Page 11 of Contested

It did not sit cleanly. Maybe because Sebastian’s face kept arriving with it.

He saw Sebastian on the oval, arms folded, eyes flat with anger he was doing a bad job of hiding. Over the past few weeks, Sebastian had run through drills tight-mouthed and precise.

Sebastian Nguyen was annoying. But he was also good.

That part was inconvenient.

As much as Sebastian got on his nerves, and how much they had competed with each other, even in their younger days, Marcos wouldn’t outright say he was the better of the two.

It was easier when other people said it. His dad, or commentators, or teammates who only saw the highlights and the centre bounces and the fact that Marcos had the ruck position now. They didn’t have all the smaller pieces Marcos did.

Sebastian at ten, skinny and furious, shoving him after a centre bounce because Marcos had got both hands to the ball first. Sebastian at thirteen, mud on one cheek, jaw set so hard it looked painful. Sebastian at sixteen, already moving like he knew exactly where Marcos wanted to put his body and how to make that difficult.

They had been doing this too long for Marcos to believe it was simple.

Marcos turned the corner and slowed slightly as the footpath dipped near a driveway. The music kept pushing, but his thoughts had gone somewhere else. Back to the Mustangs’ oval. Back to Sebastian jogging beside him.

Marcos smiled before he caught himself.

Then the smile faded.

He had ruck, and Sebastian did not.

It was easy to joke about it when Sebastian glared at him, easy to say “sidekick” and “second best” because Sebastian reacted so easily. But alone, with the streets stretching ahead and his legs moving on habit, Marcos could admit what had been playing on his mind.

He didn’t think he was the better player.

|| Chapter Three ||

Marcos – “You’re so fucking weird”

MID DECEMBER

“You know what you need?” Parker asked, coming to stand next to Marcos, breathing hard with his hands on his hips.

Friday morning had already dragged itself long past the point where it felt reasonable for anyone to be dragging their feet with tiredness, though it didn’t stop some people. The sun had climbed high enough to sit bright over the Mustangs’ oval, though the air still held a bit of early-summer cool whenever the wind cut through. Training had been going all morning. Small-sided drills first, then kicking under pressure, then more drills, which mainly consisted of Jacob being too picky with how everyone was performing.

The whole team still wasn’t training together every day. Some of the older players were in and out around modified training blocks, rehab, meetings, or the kind of pre-season programs Marcos didn’t have enough years behind him to question properly.

They were split into groups now, working through an agility course that ran in crooked lines across one side of the oval. Cones marked out sharp turns, short bursts, lateral steps, and a final acceleration to the finish line. The assistant trainers had set up three versions of it, all slightly different.

Marcos had been with Parker for most of the morning. Which he didn’t mind. They got along well enough, and Parker was easy to talk to. Mainly because he struggled to keep his mouth shut. If there was a silence surrounding them, he felt the need to fill it. Unfortunately, most of the things he had filled it with were questions about Sebastian.

How long had Marcos known him? Had they always hated each other? How often had they gotten into a fight on the field? Had it ever happened off the field? And too many more.

Marcos had answered them all because he didn’t see the point in not answering them.

Of course, Parker kept going.

“What?” Marcos stared at him, eyebrow raised.

“One of those finger traps.” Parker placed the tips of his index fingers together, bouncing them off each other. “So you and little Seb can get along.”

Marcos’ mouth dropped open, his hand coming to his chest to feign shock. “How could you? We get along great.”

“He called you a weasel yesterday.”

“Pet name. Watch.” Marcos turned, eyes landing on Sebastian as he ran his hand through his black hair. “Hey, Seb. I’ll spot you at the gym later. I hear you’re finally putting plates on the bar, and I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”