Page 5 of Contested

Phetmany was next to Sebastian, barely up to his shoulder, compact and quick. He had gone back home to Laos over the break, which Sebastian knew because Randal had mentioned it in the car park while talking through half the team at speed.

Parker stood two spots over, mullet shifting whenever he turned his head, and Kirk was beside him, dark skin already shining with sweat despite the cold. Edgar completed the circle—round face, square shoulders, and a smile too bright for the time of morning.

Sebastian ran their names through his mind several times, making sure they all stuck. He’d seen most of them before. On the field, competing for the ball. Now, he had to get to know them all in a new light. Learn how to work with them instead of against.

“I’m still kinda pissed we lost the semis against the Storm,” Parker said, grimacing as he caught the ball and sent it on. His mullet swung with the motion.

“Yeah, fuck Sydney,” Kirk chimed in, the ball hitting his hands and leaving just as fast.

“We’ve got them next season,” Edgar said, clasping Sebastian’s shoulder when the circle shifted. “Our two new centre players will make sure of that.”

Sebastian forced a smile.

“New centre players.”

Plural.

It should have sounded professional, maybe even promising. Instead, it dragged Marcos into the space beside him again, whether Marcos was there or not.

Kirk scoffed. “Yeah, if they don’t kill each other before we get to round one.”

A couple of the others laughed.

Not cruelly. Not yet. Just enough to make it clear the reputation had arrived before Sebastian had. Players watched other players. Clips circulated. People loved a rivalry when they did not have to stand in the middle of it. Sebastian and Marcos had been easy content for two seasons. Two young rucks, same draft year, different clubs, too much heat in every contest. Put them in the same colours, and everyone suddenly had a joke ready.

“Channel all that anger to the other teams, yeah?” Edgar said in a lower voice, accompanied by a wink.

Sebastian nodded. The ball came his way, and he brought it into his chest, then sent it straight to Phetmany with enough force to make the catch snap against his hands.

His gaze found Marcos.

Marcos was across the grass with a small group near the first line of cones, doing high-knee jogs. His shoulders were relaxed, and his head was up, laughing at something one of the others had said. The compression shirt stretched too tightly across his chest in a way that Sebastian didn’t appreciate noticing.

Then Marcos glanced over. Their eyes met, and he winked.

Sebastian’s fingers flexed at his side.

Attractive, smug asshole. The thought came fast enough that he almost missed the first word.

He didn’t.

He turned away and reset his stance before anyone in the circle had a chance to see his face shift.

Marcos had no right to show up here looking settled when Sebastian had barely had time to decide where he fit. No right to take ruck and then grin across the oval as though the whole thing was funny. No right to get under his skin before the first drill had even started.

Maybe Kirk was onto something.

Maybe they would kill each other before the season even started.

|| Chapter Two ||

Marcos – “Perdedora”

LATE NOVEMBER

“Can someone clean the kitchen?” Marcos’ mum called out in Spanish.

Her voice carried through the house from the other side of the hallway, sharp enough to cut through the low thud of music coming from Becca’s room, the distant noise of traffic beyond the front windows, and the soft flick of playing cards against the carpet.