The pitch was chaos — bodies colliding, boots stomping, voices roaring with victory. Hughie Biggs stood in the middle of it all, jersey soaked in sweat, heart hammering in his chest. Tommen had done it. The kind of win you remember forever.

He should’ve been smiling.

Instead, when the coach shoved the mic into his hands and the crowd quieted, waiting for the captain’s speech, Hughie blinked into the stadium lights like a man trying to remember how to breathe.

“I wasn’t gonna say much,” he began, voice scratchy. “But…”

He glanced toward the stands.

She wasn’t there.

Of course she wasn’t.

“But there’s someone I used to know — someone who told me ten seconds can change everything. Ten seconds to choose courage. Ten seconds to say something that scares the life outta you. Ten seconds to love someone when you’ve got no idea how.”

The crowd hushed.

“She taught me how to be brave,” Hughie said. “She taught me that winning doesn’t mean a thing if you lose yourself… or lose someone you’d burn the world down for.”

He exhaled, quieter now. “I broke things. We broke things. But this game… this win… it’s for her.”

The mic hung loose in his hand as he stepped off the stage, away from the lights and the noise, toward the only place that mattered — the silence he’d earned.

The town would celebrate that night. But Hughie wouldn’t.

He’d drive home alone, a medal heavy around his neck, and a name — Lizzie — heavier still in his chest.

Lizzie hadn’t planned to listen.

She didn’t care about rugby anymore. Or so she said. But when she walked to the kitchen to get some food.

She heard the yells of fans

Then came his voice.

It rolled through the room like a memory, sharp and familiar. She told herself not to react.

But then he said it:

“Ten seconds.”

Her throat closed.

Their thing.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t call. Didn’t move — not right away. When the crowd cheered and the audio faded, she sat in silence for a long time, heart thudding too loud for comfort.

That night, she didn’t go to any parties or open any old messages.

She walked.

All the way to the empty pitch, where the lights still buzzed and the grass was damp and cold beneath her shoes. There, on the lowest bleacher, sat Hughie. Alone. Hood up, shoulders hunched.

Just a boy again.