Page 83 of The Fullback
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hunter
Pressure squeezedme from all sides as the scrum engaged, my muscles burning as nearly nine hundred kilograms of front row collided with each other.
My head was buried between Jaden’s and West’s hips, my shoulders pressing into their arses, with my left arm threaded through Jaden’s legs in front of me to grasp the waistband of his shorts, locking myself into position, and my right arm across Gabriel’s back where he was wedged in beside me, helping to hold him steady.
Hot, sweaty, stinking air filled my lungs as I fought to stay stable against the immense forces trying to crush me. I heaved forwards, pushing against Jaden and West as our opponents tried to send us backwards, to make us give way, bend and collapse onto the ground in a heap.
The sound of the crowd had all but vanished, replaced by grunting and groaning as we strained together.
“Come on. Heave,” West said, his voice rough and broken. The match had been a brutal one, with Exeter pushing us fromthe first minute, and all of us were on the verge of breaking. But that didn’t matter. There was no room in the scrum for exhaustion.
My feet dug into the turf as I threw my weight forwards again, sucking more sweaty air into my mouth. Jaden needed to lay off the fucking Lynx Africa, or whatever other god-awful deodorant he was using, because it tasted rank and smelt worse.
The pressure eased with a sudden jolt as the scrum disintegrated, all of us sinking to our knees and gasping in air. But there was no time to rest. Exeter were already up, their scrum-half passing the ball to a winger, who tore off down the pitch. Thank fuck we had people ready to stop him.
Or try, at least.
The bugger was fast and wiggly, sliding through holes in our defence like a hamster in a maze. Exeter knew all our weaknesses and had seemingly set out to test them one by one, breaking through the cracks in our play faster than we could close them up. It wasn’t just physically exhausting; it was mentally draining too.
And now we were twenty points down and trying to play catch-up.
Part of me hoped I’d be subbed out, but I knew deep down it wasn’t going to happen. We needed fresh legs at the front of the scrum and more energy in the backs if we wanted to have a shot at evening the score. I was going to have to tough it out on shaking legs and burning lungs, bruises already forming on my ribs and blood crusting on my cheek from a brush with a boot.
This was rugby at its toughest.
But that was what I’d trained for.
Now was the time to dig deep and fuel myself with my desire to win and my love of the game. To channel my resilience and push until the final whistle. There was no time to think aboutanything else, especially not how bloody miserable I’d been since Aiden had left last week.
That could wait until afterwards.
Although at this rate I’d have two things to mope about.
“On your feet,” West said, grabbing my hand and pulling me up. He was equally battered, a spectacular cheek bruise starting to form and Steri-Strips across his eyebrow where it’d been split open in the first half. “Ten minutes to go.”
“Thank fuck,” I said.
“Don’t thank me yet.” He glanced across at the edge of the pitch where one of the officials was holding up a board with substitutions. West’s number was on it, as were Jaden’s, Danny’s, and Bailey’s.
“See you later,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder and wincing as something pulled in my own shoulder. I was going to be sore tomorrow. And the day after. I wasalmostlooking forward to an ice bath and a sports massage.
Almost.
“You’ve fucking got this,” West said. “Hold the fucking line.”
“I’ll try.” I didn’t think it was going to be possible, but we’d do our best. As I watched the four of them jog off the pitch, I noticed Bailey was limping slightly and I grimaced. That was all I bloody needed. Bailey was a fucking nightmare when he was injured, and getting him to sit still and rest was an extreme test of patience.
I’d have to find some rope and tie him to the fucking sofa.
Maybe Aiden would have some in his toy box. It was worth asking. Then he’d have to come and see us again.
The last ten minutes ticked by agonisingly slowly, every second feeling like a year and every minute like an eternity. By the time the final whistle blew, all I wanted was to lie down.
We lost by seventeen in the end, with Devon kicking a penalty in the seventy-eighth minute to shave a fraction off our deficit. It wasn’t much of a consolation prize.
Bailey was already sitting on the bench in the changing room when we all trooped in. He had an ice pack on his ankle and was eating a fried chicken wrap, sweet chilli sauce dripping down his fingers. He offered me a tired smile as I sat down next to him, groaning as I finally took the weight off my feet.
