Page 50 of Contested

A wave of noise came from the crowd again as the game inched closer to starting. The Mustangs shifted around on the field. Players spread out to start their own stretches and warm-ups. Small handballing and kicking drills forming quickly. One last opportunity to feel the ball cleanly before the first bounce.

Harry, the Mustangs’ captain, jogged toward the middle of the ground to meet the Storm’s captain and the umpire for the coin toss.

Harry Bell had been captain for three years. Late twenties, compact through the body, strong through the shoulders, with close-cropped dark hair and a voice that cut through a room without needing to rise much.

The Storm captain stood opposite him, taller and leaner, hands on hips, face open to the crowd as the boos and cheers lifted again.

The coin went up.

Harry won the call. He chose the direction of play, pointing toward the end the Mustangs would kick to first, and everything after that seemed to move too quickly.

The warm-up finished. Balls were gathered. Players started heading toward their line coaches. The waves of sound from the crowd came louder and more frequently as Jacob huddled the team and gave one final speech. He ran over the plan for the first quarter, the focus on contest, the need to avoid being dragged into the Storm’s tempo, and the importance of staying clean.

Marcos listened. He took it all in.

“Reyes.” Jacob’s voice cut through Marcos’ thoughts, and he glanced up. “Trust yourself. Trust the play.”

Marcos nodded, firm and sharp, and a rumble ran around the team.

They split off from each other as the game was called to begin, each player fanning out to their positions. The Sydney Storm players met them respectfully enough, though respect at centre bounce only meant everyone waited until the siren before trying to drive someone into the ground.

The opposing ruck stood opposite Marcos, rolling his head and loosening his shoulders.

Eli Hart. Twenty-eight, experienced, strong through the hips, and the kind of ruck who liked to make the first contest ugly enough to set terms.

Marcos kept his head down, steadying his breathing.

He could feel Sebastian shifting around him to the side, though Marcos forced himself to stay focused.

He couldn’t let what had happened interfere with the game. The first kiss. Or the second. Or what happened after. Or the way Sebastian’s body looked in the locker room when Marcos finally allowed himself to look.

That was the image in his mind when the siren sounded, and the ball went up.

Hart hit him early.

Not illegally, but enough shoulder and hip to shift Marcos off the clean line of the bounce, forcing him to jump through the contact. Marcos got a hand on the ball, but not much of one. It glanced off his fingers and dropped almost straight down.

The Storm’s mids were ready.

Their centre player grabbed it low, burst through a tackle, and drove the ball toward half-forward before Marcos had landed properly. The crowd lifted hard, blue-and-black sections rising as the ball travelled. Randal came across in defence and spoiled the marking attempt, fist meeting ball cleanly, but the spill went straight to the ground where Sydney had numbers.

A snap came from the pocket.

Behind.

The Storm crowd groaned, then clapped in support.

Marcos jogged back toward the middle while the Mustangs set up for the kick-in. The ball didn’t reset. It went back to the goal square, and Harry took it quickly, scanning the field while Storm players pushed up to lock them in.

Harry went short to Randal, who marked near the pocket and looked immediately for the next kick.

The Mustangs tried to work it along the boundary, but the Storm were already there. A kick down the line went to a contest, hands flew, the ball spilled over the boundary, and the umpire called for a throw-in.

Marcos made his way there, heart still too high.

Boundary throw-ins had a different feel from centre bounces. Less space, more bodies, less room for a proper run at it. Hart took front position and leaned back into him, making Marcos fight for every inch. The throw came in, and Marcos tried to reach over, but Hart got enough body under him to kill the ball down to Sydney’s side.

The Storm surged.