Page 43 of Contested

Last night had already told Sebastian enough. He didn’t need Marcos to explain the way his face had changed after.

But this was daylight. Training. Lockers. Their coach standing a few metres away with a clipboard under his arm.

Marcos refusing to look at him here felt worse.

Sebastian gave his head a small shake, then sat down on the other end of the bench, leaning his back against the lockers.

“You’re not in fucking primary school,” Jacob said, looking between the men. “Grow up and sit next to each other.”

Marcos moved quickly, getting to his feet and shifting himself next to Sebastian. He still didn’t lift his gaze. Didn’t give any indication that he even glanced Sebastian’s way.

They sat there, waiting for Jacob to speak.

Sebastian’s body was relaxed because he made it relax. Arms loose in his lap. Legs slightly spread. Back resting against the lockers behind him as though the whole thing was irritating rather than threatening. Everything arranged against the tightness wound in his chest and under his skin.

Marcos was the opposite. His body held tight. Sebastian noticed the tension in his muscles, the flex down his arms and into his legs, the way his hands stayed clasped between his knees. His shoulders were set too high. His jaw worked once, then stopped. He looked as though he was waiting for Jacob to start yelling, or for Sebastian to say something, or for the ground to open under both of them.

Then, with a slow exhale, Marcos loosened. His shoulders dropped. His fingers uncurled. His legs shifted until his thigh rested against Sebastian’s.

Sebastian almost flinched away.

The sudden warmth sat wrong. The contact felt like a mistake. It sat against the side of his leg, solid and deliberate, casual enough to look like nothing if Jacob noticed. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Marcos had only run out of room on the bench. Maybe his body had shifted without his head catching up, the same way it had last night when he crossed Sebastian’s living room and put his mouth on him.

Sebastian kept his eyes forward. Marcos didn’t move. So, neither did he.

“It’s good to see both of you came today,” Jacob started, fingers tapping on his clipboard. “That bruise seems to have developed quite nicely.”

Sebastian’s eyes flicked toward Marcos, but he couldn’t see the bruise he had left sitting on the other side of Marcos’ face. He wondered if it had gotten worse since last night. Or how much it hurt now.

Sebastian’s bruises hadn’t been that bad. He hadn’t been hit that hard. The fight he’d been in had given him marks, sure, but they had already started to fade. Marcos had received almost a clean hit from him, though, and considering the constant throb Sebastian still had in his knuckles, he was sure the other man was feeling something.

“Look, boys, this shit has to stop,” Jacob continued. “What even happened yesterday? Seb?”

Sebastian’s heart climbed into his throat, and he swallowed hard. “Sorry, Coach. Personal stuff was going on, and I lost it.”

Marcos shifted beside him. Not much. Barely anything. But Sebastian felt it through the side of his thigh and hated that he noticed.

Jacob watched him. “I get it. But, fuck, you can’t bring that shit out against your own team. Now, obviously, I don’t want you to take swings at anyone, but pick your fucking battles.”

Sebastian nodded, his head knocking softly against the lockers behind him. His fingers picked at the skin around his nails, finding a rough edge and pulling until it stung.

“I was serious yesterday. This shit has to stop. I am not dealing with it.” Jacob took a breath. “You guys are good. But if I need to pull a reserve in for you, I will. Understood?”

Sebastian and Marcos muttered a shallow, “Yes,” and Jacob nodded.

The word landed weakly between them.

Sebastian hated that too. They sounded like boys in trouble. Not professional athletes. Not grown men who had fought their way into contracts and starting positions. Boys who had been hauled away from everyone else because they couldn’t be trusted to stand in a group without making the club look stupid.

Jacob’s gaze shifted from one to the other. “I need the both of you to understand how serious this is.” He took a seat opposite them, on the small bench splitting the room. “You were lucky there was no one watching the mock game. Cameras, stories, fucking TikTok posts. The news cycle would come out with God knows what bullshit. How do you think that’ll look for you guys? Or the club? Or me? Do you know how bad it would be if what you two did got out?”

Sebastian’s breath caught.

His gaze darted to Marcos, then dipped to the floor between his feet. He knew he should be thinking about what happened on the field. The punch. The fight. The anger. That was what Jacob was talking about. What this whole thing was about.

That wasn’t where Sebastian’s mind went, though.

It steered him somewhere quieter. Somewhere more private.