You pull into the small car park behind AFC Richmond’s stadium, engine humming into silence as you grab your kit bag from the passenger seat. The strap snags in the door as always, and you mutter under your breath, yanking it free before heading inside.

The stadium’s quiet this early—too early, really. Just the sound of your footsteps echoing softly as you make your way toward the clinic to set up for the day. You unlock the door, pushing it open with your shoulder, and flick on the light.

“Jesus, Jamie!” you gasp, nearly dropping your bag as you catch sight of him already sitting on one of the treatment tables, elbows on his knees like he’s been there a while. Your hand instinctively flies to your chest, heart pounding against your palm.

He doesn’t flinch. Just lifts his head slightly, eyes cast downward. “Sorry,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Didn’t mean to scare ya. Just… wanted to see you.”

You swallow hard, tension rising in your shoulders. It’s been months since the two of you split. Months of barely speaking unless it was about an injury or on the training ground. And now here he is, in your space, before sunrise.