Page 49 of Contested

He straightened slowly and turned.

Marcos was staring at him.

Not at his face.

At his body.

Sebastian held still, gripping the waistband of his underwear. Marcos’ gaze was on his chest first, then lower, taking in skin, muscle, the faint line where the cut had been. His expression wasn’t blank now. It wasn’t hidden behind panic or the hard focus of training.

It was open enough that Sebastian forgot, for one dangerous second, that they weren’t alone.

Marcos’ eyes lifted.

He caught Sebastian watching him.

For two weeks, Marcos had looked away first. In the gym. In the hallway. Across the oval. Every time Sebastian got close to seeing something, Marcos had stepped back behind lowered eyes, silence, or whatever careful restraint he kept forcing onto his own face.

This time, he didn’t.

Marcos met Sebastian’s gaze and held it.

Sebastian was the one to shift first, gaze dropping as his body turned. Then he heard Marcos pick up his bag and leave the locker room.

A breath rattled out of Sebastian as he dropped his gaze, the weight of Marcos’ attention still sitting on his skin.

|| Chapter Twelve ||

Marcos – “I need to listen more”

EARLY MARCH

The sound of the crowd was loud enough that Marcos felt it in his bones as the Mustangs jogged onto the field.

It rolled across the Sydney Cricket Ground in uneven waves, cheers and boos folding over each other until they lost their shape and became pressure instead. Sydney Storm supporters filled most of the seats, the black and blue colours rising around the oval, and the smaller pockets of Mustangs fans had to fight to be heard through it. Every shout seemed to skate across the grass and climb higher under the white stadium lights.

Saturday night hit differently in Sydney. Cooler than home. Less welcoming. The air had a certain edge to it that made Marcos’ skin tighten as he moved, and the ground beneath his boots was too perfect.

The oval was different, too. This wasn’t one of the smaller grounds where drills were run and reserve games got played in front of staff, families, and a few bored supporters who had wandered in early. This was the SCG. Seats rising in every direction. Boundary signage sharp and bright. The posts standing white at either end. Lines painted on the grass cleanly enough that Marcos thought they must have been redone that morning.

His eyes swept the crowd. Almost fifty thousand seats, and nearly all of them were full.

His heart pounded heavily in his chest, and he felt it everywhere. Down his legs, in his fingertips, in his ears. He’d known this game had been coming for months. Knew who they’d be up against and where it would be.

Round One, away, against the Sydney Storm.

The first real game in Mustangs’ maroon and gold colours. The first time all the training, all the forced drills, all the revised gym work, and all the weeks of Jacob watching him and Sebastian too closely had to become something that mattered on a scoreboard.

The Sydney Storm were already on the field, spread across the far wing, warming up and stretching in front of the louder sections of the crowd. Marcos’ eyes tracked them as the Mustangs moved farther onto the field and came to rest inside one of the fifties. The Storm players looked settled in a way that away teams rarely did. Familiar turf under their boots. Familiar crowd behind them. Familiar rooms waiting somewhere under the stands.

Marcos rolled his shoulders once.

The rest of the team was loud amongst themselves, talking and hyping each other up as they moved into the first stretch of warm-ups. Marcos joined in clapping Parker on the back and slid into a huddle group of teammates.

“We’ve got this, boys!” Marcos exclaimed, and was met with a few whoops.

“Fuck, yeah. We’ll crush them,” Andrew joined in, and the guys cheered again.

The noise helped. Not enough to settle him, but enough to give the nerves somewhere to go. Marcos bounced on the balls of his feet and shook his arms out.