As worlds collide - A Patty Carrigan story

The clash

The music in the studio stopped suddenly, cut mid-phrase. Someone had slammed the door too hard.

Vivianna's jaw tensed as she held her final position a beat longer than needed, arms poised overhead, toes pointed in defiance. The room had been still. Focused. Until now.

Twelve rugby players stood in the entryway like bulls in a porcelain shop, massive, sweaty, out of place, and entirely too loud for the polished quiet of her world.

The tallest one in front had a tangle of damp, light brown curls and the kind of stride that said he didn't care if he was noticed, he expected to be. His sleeveless training shirt clung to a broad chest, and he surveyed the studio with the same wary confidence Viv had seen on the faces of new recruits during partner auditions. Like he was sizing up the space for weakness.

She looked away before their eyes met.

"This is a professional studio," she muttered under her breath, rolling her shoulders out as she walked to the barre. "Not a gym."

Across the room, Nadia Petrova, the woman responsible for this disaster, clapped her hands.

"Alright. Attention, everyone."

The rugby boys slowly stopped their side-chatter. A few ballerinas glanced nervously at each other. Lyra didn't look. She already knew how this would go.

"Welcome to the first session of Cross-Discipline Fusion," Nadia said, her accent slicing through the tension like a blade. "You are here because you are the best in your fields. The strongest. The most technical. And possibly"—her eyes passed over the footballers—"the most stubborn."

Nervous laughter.

"We're going to explore how partner dynamics, lift control, and movement mechanics translate across sport and performance. You will be paired—ballerina and rugby player—for the next six weeks."

More murmurs. Vivianna's stomach dropped.

Nadia continued, unfazed. "You will work together. Learn each other's rhythms. Bodies. Balance. No switching. No complaints. This is not for show. It's to see if art and power can coexist."

A ballerina to her left leaned over and whispered, "This is going to be a disaster."

Lyra didn't reply. But she agreed.

Nadia began calling out names.

"Alicia and Jordan."

A willowy brunette and a dark-haired player with sleeve tattoos stepped forward.

"Claire and Selwyn."

And so it went.

Until—

"Vivianna and Patrick Carrigan."

She blinked.

No. No, absolutely not.

She turned slowly, reluctantly and her gaze crashed right into his.

He raised an eyebrow. And smiled.

It was not a kind smile. Not mocking, exactly. But self-assured in the way that said: This is gonna be fun for me. Shame about you.

She narrowed her eyes and crossed the floor toward him, arms folded across her chest.

"You've done ballet before?" she asked, clipped.

He looked down at her, amused. "Only if stretching in the change room counts."

She gave a dry, disbelieving laugh. "Great."

Patty's smile faded a little. "Look, I didn't ask for this either."

"No one did," she snapped. "But some of us trained for years to be here. Not... crashed in with cleats and ego."

He tilted his head. "Alright. You don't like me. That's fine."

"I don't even know you," she said. "But you came in late. Loud. And now I'm supposed to trust you not to drop me on my spine."

He looked at her for a long second.

Then said, "Don't worry. I don't drop people."

Vivianna felt her pulse tick faster. Not because of the words. But because, damn him, he said it like he meant it.

They stood on the floor mat ten minutes later, face to face, body to body, attempting a basic supported arabesque.

Her arm was extended behind her, Patty's hand under her ribs, his other palm supporting the inside of her knee as she lifted into a tilt.

"Don't grip," she said through clenched teeth. "You're holding too tight. It's not a wrestling match."

"I'm trying not to let you fall," he replied, jaw tight. "You're the one who told me not to drop you."

"You're stiff."

"And you're bossy."

Their eyes met again.

For a moment, the air between them stretched taut, something sharp, hot, and unspoken.

Then Nadia's voice broke through.

"Next group! Switch!"

Patty lowered her slowly, his fingers slipping from her waist.

Vivianna didn't look at him again.

But her skin still tingled where he'd touched her.