiled faintly. “You always did think ahead.”

“Couldn’t help myself,” he said.

I adjusted the strap on my tote bag. “Would Cathal be around to help with my bags?”

“He’s done for the day,” Charlie said. “But I’ve got my SUV out front. Your luggage is in the security office. I’ll help you carry the food down.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “You really didn’t have to.”

He gave a small shrug. “I wanted to.”

We headed up to the office, where a rolling cart waited beside the desk. Charlie loaded the trays of food onto it while I grabbed a cold water bottle from the fridge.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, passing him an extra water. “You’ll need this.”

The elevator ride down was quiet. The hum of the cables and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights filled the space. When the doors opened, Margeaux was waiting by the loading dock, leaning against a cart.

“Evening,” she said. “You two heading out?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Mind if we borrow this until morning?”

She smiled. “Go ahead. Bring it back whenever you’re in tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Margeaux,” I said, shaking her hand.

Charlie and I loaded the trays carefully into the SUV. My tote went up in the passenger seat with me. Margeaux gave a short wave as Charlie started the engine. The drive was short, the kind of easy silence that comes from years of knowing when not to talk.

When we reached the condo, he parked and turned off the ignition. “Let’s get this over with before you crash,” he said.

We carried the food in first, then went back for the luggage. After three trips, everything was inside. I leaned against the counter, breathing out slowly. The condo smelled faintly of cleaning solution and new paint.

Charlie stood nearby, watching me. “Does anyone know about our past?”

“The Jasons do,” I said. “They know we fucked constantly years ago. That’s it. They don’t know about the miscarriages.”

He nodded once. “I’ll talk to them anyway. Just to remind them about confidentiality.”

“Don’t,” I said. “If you bring it up, they’ll realize you know that they know. I’ll handle it tomorrow.”

He considered that, then nodded again. “All right. Your call.”

He handed me the condo key. “Barb has the spare. Everything’s squared away.”

“Thanks, Charlie. For all of it.”

He gave a faint smile. “You don’t have to thank me. You’ve done more for this team than anyone else.”

He took a small step closer, hesitated for half a second, and then kissed me softly. It wasn’t long — just enough to stir old memories.

“Charlie,” I said quietly. “That has to be the last time.”

He nodded. “I know. It just felt right to say goodnight.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “But no more.”

He nodded again, his eyes steady on mine. “Take care of yourself, Deppgrl.”

“You too,” I said.

He left without another word, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

I stood for a moment in the silence, then went straight to the shower. The water was hot enough to sting, washing away the sweat, the dirt, and the long but fun day. My thoughts drifted — Vic, Charlie, the players, Scott, and then inevitably, Ronan.

Charlie and I had burned bright but brief. What we had before was fun, maybe even needed, but it was never built to last. I thought about texting him, telling him I’d be heading home soon now that things were stabilizing, but that wasn’t true. Scott wasn’t cleared yet, and I wasn’t walking away until he was.

And then there was Ronan. Dinner tonight would be… complicated. I liked him, cared about him, but it wasn’t love — not yet. He wasn’t Vic. No one was Vic. No one will replace Vic….or his dick.

I turned off the water, dried off, and reached for my favorite floral perfume, then my unscented body cream. I dressed, swapped my contacts for glasses, and loosely French-braided my hair. I grabbed my phones, passports, and a toothbrush — just in case I fell asleep. It was early evening, the sun fading into a cool blue twilight outside.

Locking the door behind me, I walked the short distance to Ronan’s. The air smelled faintly of sea salt and wet concrete. It took me three minutes, door to door.

I knocked once. The door opened almost immediately. Ronan stood there, sleeves rolled up, a kitchen towel over one shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, smiling.

“Hey,” I said back.

As soon as the door closed, he stepped forward, his hands framing my face. He kissed me — deep, sure, and full of all the words he hadn’t said. For a moment, I let myself sink into it. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since you left the hospital yesterday,” he said softly.

I exhaled slowly. “You probably shouldn’t have.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But I don’t regret it.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “Neither do I.”

He stepped back and gestured toward the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready. I didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for, so I made two dinners.”

I followed him in, the warmth of his place washing over me — the faint scent of rosemary and garlic and the sounds of classical music softly playing in the background.

“You didn’t have to go all out, Ronan.”

“I wanted to,” he said, smiling.

The table was set for two, candles flickering low.

“You look exhausted,” he said as I sat.

“Long day,” I said. “But the players are finally acting like a team.”

He smiled. “So, a win.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Feels like it.”

He uncovered the plates — salmon and roasted vegetables, pasta in marinara sauce, both a sweet and hot sausage and a meatball and bread for both of us.

“I remember you said you liked simple food done right.”

I smiled faintly. “You remember too much.”

He sat across from me. “Can’t help it.”

Ronan, knowing me, offered the pasta. We ate quietly for a while, the conversation easy. When the plates were nearly empty, he leaned back.

“You’ve changed,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Good or bad?”

“Good,” he said without hesitation. “Stronger. Calmer.”

“I’ve had to be.”

He studied me for a long moment. “You know, every time I start to think I’m over you, you show up again.”

I looked down at my plate. “Ronan…”

He shook his head. “I’m not asking for anything. I just needed to say it.”

“I know,” I said softly. “And I respect that. But I need to heal first. You know that.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Silence settled again, not heavy — just full. The kind of quiet that meant too much to fill.

Finally, he said, “You don’t have to decide anything tonight. Just be here with me.”

I nodded. “That, I can do.”

He smiled, refilled my glass, and raised his own.

“To progress — on the field and off.”

I smiled faintly. “I’ll drink to that.”

Our glasses clinked softly, and for the first time that day, I felt something like peace settle in. Whatever tomorrow brought — with the team, with Scott, with Ronan — could wait.

Recalibration: Boundaries, Control, and Coffee in Motion

When I got back to the hotel, Vic finally texted me.

Vic: My plane just landed, amore.

I read it twice before replying.

Me: Glad you made it home safe. Thanks for letting me know.

He sent back a single thumbs-up emoji. That was it. I stared at my phone for a long moment, then blocked his number. I wasn’t angry at him but I was just done. There wouldn’t be anyone like him. I knew that he loved me as much as I loved him but it was finally time for me to cut ties with him. I wasn’t sure if it was going to be a temporary thing or a permanent thing but I knew that I had to heal from him. I am certainly going to miss how his massive dick stretched my pussy and ass.

The last thing I wanted to do was pack again, but I didn’t have a choice. This was the third or fourth move in the three weeks since I’d arrived. I’d left Scott’s to go to a hotel with Vic, left that hotel for another one, and then ended up back at the first hotel. The night before leaving, he spent hours fucking me, stretching me out, rearranging my guts and filling me up with his hot cum.

While I was packing, an email from Kay came through. She wrote that the homeowner’s insurance had been updated with the police reports and the statements she and Mike had given. I exhaled, feeling a wave of relief. Kay was handling things for me. I was thankful for her help, even though I didn’t fully trust her—not since she had hidden that Randy started seeing his ex-wife, Sarah, again while he and I were together. I’d asked Vince to keep an eye on things as well as he already had access to my accounts already. I didn’t completely trust him either, but it was good to have him watching too. Kay and Vince knew that they both had access to everything. For me, it was checks and balances.

By 3 a.m., I had everything packed—six suitcases, a duffel bag, my purse, my laptop bag, and my tote. The only things left out were what I needed for work in a few hours plus a spare set of clothes to change into after my shower at the arena.

I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I stared up at the ceiling, the city lights bleeding faintly through the curtains. After twenty minutes of fighting my own thoughts, I gave in and called Matteo.

He answered after three rings.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Everything okay?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted. “Just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m feeling better,” he said. “I am back at home and I am teaching.  Vince is still hovering, making sure I take it easy.”

“That’s good,” I said softly. “I’m glad you’re back on track.”

He paused. “Feels like this chapter’s closing for both of us, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said, after a beat. “I think it is.”

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will. You too.”

“Goodnight, Deppgrl.”

“Goodnight.”

We hung up. I felt lighter somehow, and when I finally closed my eyes, sleep came easily.

I woke a few minutes before the alarm. After showering, brushing my teeth, and dressing, I called down to the front desk.

“Cosmos, it’s Deppgrl. Can you send someone up to help with my bags?”

“Morning, Deppgrl,” he said, chipper as always. “I’ll send Cathal up.”

A few minutes later, there was a knock.

“Morning,” Cathal said, grinning as I opened the door.

“Morning. Sorry for the early start.”

He stepped inside and stared at the wall of luggage. “That’s… impressive.”

“Six suitcases, a duffel, my purse, laptop, laptop bag and tote,” I said as I laughed. “Don’t judge me.”

He laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Want me to check the room before we go?”

“Please.”

He looked under the bed, checked the drawers, the closet and everywhere else he could think of, then nodded. “You’re good. Just a receipt and an empty water bottle.”

We hauled everything down to his car. Loading it took effort, but after some maneuvering, everything fit.

“Feels like we’re moving the whole team,” he joked.

“Feels like it,” I said with a tired smile.

The drive to the arena was quiet. Once there, we unloaded everything and carried it up to the coaches’ offices. By the time we finished, both of us were catching our breath.

“Where to?” Cathal asked.

“Scott’s private office for now,” I said. “I’ll secure it there.”

After we finished, he asked, “You good?”

“I’m good. Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime,” he said, and left.

The office felt wrong. Too warm. The chair cushion behind the desk held the faint imprint of someone who had just been sitting there.

I called security immediately. “This is Deppgrl. I need to report unauthorized access to Coach Scott’s office. Please loop Charlie in.”

Seconds later, Charlie joined the call.

“What’s going on?”

“Security let Scott in,” I said flatly.

The guard’s voice came over the line, nervous. “He said he had your permission, Coach.”

“He did not,” I said sharply. “From now on, deny him access. If he shows up, call both Charlie and me. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” I hung up and immediately called Scott, adding Charlie to the call.

Scott answered. “Hey, you’re in early.”

“Scott,” Charlie said, his tone hard. “Why were you in the office while suspended?”

“I just came to grab a few things. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” I said. “You signed a contract that became notarized. It states you cannot enter the arena or any part of the arena nor the grounds unless escorted by Charlie or myself.”

“That’s not in there.”

“It is,” I said firmly. “Page three, paragraph six, line 22. Look.”

There was rustling, then silence. Finally: “You’re right.”

“Scott,” I said evenly, “as soon as we hang up, IT will revoke all your access—email, shared drives, everything. Charlie and I will also notify your mental-health team. You went behind the owners’ backs and mine. Because of that, your return will be delayed.”

He exhaled. “Understood.”

“Good. The locks to your private office will be changed,” I hung up.

I called IT, added Charlie, and asked them to lock his access. They confirmed it would be done within minutes.

Then I called security again. “Change the lock on Scott’s office,” I said. “Only Charlie and I get keys. No exceptions.”

“Even if he asks?” the guard asked.

“Especially if he asks,” I said. “He doesn’t get a key unless Charlie or myself come in person to your office and approve it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

When I hung up, the room was still. I took one last look, locked the door, and headed down toward the turf.

Charlie met me halfway.

“Got a few minutes?” he asked.

“For you, I do.”

He smiled. “Do you have any preference where you stay next?”

“As long as it’s close to both the arena and the hospital, I’m fine,” I said. “Preferably a condo.”

“I have a place in mind,” he said. “It’s near Dr. Hayes’ neighborhood.”

“I’d rather not be near anyone I know personally.”

He sighed. “Okay. I’ll talk to the realtor again.”

“Thanks, Charlie.”

“You had coffee yet?” he asked.

“Not yet. If you’re buying, then I’m for some.”

He laughed. “Let’s go to that café from the other day.”

As we walked, I texted The Jasons to let them know where I was heading:

Me: Getting coffee with Charlie. Be back soon.

Holland: Ok.

Ryan: Don’t have too much fun with the big boss man LOL

I rolled my eyes and chuckled.

Me: Just because you two are the only ones who know Charlie and I were a thing last time I was here….

At the café, we ordered coffees and hazelnut and walnut biscotti. When the barista confirmed our order, we both said at the same time, “Son of a biscotti!” and burst out laughing.

Once we sat down, I asked, “Why do we even say that?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. Between what I do for different governments, building portfolios and everything else, I forget a lot—even the inside jokes.”

He leaned across the table and kissed me gently. When he pulled away, I whispered, “Son of a bitch… you taste like biscotti. Just like the first time we kissed.”

The barista arrived with our coffees and biscotti grinning. “That was some kiss, Coach,” he said then walked off.

Charlie chuckled. I smiled but asked quietly, “Does your wife know you were going to do that?”

He shook his head. “No, but she wouldn’t care. She would know it wouldn’t mean anything nor consider it cheating. And yes, she knew you and I were screwing all the time just before se and I got together”

“You kiss all the other coaches too, or am I special?”

He laughed heartily. “You’re the only one, Deppgrl.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said with a grin.

We finished our coffee and biscotti, and as we were leaving, the barista stopped us. He handed us both coffees to go.

“Same drinks as your previous orders,” he said with a smile.

We both reached for our wallets. “Let us pay,” I said, but he shook his head.

“I haven’t used many of my shift drinks. This is the least I can do for you two.”

We thanked him. I told him, “I’ll be calling your boss later to let them know what a great employee they have.”

He blushed. “Thank you, Coach.”

Charlie and I left. He quickly brought us into a quiet alley and kissed me.

“Do you want me, Deppgrl?” he asked. “I’m sure you could feel how much I want you.”

“Yes, I do,” I said as I took my leggings and panties off.  “I’m dripping wet.”

He unzipped and unbuttoned his shorts, pulling his jeans and boxers down. He pushed me against the wall, lifted and pushed his giant dick in me with one thrust. I came hard on his dick. Seconds later, he was roughly pounding my pussy. When I moaned in pleasurable pain, Charlie picked up his pace.

“I’m going to cum so deep inside of you,” Charlie grunted as he released his cum in me.

“Yessssssssss,” I moaned as I felt his cum ricochet around in my cervix and uterus.

He pulled out, let me down and asked if I could handle another round. I said I could as I turned to face the wall. I pressed my hands against the wall, shifting my legs and hips away from the wall and spread my legs.

“Fuck!” Charlie grunted as he pushed his dick in my pussy. “You feel so tight like this!”

“Fuck me, Charlie,” I demanded. “Fuck me hard!”

Charlie grabbed my hips and began to fuck my pussy hard. In no time, we were climaxing; I came hard on his dick and he shot his cum in me. After catching our breath, we got dressed and grabbed our now cold coffee.

As we headed back toward the arena, I called Ronan—Dr. Hayes.

“Hey,” I said when he answered. “Your employee, Fergal, was incredibly kind and generous.”

He chuckled. “I’ve been meaning to promote him, actually. Maybe this will push me to do it.”

“It better,” I said. “If you don’t, I’m giving you a hard time at dinner tonight.”

He laughed. “All right, all right. Where are we eating?”

“At your place,” I said. “You can cook or order takeout, depending on what your day is like.”

“Deal,” he said.

“See you around seven, seven-fifteen.”

“Looking forward to it.”

We hung up, and Charlie glanced at me. “Hot date with Dr. Hayes?”

I rolled my eyes as I chuckled. “It’s just dinner between friends.”

“That’s how we started, Deppgrl,” Charlie said lightly. “He’s got feelings for you,”

I laughed. “Ronan knows where my heart is right now. And if I ever wanted to date him, I’d have to heal first.”

Charlie nodded as we walked through security. “Fair enough.”

He headed to his office while I went down to the turf.

The coaches had board games and card games spread out. I raised an eyebrow.

Tamati Ellison grinned. “The Jasons thought it’d help build camaraderie—give the guys a break from the physical grind.”

“I can’t argue with that,” I said.

Jason Ryan added, “We told them if you approved, the only rule was that they had to pair up with players they don’t usually talk to.”

“Good rule,” I said. “Who’s telling them?”

“I will,” Holland said. He turned to the players. “Coach approved!”

The players cheered and broke into groups—board games on one side, card games on the other. They mixed easily, laughing and trash-talking good-naturedly. The coaches and I stayed nearby, watching, listening.

A few hours later, Charlie came down.
“Hey,” he said, “the owner of the Global Grub food truck is here with a ton of food.”

“Oh, Aqeel’s here?”

Charlie nodded.

I face-palmed. “I completely forgot I arranged for him to cater lunch for everyone.”

Charlie chuckled. “Happens.”

I called security. “Hey, this is Deppgrl. Aqeel and his team are here with catering. Please escort them in and bring modified golf carts for the food.”

“On it,” Margeaux, the head of security, said.

When they arrived, Margeaux apologized for the delay. “Sorry, Coach.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “I forgot—it’s on me. But please radio your staff and tell them to come down and eat too.”

She smiled. “Will do.”

Within minutes, more than thirty of her team came down carrying tables on golf carts. The coaches and I helped Aqeel and his staff set up, arrange food, utensils, plates and the drinks.

When everything was ready, I asked Aqeel, “How much do I owe you?”

“$5,000 NZD,” he said.

As I scrolled through my contacts to send him payment, I decided to add $2,000 NZD more to cover his supplies, staff time, and fuel. A minute later, he got the notification.

He looked up, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” I said simply. “Thank you for helping us out.”

He smiled. “You’re good people, Coach.”

After Aqeel and his team packed up and left, the players and coaches dove into the food. The smell of smoked meat, fish and chips, mac & cheese, falafel and fresh bread filled the space. Everyone was laughing, eating, relaxing.

Charlie came back down. “I talked to the realtor. There’s a condo between the hospital and the arena, but it’s on the same block as Dr. Hayes.”

I sighed. “That’s the farthest from anyone I know?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

“What’s the monthly cost?”

“Nothing,” he said. “The team will own it. It’ll be used for temporary staff or consultants helping us. It’ll be primarily yours. When you leave, other people we bring will use it, but if you ever come back, they’ll relocate whoever’s in it at the time, clean it thoroughly, and it’ll be ready for you.”

I raised a brow. “That’s… impressive.”

He smiled. “You’ve earned it.” He handed me a key. “New lock for Scott’s office. I’ll take the old one to security—they’ll have it melted.”

I sighed quietly and took the new key. “When can I drop my stuff off to the condo?”

“I’ll handle it,” he said. “Once I sign the condo paperwork, I’ll have a professional cleaning crew go through it. With your permission, I’ll move your bags myself.”

“You know you have my permission. I appreciate you double checking,” I said. “Thank you for making sure it’s cleaned before I move in.”

“Everything should be done by 5:30/5:45 pm. I’ll text you the address.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Charlie.”

He nodded and left.

When I returned to the turf, most of the food was gone, but the coaches had saved several trays for me—pulled pork, rolls, smoked meats, mac and cheese.

“Thank you,” I said.

“The least we could do,” Jason Holland said as he and Jason Ryan helped me carry and store the trays of food in the fridge upstairs in the coaches office.

On the way back down, they joked that I must be rich.

“I’m far from it,” I said with a smirk. “But I won’t deny I’m well-paid to be here.”

We laughed as we stepped onto the turf again. Everything was getting cleaned up by the players. The cleaning services team had brought garbage cans and cleaning supplies down. As the cleaning services team were trying to clean up, the players stopped them then offered them the remaining food that I didn’t bring up. The cleaning services team was appreciative, ate from the remaining unopened trays and let the players to clean up.

Thank fuck, I thought. The guys were finally beginning to become a team.

A few changes

I wake to the room thick with silence. My phone screen glows — four missed calls without voicemails and three text messages from Charlie. I opened up my text messages from him….the first two were asking if I was awake and he wanted to talk to me. The last one I paid more attention to.

Charlie: “Vic went to the airport earlier than needed and got on an earlier flight home.”

My chest tightens. I type a quick reply, fingers moving automatically:

Me: “Thanks for letting me know.”

Then another:

Me: “Now that Vic’s on his way home, Patrick’s dead and I’m safe, I should probably find another place to stay. Maybe a condo or something near the arena.”

I open the calendar app on my phone and scroll to the date of my last birth control injection. It was six weeks ago and I had six more weeks to go. Relief flickers through me, but it doesn’t settle the unease twisting in my stomach. I tell myself I’ll take a morning-after pill once I get out of bed, just to quiet the spinning in my head.

I lie back, eyes on the ceiling, hoping for a message from Vic that I knew  wouldn’t come. Since his phone didn’t work in New Zealand, it certainly won’t in the air. Still, I send him a text:

Me: “Thank you for the surprise visit. I really appreciate you taking time away from work — and your wife — to spend it with me.”

The words feel too restrained for what I really want to say. We care for each other more than we should. He’s married, and he isn’t leaving her but I’ve always known that. That fades when we’re together, the rest of the world blurs. What we have exists in stolen hours — real, impossible, doomed. Caring him feels like standing on the edge of something beautiful, knowing the fall is coming.

Eventually, I pull myself out of bed. The shower is too hot, stinging, waking my skin and mind. I brush my teeth, air-dry, find clothes for practice, and take the morning-after pill. I sling my tote bag — containing extra clothes, phones, chargers, IDs, money, hotel keycard, and water bottles into — over my shoulder and exited the hotel. I headed down the arena, thankful for the fresh air.

The players and coaches greet me, and the Jasons look shocked when I arrived without coffee.

“No coffee?” one says. “Are you even human today?”

“I have stuff on my mind,” I say, dropping my bag and pulling my phone out to place a pick-up order at the local café. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Charlie jogs to catch up as he saw me head through security. “How’s everything?”

“It’s fine. Since Vic’s gone, I don’t need the hotel room he booked anymore. It’s going to cost either the time or myself unnecessary spending. But I can focus on practice and my appointment later on,” I reply.

“When do you want to leave the hotel?” he asked. “Anything I can do to help find you a place? Are you seeing Dr. Hayes later?”

“No, I can manage.  Thanks though. I have Dr. Hayes and OB,” I say.

“Want to grab coffee while we walk to wherever you’re going?”

“I’m actually going to pick up my coffee order that I just placed,” I tell him, and we head to the local café.

At the café, the baristas greet me warmly: “Coach!”

Charlie orders black coffee and a few biscotti. and we both exclaim at the same time: “Son of a biscotti!” We laughed hard at our inside joke as I picked up the coffee that I had placed via the café’s mobile app.

We find a corner table to sit at.

“You seem close to Dr. Hayes,” Charlie says.

“We knew each other from the past, but we weren’t super close. His family was wealthy, mine middle class. When we dated briefly, his family rejected me,” I explain.

He sighs. “If he were single now, would you consider it?”

“Maybe. But the man I truly care for is heading home to his wife. Even though he cares for me, he won’t leave her.”

Charlie takes my hand. “It’s okay to care for someone meant for another person. Sometimes it’s easier to get over them by getting under someone else.”

 “Thanks, Charlie,” I said as I laughed. “I tend to give that advice often!”

“I learned it from you, my friend,” he smiled.

We finish our coffee, I placed another order of coffee and we headed back to the arena. I swipe us inside. Charlie heads to his office to handle logistics – and unknowingly to me, a condo for me - while I returned to practice.

The Jasons are happy to see me caffeinated.

“How can one forget to drink coffee?” Jason Holland asked.

“Are you’re more human now?” Jason Ryan added.

“I suppose so,” I answered with a smile

“I told you!” Holland said.

“Alright, boys,” I said. “We’re at practice

Practice began again as the players settled down after my return. The players have improved with Cathal’s suggestions — offense learning defense, defense learning offense, rarely siloing. During a water break, I ask about the mental health providers I brought in.

Joey grinned. “I’d love to take mine on a date.”

I smiled. “Too bad. Contract forbids involvement with current and former clients. Plus, your mental health team are lesbians in a happy marriage.”

They all chuckle. Joey sheepishly adds, “I was joking.”

“So was I. Anyone as questions can text me,” I say. “We’ll sort it there.”

The players took to the turf again after their water and snack break. I had slowly implemented that as energy takes calories and calories are needed for energy. The players also focused and listened better when having food.

I talked with the other coaches to see if they were interested, we have some fun during practice. They coaches asked what kind of fun that I was thinking about and I said 8 vs 8 – players vs coaches – until all the players had a turn. The coaches loved the idea. I blew my whistle to catch the attention of the players.

“Hey, ladies, gents and everyone in between!” I said. “We’re going 8 vs 8! The eight of us coaches and eight players until every player has practiced against us!”

There was cheering from the players and the coaches

“No elbows to faces, people!” I call. “And no taking it easy on me!”

They all laughed. “Got it, Coach!”

We played for a few hours. The players toned it down ever so slightly for me being the only woman on the turf and the smallest one there. A few times, I went flying in the air after getting hit, the ball was a little too high for me to catch and hit my eye as I was lifted in order to catch it, and enjoyed the scrum. At one point, I chuckled to myself thinking about seeing Ronan - Dr. Hayes - and the OB colleague later being covered in bruises.

Practice ended way past time that we usually ended. The players head to showers in their locker room as did the coaches. I take mine in the coaches’ office for more privacy. I stripped down, wash quickly, assessed the bruises — black eye from a missed ball — and dress again. I tossed my practice clothes into a plastic bag, threw it in my tote, and texted the coaches goodnight. They all wished me a good night and that they all hoped that I had my coffee with me in the morning.

As mentally and physically tired as I was, I ordered a car through a car share app. I waited a few minutes before they picked me up. When I got in the car, I received a text from Scott with the thumbs up emoji and a car emoji; clearly, I’d forgotten that he received notifications when I used this ride share app. A few minutes later, I was at the hospital. I thanked the driver and hopped out with my bag.

I headed inside the hospital through the ER doors and got lost heading to Ronan’s office. An employee asked who I was looking for and when I mentioned “Dr. Hayes” I was escorted to Ronan’s office. I thanked the employee and entered his office without knocking.  I dropped my bag in Ronan’s office floor.

“Did anyone lay a finger on you?” he asked as he took a good look at me.

“About fifty men,” I say.

“That’s not what I meant,” he frowns. “You knew that.”

“I know. No one hurt me in a negative way,” I said as I smiled.

He kissed my cheek as his OB colleague arrives.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Kim Yancy,” she said as we shook hands. “You’re the famous Deppgrl that Ronan won’t shut up about!”

“Kim, really?” he asked sheepishly as he looked at me.

“Dude’s in love with you and he’s too embarrassed to say so himself!” Kim said and winked. “Thank fuck the man has an exam table in his office or we wouldn’t be able to take care of this in here.”

“True,” I said as I stripped from the waist down and hopped up on the exam table.

“Do you need anything for pain?” she asked.

“No,” I say.

Kim quickly and expertly inserted the IUD, trimmed the string then turned away so I can get dressed. I redressed in my panties and leggings.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Deppgrl,” Kim said. “I’ll send in the other doctor.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you as well,” I replied. “Thanks.”

Dr. Chen, the optometrist, comes in next.

“Contacts in?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“If you could take them out, please.”

I comply.

“No damage. All clear,” he says. We shake hands.

As Ronan returns, I wash my hands so I can put my contacts back in. When I see him in the mirror, he looks at me and smiles like he used to.

“I keep tabs on you,” he says.

“I noticed,” I reply. “All the time?”

“Not constantly. Just enough to know you’re safe,” he says.

“I guess that makes sense,” I say.

“I wouldn’t interfere unless I had to. I just like knowing,” he says.

I nod, smiling. “Fair enough. I guess we’re both careful.”

He leans against his desk. “Dinner?”

“When’s your next night off?” I ask.

“Following night. I can cook at my place, order delivery, bring it to you wherever you’re staying, or take you out,” he offers.

“That would be greatly appreciated,” I say.

He cups my face gently and kisses me softly.

“Let me know where,” he says.

“I will,” I promise.

To clear things up before moving onto the next chapter

My 'All Blacks' Coaching Career Is Non-Existent

To remove all ambiguity and speculation, I am setting the record straight with three simple facts:

1. I have never left the country of my birth. I am not, and have never been, living or working in New Zealand. The closest I get to the Southern Hemisphere is watching the matches on TV.
2. I know no one in the organization. I have absolutely zero personal connection to the All Blacks. This includes every single player, every member of the actual coaching staff, and the team owners. Any "insider information" I share is based purely on watching the matches—just like you.
3. I am not a professional sports coach.
4. To clarify the fantasy further: the only people who are "real" and participate in this fictional NZ-based scenario are Vic (his real name), Vin (his real name), Matteo (close enough to his real name), and Mike (his real name), and myself, who operate under a pseudonym within the fictional narrative.

I am not in New Zealand, I have no secret job, and no one has offered me a position to handle elite sports strategy. My life is substantially more mundane, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thanks for indulging this strange bit of necessary clarification. Now, back to fantasy and adult rated blog!

 

Vic's morning departure

We took the elevator up to the secured wing of the hotel that we shared with diplomats, moving deliberately, letting each second stretch. The hum of the machinery was the only sound, but I could feel it in my chest, echoing the pulse of my anticipation. When the doors opened, Vic led the way, and I followed, savoring the quiet intimacy.

He pressed the heavy door closed behind us, the sharp click of the lock echoing through the room. The sound was final, thrilling, and the world shrank to just the two of us.

Without a word, we began shedding our clothes, slowly, deliberately, leaving them behind us like Hansel and Gretel. Each piece of clothing that fell marked a step closer, a surrender to the desire that had been simmering between us for too long.

We moved toward the bed, slow, deliberate, letting the tension build with every step. His hands found mine, our fingers tangling naturally. Our lips met soft at first, teasing, then harder, hungrier. The world outside didn’t exist — only the heat between us, the brush of skin on skin, the brush of breath, and the low hum of our hearts.

“Vic…” I whispered, my voice thick with longing.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against my lips. “How much I’ve wanted you this week.”

I laughed softly, breathless, and brushed my fingers along the line of his jaw. “Then don’t wait any longer. We’ve both had a week.”

“Agreed.”

“Feels like trouble,” I murmured, teasing as I stroked his hardening dick.

“Maybe,” he replied with a grin, pressing his forehead to mine and kissed me.

He slid his hard dick inside of my waiting pussy and began to ride me as if the world was ending. We climaxed hard within minutes and he filled me with his hot cum. Once his body was done shuddering, I flipped us over and began to ride him slowly. He began to moan my name. The more he moaned my name, I began to ride him faster. We climaxed again and I felt his hot cum fill my uterus again.

He flipped us over so I was on my back again and began to thrust his dick in and out of me again. I put my ankles on his shoulders so he could get his dick deeper inside of me and hit my g-spot. The second my ankles were on his shoulders, Vic was thrusting harder, faster and a bit rougher deep inside of me. We kept screaming each other’s names. We both climaxed again and he came in me but he couldn’t stop pumping his hips.

“God yesssssssssssssssss,” I screamed. “Don’t stop, Papa!”

“I love how tight your pussy is, amore,” he mumbled as he was suckling  one of my nipples. “I don’t plan on stopping!”

We climaxed again and after filling me for the third time, he pulled out. He carried me over to the desk and asked me to lean over it. I did as he asked and spread my legs. He mounted my pussy from behind, grabbed my hips and kept driving his dick into my now sore pussy. God, I loved how he took me like this. We couldn’t stop climaxing and he couldn’t stop filling me. He eventually pulled out and placed the head of his dick against my ass.

“Amore, I want your ass,” he grunted as he pushed his dick inside of my ass with some pushback.

“Yes, Papa,” I moaned.

He started slowly and once I relaxed, he thrust his dick in my ass fast and hard. We climaxed several times and each time, he came in my ass. We stayed like this until his dick stopped twitching. As he pulled out, he came in me again.

“Shower, amore?” he asked not so innocently.

“Of course!” I said.

As we showered, we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. Our hands and mouths wandered. I stroked Vic’s dick until he climaxed. His hot cum spilled into my hand and the shower floor. After washing my hands, he turned off the water. We dried off and got out of the shower.

Vic used the phone in the bathroom to call housekeeping to see if they could bring up fresh sheets and they said that they would. He thanked them and he quickly went around to pick up our clothes and clean up  his cum that was on the floor; still with the towel wrapped around his waist. He had a few minutes left before housekeeping arrived, he stripped the bedding off the bed and gathered everything into a ball. By the time he was done, Agent Rily knocked on the door. Vic opened the door to see Agent Rily and two members of housekeeping. He let the housekeeping team in to make the bed again. Since they were quick, they were in and out. As they were heading out the door, Vic handed them the used sheets. Since Agent Rily was the last visitor leaving, he promised Vic that the housekeeping team that was just in the room were the housekeepers that only work in this wing. Vic nodded.

He came back to the bathroom to let me know the coast was clear. After hanging up his towel, Vic picked me up and carried me to the bed.

“Ready for bed?” he asked as he gently placed me down on the bed.

“No,” I said. “If I sleep, I lose time with you, Papa.”

Vic stopped for a moment, brushing a hand across my cheek. “I don’t want to leave,” he murmured, his voice low.

I stepped closer, pressing my hand against his chest. “Then stay, Papa,” I whispered.

He smiled, though his eyes were conflicted. “God, I don’t want to leave your side.”

“Don’t leave me,” I said.

“My family needs me,” he said as he sighed.

“I need you, too,” I said as I got off the bed.

I went to the tiny dresser to grab an oversized shirt to put on.

“Take the bed for yourself, Vic,” I said. “You need all the sleep that you can get before your flight in a few hours. Flying for more than three hours can be exhausting.”

“Amore….” he started.

“Go to bed,” I said. “You’re going to need it.”

Vic climbed into bed and within minutes, he was asleep. I slid my slippers on, left Vic a note saying that I was sleeping in a room reserved for staff when the weather is bad and headed down to the reception desk, not caring my oversized shirt barely covered my ass and pussy.

“Coach….what’s going on?” Cosmos asked.

“Vic is restless in bed tonight due to his long flight tomorrow,” I explained. “I’m wondering if you guys have an employee room that I could use for a few hours?”

“Here’s a key to my room,” Cosmos said as he took an actual key off of his keychain. “There is a rather small guest room in my closet of a room. It has a door and a lock on it. The bedding is clean. I’ll be quiet if I need to pop in to grab something.”

“Thanks, my friend,” I said as I accepted his key. “Remind me in a few days to take you for drinks to thank you for this.”

“Sure thing, boss,” he smiled.

I always knew Cosmos was interested in me and he never crossed the line. I walked the three hundred feet down the hall to his room. His room was almost as big as the suite Vic and I were in but not nearly as nicely furnished. I found the little guest bedroom, slid in there and locked the door. I laid down and was asleep in minutes.

 I woke up three and a half hours later. When I entered the suite that Vic and I had been sharing, he and his things were gone. He left my burner phone and the hotel suite’s keycard behind. There was also no note. I brushed my teeth and headed back to bed. I wanted to be close to him again and the next best thing was bed….the sheets smelled like him and his body wash. 

Auckland's shadow

Departure from the suite was an exercise in severance. I shed the clothes of the therapy session not merely for comfort, but as a deliberate discarding of the emotional residue of all things Patrick. I appreciated Blake and his support but I needed a separation from my past to my future.

I grabbed two UV umbrellas. The afternoon sun in Auckland was insistent and given my recent struggles with dehydration, proper dealing with the heat of the sun was important. "Here’s a UV umbrella," I told Vic as I handed him one. “It isn’t pretty but it’ll help us stay cooler and prevent another ER visit.”

Vic accepted the umbrella, the slight arch of his eyebrow acknowledging the necessary function over the aesthetic. "We look prepared for a diplomatic garden party,” he chuckled

I put my passports, phones, and wallet into my cross body purse. Vic grabbed the keycard, sliding it into his wallet then put his wallet back in his pocket.

I looked through the room one last time.

 "Contacts in, important stuff with us." I said as I patted my pockets. “Ready?”

“Always, ma’am,” he replied, the formality mixed with a quiet declaration of duty.

We departed discreetly via a side exit, utilizing the secure wing's peripheral route to head east. The agents were left behind as they didn’t see us sneak out.

We had been walking for nearly five minutes when the city's background noise receding in favor of the calmer acoustics of a residential stretch. Just as the familiar, rich scent of grilled onions and spices drifted over the air—the unmistakable signature of my favorite food truck—I turned to Vic, the corner of my mouth lifting in a small, charged smile.

"See that corner, about a block ahead? The food truck is just past that massive oak tree.”

I watched his eyes immediately begin a systematic scan of the intersecting streets, processing the established homes, the pavements, and the energy of the intersection. The awareness of the area solidified in my chest, prompting the need for immediate transparency.

“By the way, this is Scott’s neighborhood,” I said quietly.

“Scott’s neighborhood,” Vic repeated, the words dropping with calculated, unnerving neutrality.

"It’s my favorite food truck," I explained, meeting his gaze. "We are grabbing lunch, Vic. I don’t tell food truck owners where to put their food trucks."

He held my gaze for a moment, his jaw flexing. "Duly noted." His response was his concession.

We crossed the street under the deep shadow of the oak, turning the final corner. The food truck, a vibrant splash of turquoise and chrome, dominated the intersection, its exhaust fans humming a rhythmic undercurrent. A small  line had formed. The air was thick with the high-quality grease and spices—an anchor of sensory normalcy. We stepped to the end of the line.

Vic surveyed the compact menu window. "What is the specialty of your favorite food truck?"

"The menu is eclectic," I replied, already executing my decision matrix. "Excellent fish and chips, amazing smoked meats, a variety of falafels and a killer mac & cheese. The pulled pork sandwich is to die for."

He leaned in, his voice barely audible above the sizzle from the grill. "What catches your eye?"

"Easy," I replied. "The pulled pork sandwich and a side of the mac & cheese. I’m going to order smoked meats to take back to the hotel for later. What are you thinking?"

He considered his options quickly. "The fish and chips. And a soda."

“Good choice,” I said. “As you know, I am not a fan of seafood but Aqeel makes a mean fish and chips. No one else’s can compare.”

“Any idea why Aqeel named his truck ‘Global Grub’?” Vic asked. “Other than the obvious of food from pretty much England, Egypt and American.”

“That’s probably the reason,” I said as I sighed. “I am not one to question a business person’s decision.”

The noise of nearby conversation and the sizzle of cooking provided a noisy, welcome distraction.

We placed our order with a fairly new employee. It was clear that he didn’t know who I was and I was more than happy with that.

We collected our bagged lunches and sodas and moved to a relatively quiet patch of curb under the shade of a small awning to eat. The food was everything I remembered: deeply flavorful, satisfyingly messy, and utterly grounding.

"This is phenomenal," Vic said as he took a bite of the fish.

"Told you," I murmured, halfway through the pulled pork. "Best food – including mac & cheese -  in New Zealand."

After we cleared our wrappers, a young woman from the truck handed me a heavy bag.

"The smoked meat order, Coach," she said, smiling. "Boss said to give you extra and we gave you extra."

"Thank you," I said, peeling off a couple of crisp bills for Aqeel. Knowing him, he lost money on providing extra smoked meat. “Please give the money to Aqeel; it should cover the cost of the meat, herbs and cook time plus purchase of more meat.”

“Will do!” she said. “Boss will be appreciative!”

I nodded before we left.

We began the walk back to the hotel. We were nearing the massive Kauri tree  when a familiar voice sliced through the street noise, tight with forced casualness.

"Deppgrl!"

Vic and I stopped simultaneously. His body instantly shifted, his weight redistributing to place his center of gravity low, his intent clear. I intervened with a flat, hard press of my hand onto his bicep, a clear signal that I would manage this interaction. He allowed his tension to hold but settled his stance, watching as I walked toward Scott.

Scott approached cautiously, holding a coffee cup like a shield.

"Scott," I said, my tone even. "What's going on?"

He fiddled with the cup. "I just wanted to apologize, in person. I know I was an asshole. I acted out of line. The way I talked to you and the things I said - I was wrong." He forced a breath. "My mental health team has really helped me see that. I finally understand why you had the players and the coaches seek assistance. It wasn't about fixing us; it was about providing us with tools. I get that now."

I offered a small, sincere nod. "I'm happy you've accepted that. It takes discipline to admit fault and more to do the required work. I hope you continue to work on yourself."

His expression brightened with premature hope. "When will I be able to return? I'm ready to be back."

His eagerness was understandable, but irrelevant. "We require demonstrable consistency, Scott. Your return is conditioned not on compliance in session, but on verified behavioral change outside of it. I need to review several weekly reports showing genuine engagement, and then I will talk with the owners."

The initial relief drained from his face.

"Scott," I said, my voice dropping, stepping closer to ensure the message was received without ambiguity. "We are looking for substantive improvement. That is evaluated not just in your sessions, but in how you conduct yourself when you are out and about. Your mental health team has connections across this area—local businesses, community groups. These connections are now reporting to both myself and them. As you know, I have connections too. This is oversight, not negotiation."

He looked stunned, the coffee forgotten. "Why is this happening?"

"This isn't just about you," I informed him. "It's about maintaining trust and professional conduct across the entire organization. We have protocols. For everyone consistently with the All Blacks."

"Oh," he said, swallowing hard. "Thank you for letting me know."

Before he could withdraw, I delivered the incentive. "If I see consistent, profound improvement, you may be able to return in several weeks."

“Several weeks?” he asked, in utter shock.

“Yes, several weeks,” I said. “What the mental health team and I have been hearing isn’t completely positive. I contemplate turning my phone off frequently due to the feedback that I am getting in regards of you and several players but that would mean more work for me. The owners and I want you to keep your job but it is on you to do the work in order to keep your job.”

He nodded, a renewed sense of purpose replacing the shock, then turned and walked away.

Vic and I resumed our walk to the hotel, the unexpected interaction leaving a strange, vibrating silence between us.

"That was efficiently handled," Vic murmured, his hand settling on the small of my back.

"It was necessary," I confirmed. "The boundaries needed to be explicit."

We reached the hotel, where Cosmos waited near the side entrance, a look of quiet, professional concern on his face.

"Welcome back, Deppgrl and Vic. I’m sorry for delaying you to your room but Dr. Hayes left an urgent message for you immediately after you guys left,” Cosmos said. "He asked for your return to the hospital when you can. He requires a follow-up consultation regarding Vic."

Cosmos handed me the hotel phone. I took the receiver and dialed Ronan's direct line from memory.

"Dr. Hayes's office," a receptionist answered.

"It's Deppgrl. Ronan called for an urgent return visit."

Ronan's voice came on the line a moment later. "Deppgrl, thank you for calling back. I just need to see Vic before he leaves in a few days. Nothing terribly critical, but I want the specialists to see how he’s doing and clear him to fly."

"Understood," I replied. "We'll be at the hospital as soon as we can. We need to drop off a few items first."

"I'll keep my eyes open for you guys," he said.

We hung up, and I returned the phone to Cosmos.

We headed up to the suite to drop off the bag of smoked meats. We both drank a large glass of water, feeling the lingering grime of the city, and we decided a quick shower was warranted. We changed into fresh, comfortable clothes and headed back out.

"Ready for the mandated Round Two?" Vic asked, securing his UV umbrella with a wry twist of his lips.

"Better be," I replied. "Thankfully, the hospital is only two blocks away. No need to worry about Scott's turf this time."

The walk back to the hospital was brief. In the main lobby, the nurse who had attended me when my nose was broken greeted us.

"Welcome back," she said, with a warm smile. "Dr. Hayes is expecting you. I'll take you to his private office."

We followed her. Ronan was waiting, standing by his desk, professional and reassuring in his lab coat.

"Thank you for coming in so quickly," Ronan said, shaking Vic's hand. "Have a seat."

He guided Vic to a high stool and began his examination. Ronan was satisfied with the bruising's progression and the significant reduction in swelling around the nose.

"Excellent, excellent," Ronan murmured. He picked up his desk phone. "Dr. Evans can you and Dr. Chen pop over to my office for a quick consultation?"

Moments later, the eye surgeon and plastic surgeon entered. They performed a quick, collaborative exam on Vic's eye and nose, expressing their satisfaction with the healing progress.

"Have you been strictly adhering to the prescribed regimen: the pain medication, the antibiotic eye drops, and the oral antibiotics?" the eye surgeon inquired.

"Yeah, I am," Vic confirmed. "I take the pain meds twice a day—morning and night—but I've been managing daytime discomfort with OTC pain relievers. The drops and oral meds are taken as prescribed."

Ronan nodded, picking up a prescription pad. "If that’s the case, I'm going to transition you to a lower-dose pain med. Also, you should integrate alternating ice and heat applications several times a day to assist in both pain management and promote healing."

Vic accepted the instructions. "Will do. Thank you."

The surgeons left. Vic, Ronan, and I talked briefly about the importance of continued rest before we left the office. As we headed out, Vic was relieved that he was cleared to fly but he didn’t want to leave me here, alone, in New Zealand with “the blond caveman” that Vic called Scott.

We headed to The Corner Well – the small, well-maintained pharmacy that operated efficiently near the hotel and the pharmacy I used frequently when in New Zealand.  We headed to the pharmacy counter where my favorite pharmacist was working

The pharmacist, Brenda, recognized me instantly. "Good afternoon, Coach Deppgrl," she greeted me, her accent distinctly Kiwi. "It’s been a while. How’s the team?”

"They’re doing well, Brenda," I confirmed, placing Vic's prescription before her. "This is for my friend Vic. Since he’s a not a resident, he doesn’t have insurance. Do you guys still use discount cards?”

Brenda took the offered prescription and addressed Vic. "Welcome to New Zealand, Vic," she said. "We do. Would you guys like to use it?"

Vic, standing nearby, offered a knowing look at the use of my nickname. "Coach Deppgrl," he commented, a brief smile touching his lips. He then addressed Brenda, shaking his head. "That would be great, thanks!"

Brenda processed the discount card details. "Got it. Just give me about ten to fifteen minutes to get it ready.”

“Sure thing,” I said. “We’re in no rush.”

We decided to walk around for a bit and about twelve minutes, Brenda called us over. She handed the prescription over "Here is your prescription, Vic. The total is $48 NZD.”

I used my credit card to make the payment and expressed my gratitude. Stepping back outside, Vic placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "That was quick and a far better experience than back home." The day’s light was beginning to fade as we proceeded directly back to the hotel.

Vic and I  spent the rest of my days off before returning to work establishing a disciplined routine that prioritized my mental health sessions and Vic's physical recovery. We took short, guarded trips around Auckland - anything to maintain a sense of freedom without incurring exhaustion. On the days we were too tired to go out for lunch or dinner, we ate the smoked meat from Aqeel’s food truck.

We fucked often during my days off. The one day, we didn’t even leave the bed…Vic lived between my legs and we both loved it. At one point in our fuck fest, Vic had used my biggest dildo on me. I gasped, groaned and screamed in pleasure while both he and my dildo were deep in my pussy at once.

Charlie, the owners, the coaches, and the players all showed their support when I returned on Wednesday. Vic joined me at the arena from Wednesday through Saturday for practices. The team's relief at my return was palpable and gratifying. Our new routine was structured: morning practice, film review with suggestions from the coaches, and the players and coaches meeting with their individual mental health team. The players' commitment was impressive, and I felt myself fully reintegrating into the rhythm of the game.

When it was Vic's last full day in New Zealand, we remained in the suite, savoring the quiet intimacy. Charlie and the rest of the organization had arranged a private, semi-romantic picnic dinner for us at a local park as a gesture of quiet support.

We arrived at the designated spot, a secluded rise in a small park overlooking the Waitematā Harbour. It was a thoughtful gesture but I thought it was a bit much. The team had laid out a thick, woven blanket and scattered half a dozen flickering LED candles, creating an intimate, soft glow against the deep twilight. A wicker basket sat open between two comfortable pillows.

“This is an exceptionally generous act, amore,” Vic murmured, his voice heavy with appreciation as he took in the quiet view. The city skyline was beginning to illuminate behind us, but here, the focus was entirely on the water and the immediate, private scene.

We settled onto the blanket. The dinner was luxurious in its simplicity: a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, a curated board piled high with local cheeses, grapes, cured meats, and crusty bread, culminating in a delicate chocolate tart.

Vic poured the wine. “To a week of difficult healing,” he toasted, clinking his glass against mine. “And to your successful return to coaching.”

I smiled, the memory of the hospital fear feeling distant, attenuated by the present quiet. “Thank you for anchoring me. You’re the reason that I stayed relaxed this week.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said, reaching out to gently trace the fading bruise near his eye. “I don’t belong here after and you know it. However, seeing you back at work, exercising your purpose—that was the best recovery medicine I could ask for.”

We ate slowly, the conversation low and easy, filled with quiet reflection on the grounding moments we’d shared: the quiet markets, the greasy satisfaction of the food truck lunch, and the comfortable silence of our time in the arena. The tension of Scott’s confrontation and the clinical worry of the hospital check-up were fully contained by the security of this moment.

As the tart was finished and the city lights twinkled in earnest, Vic turned to me, his gaze serious, weighty.

“I leave at first light,” he stated, his thumb smoothing the skin of my hand. “I hate having to leave and you being alone in the this beautiful.”

“I won’t be alone,” I assured him, lifting my head to meet his eyes. “I have protection, and I have the work. And you will return.”

He nodded, the look in his eyes holding a fierce, silent promise of an immediate, non-negotiable return. He didn't promise soon; he simply said, “I'll be back.” He pulled me close, the kiss deep and long, carrying the taste of wine and the promise of his commitment. It was a kiss of farewell, but delivered with the force of an oath.

He finally pulled away, resting his forehead against mine. “Now, let’s get you back to the suite. You need your rest, and I need a few hours of quiet before I face a fifteen-hour flight.”

We gathered the items. Hand in hand, we walked back toward the city lights, the sense of quiet, charged completion settling over the close of the chapter.

When we returned back to the hotel, we returned the picnic basket and blanket to Lorraine. She said that housekeeping and the kitchen staff will take care of the blanket and the dishes we used. As we got back to the suit, I knew that Vic and I wouldn’t be sleeping at all that night.

An anchor for the mind

We slept through the night, a profound, restorative collapse into the deep comfort of the hotel bed. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, my mind achieved genuine, uninterrupted rest, sinking into the secure, familiar weight of Vic’s arms. The quiet exhaustion of the previous night’s intense intimacy had finally subdued the hyper-vigilance, locking the fear outside the bedroom door.

I woke first, gently disentangling myself from Vic's tight, protective hold. The room was washed in the soft, diffused light of an Auckland morning, quiet save for the slow, steady rhythm of Vic’s breathing. The silence felt heavy with the necessity of action. The confrontation with my psychological damage could no longer wait. I retrieved my phone and the contact for my therapist, Blake. I needed to act, not think. I sent a rapid series of texts, a furious, stream-of-consciousness summary of the last seventy-two hours—the terrifying recognition, the hospital chaos, and the diagnosis—needing to externalize the heavy truth. While Blake was fully aware of Patrick's history from previous discussions over the years, he wasn't aware of the recent events from the past few days until i told him. Charlie didn't think it was appropriate to tell him He responded instantly:

Blake: I am so sorry that you've been dealing with that. When are you available to meet? If need be, I can rearrange my morning appointments.

Me: I can meet you in an hour and a half. Want to meet you at your tiny office?

Blake: Yes, that works. I'll see you then.

With the appointment set, I headed to the bathroom, the cool tiles underfoot a welcome, grounding sensation. The shirts we had washed the night before were now completely dry, hanging crisp and neat over the shower curtain rod—a small, tangible victory of order over chaos. I took them down, folded them, closed the curtain, and stepped into a scalding shower. I let the water beat down, turning the cleansing into a ritual of preparation, allowing the heat to penetrate the deep muscle memory of the hospital gurney and the violent, uncontrollable shivering. Once dry, I took my time, brushing my teeth and putting in my contacts, layering the mundane acts as a necessary defense before facing the emotional exposure ahead.

I walked back into the bedroom and pulled on comfortable, functional clothes—layered cotton and soft denim—a deliberate choice to counter the vulnerability of the night before. I was standing at the desk, preparing to leave a note for Vic, when his low groan cut through the quiet. He rolled heavily onto his back, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “Where are you going, amore?” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and concern.

“I was able to get an in-person session with Blake—we usually just have virtual sessions. I'll be heading out shortly,” I said, placing the pen down.

Vic sat up immediately, his eyes focusing on me with a sudden, intense concentration that wiped away all residual sleep. He rubbed his jaw, his eyes fixed on mine. “A session? That’s good. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes. I’ll wait in the waiting room at the office.”

I smiled faintly. “It’s not exactly an office, Vic. Blake just has a small space in a building—more like a utility closet, honestly. Most of our sessions are walks. It’s less claustrophobic that way for many of his clients, and it just looks like friends taking a walk.”

He frowned, then nodded, the security implications registering instantly. “A walk is better than sitting in some small box. If you’re walking, I’m walking too. Can I walk right behind you?”

I shook my head, walking over to the bedside and sitting next to him. “It’s better if you don’t invade the session that closely. I need the space. But listen, Agent Riley has a bike. I ask him to lend it to you. That way, you could still be nearby me but not actually invade the session itself.”

Vic considered this, a slow, determined grin spreading across his face. “A bike. I like the idea of moving. That sounds like a good idea. I agree. If it helps you get through this, I’m in.”

“You have to keep at least one hundred feet away from Blake and I during the session,” I stipulated, holding his gaze. “I need to feel like I’m truly having a session with him.”

“One hundred. Understood,” Vic confirmed, already climbing out of bed and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. The lingering stiffness from the gurney was still evident in his movements, but his focus was absolute. “Let’s get this done.”

As we headed downstairs after his shower, brushing his teeth and getting dressed, the security detail was already on alert, seamlessly anticipating our movements. I pulled Agent Riley aside. “Vic would like to borrow your bike to be near me while I have my session with Blake. Would you be able to lend it to him?”

Riley was already moving toward the back of the SUV, his movements economical and swift. “Consider it done. I need ninety seconds to load it onto the rack.” He made a quick dash to where the agents’ door was located, went inside and came right back out with his bike. the sharp click of the bike rack securing the mountain bike confirmed his efficiency.

Once the mountain bike was securely attached, Agent Riley drove us the twenty minutes across the city to the building where Blake’s “office” was located—a discreet, unassuming block nestled in a quieter area, designed specifically for anonymity.

We got out. Vic and I introduced him to Blake, who was waiting discreetly on the sidewalk, calm, wearing simple walking clothes, and professionally observant. I briefly explained to Blake that Vic would be riding a bike near us while respectfully maintaining distance during the session. With a genuine, understanding smile on his face, Blake immediately agreed. “Not a problem at all. My priority is her comfort and safety, and if having him nearby helps you open up, that’s what we’ll do.”

Blake and I headed down the street immediately. Vic followed us down a moment later after retrieving the bike from Riley and quickly checking the tire pressure.

Once Blake and I were moving, I set a rapid pace down the sidewalk. I needed the physical rhythm—the movement of my legs, the swing of my arms—to contain the deep, anxious energy that had returned with the daylight. The initial politeness vanished as I launched into the details of the Patrick fiasco. I spoke in a continuous, measured stream, forcing the ugly, terrifying history out into the daylight, needing to externalize the burden of the last few days. I told Blake how Patrick had walked right out of the facility, and no one had said a thing. I recounted the terrifying moment I recognized him at the club Vic and I had gone to, and how I had convinced myself I was hallucinating, choosing not to accept what my eyes were telling me. The next day, he was brazen enough to dress up as a taxi driver I had used years ago—a truly poor get-up, but effective enough to confirm my dread.

I recounted reporting the incident to Cathal, Patrick's subsequent arrest, and his placement in a high-security prison. The story culminated with the bleak finality: somehow, Patrick was able to commit suicide while incarcerated. I then described the immediate physical fallout—my hospitalization for exhaustion and dehydration, the discharge, and then the return twelve hours later. Finally, I summarized Ronan’s - Dr. Hayes' - intervention—the battery of tests he ran, how everything was considered normal, and how he ultimately suggested I was experiencing acute physical and emotional PTSD from the culmination of all these events.

Blake listened without interruption, his posture open and completely nonjudgmental. His steady presence was a necessary anchor. When I finally finished the harrowing recital, he paused only briefly, letting the silence settle. His initial response was an apology—not for himself, but for the sheer violation I had endured while attempting to do my professional duty for the All Blacks.

“Treating patients with PTSD is always inherently difficult,” Blake stated. “It is a profound psychological response to a situation no human should ever have to endure. What makes recovery complex is that not every patient is the same; the path forward requires an intensely personalized, individualized treatment approach.”

We continued to talk about how I felt about the entire situation and then shifted to discussing Vic's reaction. I admitted that I didn’t actually know how Vic felt about it, as he actively avoided talking about it, often just tightening his arm around me or trying to change the subject.

Blake suggested that Vic and I sit down and discuss it directly, stressing that while it would be hard, it was necessary to move forward as a couple and process the shared trauma. “You can’t navigate this alone, and he can’t navigate his worry alone. You have to open that conversation, no matter how difficult it feels.” He also suggested that I journal about the events, the emotions, and the physical symptoms, noting that the physical act of writing can help externalize and manage the trauma. “Get it out of your head and onto the page. You control the narrative there.”

I agreed with Blake about the necessity of talking it over with Vic, and I also agreed with him about starting a journal. We agreed to meet again in three days.

The session concluded naturally as we looped back toward the building. Blake and I shared a quick, firm embrace, a calculated move to reinforce the public perception of us as two friends parting ways—a useful pretense, even though most residents of this quiet area knew his profession. They adhered to a code of silent respect, giving both he and his patients a notably wide berth. I searched for Vic down the path, and my eyes locked onto his, a powerful sense of grounded security washing over me. He pedaled up to me, covering the distance swiftly on the bike. He then dismounted the bike in a single, fluid motion. He moved with the quiet, inherent authority of someone claiming his ground, his presence immediate and solid.

“How was it?” Vic asked, immediately taking the bike’s handlebars in one hand and reaching for my hand with the other, his gaze searching mine for residual distress.

“It was necessary,” I replied, squeezing his hand. “He said it’s going to be a different kind of treatment for recovery.”

Vic nodded, his eyes scanning the quiet street and the SUV parked nearby, a perpetual guardian. “Different is good. Did he give you homework? Did he need me to tackle anyone?”

I laughed softly, a genuine sound, releasing some of the tension I hadn’t known I was holding. “No tackles needed. And yes, homework. We need to talk, Vic. And I need to start writing things down.”

“The hard stuff?” he asked, his voice low and protective.

“The hard stuff, Papa. All of it.”

“Okay,” he said, meeting his eyes, a promise in the look. “We’ll do the hard stuff. Starting tonight.”

We exchanged silent acknowledgement of the work done, and together, we headed back to the waiting SUV, the completion of this first, critical step toward recovery settling deep in my bones.

The drive back to the hotel was quick and silent, a necessary calm settling over the SUV after the emotional intensity of the session. Vic’s hand never left mine, a quiet reassurance that the hard work had begun. Agent Riley pulled into the underground parking garage, and we were quickly escorted back up to the secure floor. The familiar faces of our agents were a silent wall of safety as we re-entered our room, the heavy door locking behind us with a solid, satisfying thud.

The immediate need was simple: food. The morning's activity had burned through our energy reserves. I picked up the phone to dial room service.

Cosmos answered on the first ring, his voice smooth and professional. “Good afternoon, Cosmos speaking. How may I assist you?”

“Hi, Cosmos, it’s Deppgrl. We’d like to order lunch, please.”

There was a slight, almost imperceptible hesitation on his end. “I sincerely apologize, but the kitchen is completely closed until dinner prep begins. We had an unexpected surge in demand this morning due to the hotel being booked to maximum capacity, and we ran into a temporary issue with insufficient inventory. Our delivery of fresh produce and meat will arrive just before dinner service, but we simply cannot fulfill any further lunch orders right now.”

I frowned, glancing at Vic, who was already pulling out his phone. “Oh, I understand. It happens. Not an issue, friend!”

“I insist on assisting you immediately,” Cosmos cut in, his tone warm. “Please, order whatever you like from an outside restaurant—anything at all—and have it delivered. We will arrange for an agent to collect it at the security checkpoint and bring it right up. Of course, the charge for your lunch will be placed directly on my account. Consider it a thank you for your patience.”

I smiled, warmed by the gesture, though accepting such a generous personal offer felt inappropriate. “That’s incredibly kind of you, Cosmos,” I replied. “Thank free order something simple on our own. We truly appreciate the thought.”

“My absolute pleasure. Enjoy your meal, and please do let me know if you require anything else,” he replied, before ending the call.

I placed the phone back in its cradle, the silence heavy with decision. “Food truck,” I said. “I need something that's quick and off the hotel property."

Vic instantly agreed, his eyes lighting up at the thought of leaving the hotel again. “I’m in.” After a moment of rapid discussion, we settled on a local food truck I knew well. It, unfortunately, was in Scott’s neighborhood only a few blocks away. That was something that I wasn’t going to tell Vic until we got there.

The real diagnosis

The hospital's blue polyester blanket offered little comfort, its thin fabric a poor substitute for the warmth of peace. Yet, the heavy, anchoring presence of Vic at my side compensated for the sterile chill of the private exam room. We occupied the narrow confines of the gurney together, its rubber wheels locked and silent within the privacy Ronan had secured for us. Vic was utterly spent, his sleep deep and restorative, his soft, rhythmic exhale brushing my collarbone. It was the only weight I welcomed, a reassuring counterpoint to the dread that cinched my lungs.

I felt a bizarre envy for his oblivion. My own body refused to capitulate to rest. The residual exhaustion from the last two days had morphed into an energy, fueled by the muted clamor seeping in beneath the closed door—the muted conversations, the distant coughs, staff screaming out for crash carts, nurses calling security to come to the ER, and the relentless thrum of the institution. My physical anchors were the thin bundle of wires taped to my chest and arm, connecting me to the trio of sticky monitor pads. The machine beside my head offered a quiet, measured beep… beep…

My eyes tracked the cracks in the ceiling, a meaningless pattern that did little to distract from the lingering ghost of the cold, hard surface of the PET and CT scanners. The PET and CT were complete. We had rendered the necessary images, injected the contrast, and now the truth existed, digitized and waiting. I found myself in a state of excruciating suspension, balanced on the verge of life-altering news. I gently shifted my hand, my fingers interlacing with Vic’s where they rested against my hip. He muttered something low and indistinct in his sleep. I stayed perfectly still, listening to the dual, necessary rhythms: his solid breathing, and the monitor’s sterile confirmation of my survival.

He hadn't left my side for nearly forty-eight hours nor had me out of his sight for long, surviving on vending machine rations and uncomfortable chairs. Thankfully, he had real food before we arrived here. Now, finally, he was claiming his deserved rest.

The silence was broken by the squeak of approaching footwear, and my heart hammered against my ribs, a sudden, frantic counter-rhythm to the machine's steady beep. Vic sensed the shift. Though his eyes remained closed, his arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer to the familiar scent of his shirt.

“We’re okay,” he mumbled, his voice a gravelly comfort ripped from sleep before falling back asleep.

A brief, polite knock preceded the door opening. Ronan and his nurse Pia arrived back. Ronan held the results on a slim tablet, his expression guarded but notably softer than before. Pia offered a small, sincere smile—a vital sign of hope.

Ronan looked straight at me. “We have the results back from the PET and CT scans. There’s nothing of concern within your organs and bones. However, I think due to your situation with Patrick, the exhaustion and dehydration got the best of you.”

The wave of relief that crashed over me was so immediate and overwhelming it threatened to undo me. It felt like a deep, calcified vice around my entire being had been shattered. My eyes blurred immediately. I buried my face into Vic’s shoulder, a single sharp sigh escaped. The sound jolted Vic fully awake.

“Negative?” Vic’s voice cracked, raw with terror and exhaustion.

“Negative,” Ronan confirmed. “Structurally, based on the imaging, you are clear. However, the symptoms—uncontrollable shivering and sleeping—were profoundly real. The physical cause isn't a structural problem to your bones but mental trauma.”

Ronan's expression became one of focused empathy, his gaze holding mine. “What you experienced wasn’t being cold. It was a severe, acute response to trauma. The terror of knowing Patrick was loose as he escaped and was in extreme proximity to you, coupled with the finality of his death, combined with the physical strain of dehydration while exploring Auckland, it overloaded your central nervous system. Your body staged a complete emotional shutdown, a kind of seizure in response to overwhelming anxiety.”

The explanation resonated, chilling and undeniable. The fear of an unseen physical illness was replaced by the hollow understanding that the psychological wounds ran deeper than I had permitted myself to acknowledge.

“I’m moving to discharge you,” Ronan stated. “Are you still seeing your therapist?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Then I strongly urge you to begin discussing everything that dealt with Patrick over the last two days as soon as you can. You’re physically clear, but your mind needs dedicated recovery.”

“I agree,” I said. Vic said nothing, only pulling me tighter as the tension of the last two days finally dissolving.

Pia stepped forward. “That is truly excellent news. I’ll prepare your discharge papers now.”

“Vic, you’re the unofficial but officially unofficial caretaker of Deppgrl when you get back to the hotel,” Ronan said.

Ronan reviewed the aftercare instructions: rest as needed, eat throughout the day, stay hydrated but only use two rehydration packets a day – one in the morning and one in the afternoon – and to relax as much as possible. Vic and I nodded

After Ronan and Pia left, Vic did not move. He didn't leave the gurney until I was officially discharged.  Pia returned to peel away the wires and sticky monitor pads. Vic helped me into my clothes, and we left the blanket and the commotion behind. Stepping out of the room and into the main corridor was like re-entering the world after a long, blinding immersion.

The hospital's air, though filtered and cooled, felt like a rush of freedom. Vic’s hand never left the small of my back as we navigated the final corridors, his touch grounding and protective.

We passed through the automatic glass doors, and the late afternoon light of Auckland washed over us, weak but real. The city sounds—the rush of traffic, the low, wet sigh of tires on pavement—were overwhelming in their normalcy.

Agent Riley's black SUV was waiting precisely where it should have been; at the ER entrance. Riley, a familiar face with an air of contained competence, offered a tight nod as he held the door open for me. I slid onto the cushioned seat, a profound luxury after the gurney's vinyl. Vic followed but from the other side, but his movement was visibly slow and stiff. He had to use the frame of the door to lever himself in, his joints protesting audibly.

“Tough climb, old man?” I murmured, reaching for his hand.

He settled in, letting his head rest against the window for a second before turning to me. “That gurney was built to punish the sleep-deprived. I’ll be stiff for a few days.” He gave my hand a tired squeeze. “But I’ll take stiff over scared any day.”

Riley pulled away silently. We drove in comfortable silence, Vic’s arm wrapped securely around my shoulders, his chin resting lightly on my head. I watched the city blur past feeling like a foreigner that I am working in a country I didn’t know nor understand.

Riley pulled up at our hotel by a discreet side curb. Riley helped me get out of the car as Vic was slowly getting out of the car. I am thankful we had Riley as he ensured I was steady on my feet.

“I’ll take it from here, Riley. Thanks,” Vic said, rubbing his lower back.

“Get some rest,” Riley replied, nodding to me. “We’re right here when you need us.”

We walked inside of the hotel, holding hands. We took the elevator up to the sixth floor, got out and headed to a private elevator where Cosmos and Lorraine were waiting for us. They let us in and Vic hit the button for our floor and suit.

When we got to our floor, we saw three armed agents outside of our door. Vic didn't waste time as he pulled out the electronic key card from his wallet, unlocked the door, and let me step into the sanctuary of our room first. He followed, closing the door firmly, then immediately engaging the series of complex locking mechanisms we had installed ourselves—the double deadbolts, the metal bar brace, the electronic tamper sensors. The clunk and snap of the locks were the final, satisfying signal of security.

The room smelled faintly of clean laundry and the distant aroma of the ocean.

“Shower. Now,” I stated, already unbuttoning my shirt.

Vic chuckled, undoing his own belt. “You read my mind. I feel like I’m wearing the hospital.”

We stripped and got in the shower, forgetting that the shirts were in there already. The rush of hot water was a luxurious physical balm, washing away the tension and the lingering smell of antiseptic. As we showered, we unplugged the drain so the water from our soaking shirts could drain as well as take the hospital scent with it. We rinsed the laundry detergent out of the shirts, kneading the fabric until the water ran clear. The shirts came out clean and the grease from the birria tacos were no longer there. We took our time in the hot shower, letting the steam and the heat seep into our muscles. I leaned against his chest, listening to the solid beat of his heart.

“Promise me you’ll call your therapist tomorrow,” Vic murmured against my hair.

“I promise,” I said as I washed my hair for the third time before applying conditioner. I scrubbed my body with soap as Vic used another bar of soap to wash his hair and body…I could tell he was exhausted. We rinsed off.

Finally, we turned off the tap. We dried off, and the shower curtain was left open so we could hang the shirts over the shower rod to dry overnight without a barrier. I walked to the counter, took out my brush, and began the familiar, calming ritual of brushing and braiding my hair, a habit that always settled my nerves. I hung up my towel, brushed my teeth, applied deodorant, and headed straight for the bed.

As I got to the bed, I saw it: a small, cream-colored envelope on my pillow.

“What’s this?” I asked, picking it up.

Vic, who was hanging his towel on the rack, looked over. “Looks like some kind of note.”

I opened it. Inside was a handwritten note from Cosmos and Lorraine: “Dear Deppgrl, We very sorry to hear that you had an emergency. We and the staff are so relieved to know you are back with us and hoping you’re doing well now. Please let us know if either you or Vic need anything. We hope you feel much better very soon. Warmly, Cosmos and Lorraine”

The gesture was kind, but the thought of a note handled by multiple people resting where I put my face instantly broke my peace.

“No,” I decided instantly, dropping the card into the waste bin with a decisive thump. I stripped the pillowcase off the pillow and tossed it onto the floor in the pile of the clothes we wore to the hospital. “I don’t like things that have passed through many hands placed on where I am going to sleep.”

Vic came over and watched me find a fresh, clean pillowcase from the closet. He didn't argue. He knew this level of detail was part of my coping mechanism.

“Good call,” he said.

I adjusted the fresh pillow, smoothing the cotton. We folded the bedding further down to the foot of the bed so we could climb into bed. Once comfortable, we pulled up just the sheet.

The stillness was thick, but not the same sterile dread as the hospital. This was a quiet charged with exhaustion. I lay on my back, watching the shadows deepen in the room.

Ten minutes later, I shifted, my voice a quiet intrusion. “I can’t sleep.”

Vic exhaled slowly, the sound rough. “I can’t either.” He rolled toward me, his face close, his eyes reflecting the soft ambient light filtering through the window. “I’m too keyed up.”

I reached for him, rolling fully to face him. I kissed him, a long, deep kiss that tasted like steam and relief. As the kiss ended, I stretched my hand down to his hardening dick.

He gasped, a deep, immediate sound of pleasure. He cupped the back of my neck, pulling me back to his mouth. “Wait,” he whispered, his voice thick, his eyes searching mine. “Tell me, amore. Are you really wanting me, or are you just trying to forget everything?”

I held his gaze, my hand gripping him. “I want you. More than anything,” I told him, the truth of it solid and immediate. “I need you to remind me I’m here. Now.”

He smiled then, a flash of pure, loving relief, and kissed me hard. I began to stroke his dick, pulling him toward me. When he was ready, he spread my legs, pushed his large dick into my pussy, and started thrusting deep in me, slowly and gently.

“God, that’s good,” he muttered, his forehead resting against mine, his breathing ragged.

He picked up his pace. The long, slow tension of the hospital was finally, forcefully released in a building storm of pressure and heat. In no time, we climaxed, and he shot his cum in me.

He caught his breath for a second, his body heavy and still on top of mine, before he lifted his head and started sucking and pinching my nipples. He let out a low groan, and then, without warning, he began to thrust his dick in and out of me again. I moaned, the pleasure almost too much after the intensity of the day. “Don’t stop, Vic. Please, don’t stop,” I begged him.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice raw, his movements becoming more animal and driven. “Not until I can’t cum anymore.” We came again, a massive, shuddering climax that stole the breath from both of us. He shot his cum in me, his body shaking with the force of it.

Driven by a frantic, urgent need to reaffirm life and presence, we spent the next few hours having passionate sex throughout the room. We left the bed for the leather couch, where I took control in Cowgirl position, rocking and grinding with desperate energy. The momentum drew us toward the large bay window; with the curtains wide open, he lifted me and pressed me against the glass in a tight Standing Missionary, driving into me hard and fast, indifferent to the dark world outside. We didn’t care if people on the street could see us nor people in the other sky rises nearby. Finally, seeking a different sensation, we moved to the hard, cool surface of the bathroom counter. I sat on the counter edge, pulling him into me as he was controlling the speed and the angle as he stood between my legs, driving into me until the echoes of the hospital were completely silenced by the sounds of skin and breath

We finally returned to the bed, collapsing onto the sheets. Vic moved over me, his powerful dick driving deep inside me for the last time this night. This final time was a quiet force, a powerful, steady rhythm that settled deep in my core, less frantic than the earlier passion and more profound. As the final climax broke over us, Vic's entire body seized. His groan was deep and primal as his long, shuddering orgasm began, filling me with a final, load of cum. The release was a deep, powerful draining torrent of cum, the culmination of all the tension we had carried; his muscles continued to contract and release, his whole frame trembling for several minutes as his dick twitched and pulsed inside me until he was completely empty of cum. He collapsed forward, his great weight sinking onto me, a final, comforting anchor.

He finally pulled out of me and laid down next to me as he pulled me into his arms, tucking me against his chest.

“Do you think you can sleep now, amore?” he asked, his voice rough but deeply content.

“Yes, Papa” I answered, the word a soft sigh.

He smiled, kissed the top of my head, and said, “Good. I can too, amore.”

He pulled me closer to him, pulled up the sheets to cover us, and we fell asleep.