St. Finnian University. Late Afternoon. The pitch was a churned-up battlefield. Mud splashed high with every cleat-stomped step, the smell of sweat, grass, and damp wool filling the air. Rain had come and gone earlier, leaving behind a slick field that made every tackle harder, every grip looser, and every hit louder.

“Line it up again!” Kerry Keegan’s voice cut through the wind like a whip crack.

He stood at the centre of it all, dark hair damp, jersey half untucked, thighs like tree trunks smeared in mud. His eyes, cold and hyper focused, swept across the field as his team moved to reset the drill. No laughing. No joking. Just heavy breathing and the rustle of bodies readying for another clash.

Someone spat into the grass. Someone else cracked their neck. The scrum half tossed the ball into Keegan’s hands, and he caught it like it owed him something.

Dec Molloy jogged up beside him, grinning like the devil. “Take it easy, Cap. We’re not gettin’ paid for this.”

“You’re not getting paid because you botched that ruck,” Keegan muttered without looking at him.

“I botched it?” Declan said, mock offended, as he rubbed mud off his forehead with the back of his forearm. “You passed like a man with no eyes.”

“That wasn’t a pass. It was a feint.”

“That wasn’t a feint. That was a cry for help.”

A few of the lads chuckled as they jogged into position. The team breathed easier whenever Dec opened his mouth, even Keegan, though he’d never say it out loud.

“Ready?” Keegan barked, ignoring the laughter.

He caught the ball from the scrum half and rolled his shoulders. Then: “Dec, go blind. I’m sending it wide.”

Declan gave a mock salute, then lowered into position with a grin. “Just try not to knock me out this time, golden boy.”

The whistle blew. Everything exploded into motion.

Boots tore up earth. Shoulders slammed. Grunts, curses, the squelch of bodies colliding at speed. Keegan spun, faked left, then launched the ball right—clean, fast, a bullet in the rain.

The whistle shrieked from the sideline. Bodies exploded off the line. Keegan pivoted hard and launched a pass across the pitch. Too quick, too sharp. The kind of pass that split seconds off the clock. It should have been clean. It wasn’t.

The ball struck someone on the sideline with a sickening thud. Not Dec, like it should have. Everything stopped.

A girl, someone’s sister, someone’s classmate, someone who’d been too close to the field? Keegan didn’t know. He just saw her drop like a rag doll into the muddy grass. The breath whooshed out of the team. A couple of lads swore.

Keegan’s boots pounded over before anyone else moved.

“Fuck. Shit. Are you..?”

He dropped to his knees, hands hovering over her limp shoulder, mud dripping off his fingers. Her hair was splayed across her face, cheeks pale, the rugby ball still slowly rolling to a stop beside her.

“Get me a towel. Something dry,” he snapped over his shoulder.

Dec muttered a swear word and took off running toward the changing rooms, his blond curls full of mud.

Keegan cradled the back of her head, his brows pinched, jaw locked tight. “Hey,” he said, quieter now. “Can you hear me?”

She stirred faintly.

“Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry. That was meant for the flanker.”

More footsteps surrounded them, heavy and uncertain. Big lads, silent now. They gathered around, letting Cap take the lead. Keegan always seemed to know what to do. The field, which moments ago rang with shouts and collisions, was deathly still. Rain started again, light, just enough to turn the sweat and mud into streaks across her cheek.

Someone handed him a hoodie. He rolled it up and slipped it under her head.

“I’ll take the lass to the nurse’s office,” he said without waiting for a reply.

Keegan lifted her carefully, one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, his thick arms easily managing the weight. The girl murmured something as her head fell against his shoulder, but he was already walking, fast and deliberate, muttering under his breath.

“Shite. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Back on the field, the team just watched him go, silent and a little stunned.

“Tell Coach we’re done for today,” Keegan shouted over his shoulder. “We’re not finishing shit.” And if Cap said the practice was over, it was over.

Keegan felt the panic rise as he felt her limp body in his arms. He knew how hard a rugby ball could hit from that distance. Shite. He moved up to the nurse’s office quickly, he knew that route well, he’d spent more time in that office than in class.

She opened her eyes just as his shoulder pushed open the door. A breath of relief punched out of him.

"Sweet Jaysus, she’s awake," he sighed.