The millisecond the ball leaves my fingers, Mathias’s hands are around my stomach, his shoulder against my hip, and we both go down. Roll.
Mathias is on his feet faster than me, ready to give chase to Lando, but Lando’s fucking gone, those Usain Bolt legs of his already propelling him over the try line before I’ve even lifted my head.
He smiles at me, all brilliant white gum-shield teeth, and grounds the ball.
The air thunders with celebration. We run over to Lando to congratulate him with hugs, and rub our hands through his sweaty hair.
“Well played,” I say, pulling him to my chest.
“Love you, Mr B,” he says, breaking apart. Or at least I think that’s what he says. The crowd are so raucous it’s difficult to be sure.
Daisy calls for the conversion and Harry makes it easily.
In the end, Team Boss loses the match by seven points, and I didn’t get to score my try, but I’ve never felt happier or more full of love than I do right now.
“Freed From Desire” blasts through the PA system, and Molly films a few full-time interviews for the live-streamers as the stands empty. Some people stop by the food carts or the portaloos on their way out, but mostly it’s a mass exodus to the car parks.
Lando is awarded man of the match, but when Daisy tries to corner him to give him his plastic eBay trophy, he darts over the style to the neighbouring field with Harry Ellis and isn’t seen for the rest of the day.
A queuing system for the showers is established by a sevens regular, and one by one people filter out of the event.
Mathias and I stay. We chat to the stragglers looking for autographs and selfies. We help the vendors pack up their bits and bobs. We litter pick until it’s just us two remaining on the club grounds.
Daisy and Molly have headed up the hill to The Little Thatch where the after party awaits. Zia is going to bring us endless pizza, and Viv and a few others are working the bar to give me a break from it all.
“Thank you for today,” I say to Mathias when we finally stop buzzing around like drones. My voice cracks. I can’t seem to summarise everything it means to have him here, and to know this isn’t our last evening together, but I’m certain that if I attempt to do it now, I’ll end up crying.
Mathias cradles my face. Dried sweat, suncream, and mud pull my skin taut, but I ignore the ick as he brings his lips down to mine.
His kiss is achingly tender, and over far too quickly. He collects a rogue ball and tosses it to me.
“One-on-one?” he says, already jogging out to the halfway line.
And we play, just the two of us, until I finally score my try.
37
Sunday 21st June 2026
Mathias
I’ve had an entire year of officially being Owen Bosley’s boyfriend, and it’s easily been the best of the thirty I’ve spent on this planet.
We wake up together every morning. On training days, I’ll plate him up some breakfast and leave it on the dining table with a note scribbled onto the magnetic shopping-list pad. It usually says something like“I love you”or“Remember last night, mind?”He’ll sleep in as I go off to the Cents’ grounds to practise.
I’ve spent another season with the Bath Centurions, and signed a contract renewal for ’26/’27, though I’m definitely noticing the differencesbetween twenty-two-year-old me and me now, and it’s . . . a little alarming, of course it is. My stamina’s not what it once was. My flexibility has taken a hit too, and I’m hyperaware of my career’s end looming ever closer, but I’ve witnessed firsthand all the amazing things that await me in my retirement, and for once I’m not shitting myself about the future.
On Wednesdays we plan the pub quizzes, and on Thursdays we host them. Every quarter there’s a mega quiz. It’s my favourite thing ever, like . . . Of. All. Time.
At the last mega quiz, we had twelve wild-card rounds on the most random of random subjects. The picture round was famous bears, the music round wasBridgertonstring quartet covers of pop songs, and for the food and drink round, we had ten different types of mushrooms to identify. Lando tried to eat them all. His theory was that at least one of them would be a liberty cap.
Owen actually slapped the back of his head.“Like I’d let any of my kids do drugs in my pub,”he’d said.
On the weekends when I don’t have a match, we explore the forests, the museums, the manor houses, the castles, the towns, and the beaches of Wales and South West England.
It’s beautiful. Both the landscapes and our relationship. We hold hands in public, kiss, go for romantic dinners. We don’t have to hide ourselves any more. Occasionally folk will approach us for autographs, or to tell us their son or daughter is queer and also loves rugby and that they appreciate the example we’re setting for the world.
On Sundays we play sevens. Though we’ve had such a massive influx of new people signing up, there are far too many players for a seven-a-side game. Then we all have a roast at The Little Thatch.
