The rugby pitch looked like a battlefield. Grass torn, jerseys stained, and the air vibrating with leftover adrenaline.

Coach O’Malley was red in the face, screaming himself hoarse, his whistle abandoned in the mud somewhere between Hughie’s elbow and Joey’s right hook.

And through the storm of blood, sweat, and furious shouting, one thing echoed clear and obnoxious from the locker room speakers:

“Scotty Doesn’t Know.”

Again.

Louder.

And this time, with harmonizing—Gibsie’s doing, probably.

Patrick sat on the bench outside the changing rooms, forearms on his knees, blood trailing from his busted lip. One eye was already swelling shut. He spat into the grass and winced.

Footsteps. Then her voice.

“Jesus, Patrick.”

He looked up. His sunshine—his best friend—hovered in front of him, hair wind-tossed, eyes burning. Behind her trailed Hughie, Gibsie, Johnny, and Joey, all equally roughed up and grinning like they’d just won something worth bleeding for.

“Should’ve seen what Sean looks like,” Joey muttered smugly.

Patrick didn’t look away from her.

“He said it like I wouldn’t hear,” he rasped. “Told one of the lads he only asked you out to—”

“I know,” she said quickly. “Katie heard it too.”

She crouched in front of him, pulling tissues and a bottle of water from her bag. Her touch was careful, soft, wiping under his eye like he might break. But he already had.

Not from the punch—he’d taken worse. But from the flash of pain in her face when she saw him like this.

“Why are you always the one bleeding for me?” she whispered.

“Because I’d rather bleed than let him treat you like that.”

Scotty Doesn’t Know blasted louder.

Patrick chuckled under his breath, a short, broken sound. “Remind me to kill Gibsie.”

“You’re all idiots,” she muttered, pressing the water bottle to his hand. “Big, stupid, loyal idiots.”

She stood up and leaned against the wall beside him, arms folded. And after a moment, her fingers brushed his.

Neither of them said anything about it.

But she didn’t let go.

And Patrick didn’t move away.

Inside, Coach kept yelling.

Outside, Sean was probably spitting grass and rage.

But in that space between her fingers and his, there was quiet.

Even if Scotty Still Didn’t Know.