Simon Riley had one goal: go pro. He’d been scouted since he was 14, and if he played his cards right, he’d have his pick of professional teams when he graduated high school. His private school demanded perfection—good grades, a clean record, and an image to uphold. None of that mattered to Simon as much as rugby did. Every day, he pushed himself harder, refusing to let anything hold him back.

Last year, a bad tackle sent a cleat straight into his left thigh near his groin. It nearly ended everything. The coaches, his doctors, and his adoptive parents—his aunt and uncle, Iris and Quince—told him to take it slow. But he couldn’t afford to. Being on the sidelines too long meant risking his future, so he trained relentlessly, ignoring the pain. His body ached, his temper flared, and he was constantly hungry. He had to eat every 4 hours to combat that, and had to eat cleanly. No junk food, only salads, soups, and sandwiches loaded with protein and carbs.

Simon had no time for distractions. He’d sworn off dating years ago, though that hadn’t stopped him from keeping an “arrangement” with Natalie. She loved the attention of being associated with him, always pushing to be in photos, but now that his injury made things… difficult, she wouldn’t stop nagging. He cut her off for good… well, at least he tried.

Today was just another brutal training session—until his frustration boiled over. His team wasn’t trying hard enough. His coach was wasting his time. With a growl, he sent the ball flying in a fit of rage. He barely had time to register the sharp thwack before realizing what happened.

Some poor lass had been cutting across the field to get to class at the worst possible moment.