Page 100 of Contested

Parker heard enough to point at him. “Weak.”

Marcos raised two fingers without turning back and walked out.

The cold hit him as soon as he stepped onto the street. Melbourne had sharpened around midnight, now that winter had truly settled in. The sound from the bar dulled behind him when the door shut, leaving the city in pieces—traffic, footsteps, the distant bell of a tram.

Sebastian was already halfway down the block.

Marcos followed the same path, nodding at a few people walking by him, though his eyes stayed on Sebastian’s back.

As Sebastian reached the corner, he paused, glanced back, and saw Marcos.

This time, he did smile. Marcos barely caught it at a distance, but it was there. Small, private, and gone quickly.

Then Sebastian turned and kept walking, and Marcos followed him toward the rest of their night.

|| Chapter Twenty-Two ||

Sebastian – “Stay tonight?”

Sebastian’s apartment was silent, aside from the buzz of the fridge and the low hum of traffic below.

The bar had still been loud when he left. Music, voices, the dull clink of glasses being knocked together too hard. Outside, the cold had cut through all of it, making Sebastian tuck his hands into his jacket pockets as he walked.

The apartment had held the chill of the night too well, colder somehow than the street outside. He felt it the second he stepped over the threshold. It moved under his jacket, across the back of his neck, and down through the thin layer of heat still left in his body from the match and the pub.

A shiver ran through him. Sebastian pulled his arms closer around himself and walked straight over to turn the heater on, then glanced back toward the door.

He shook his head at himself before heading for his bedroom, pulling his jacket off as he went. He dropped it over the chair near the wardrobe, then pushed his jeans down and kicked them across the floor. He dragged open a drawer and pulled out sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, changing quickly before the room could settle too coldly around him.

A buzz came through against his leg.

Sebastian’s hand went to his pocket and pulled his phone out, expecting to see Marcos’ name.

It wasn’t Marcos.

It was Loren.

Still haven’t called dad.

That was it.

No “hello.” No easing into it. No question mark to soften the accusation into something he could pretend wasn’t one. Just the truth staring back at him from the screen.

Sebastian sighed. He had told Loren he would try harder. With her. With their parents. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t thought about calling his father. He had. Several times. His finger had hovered over the name more than once.

It would probably be fine. It was mostly always fine now. His father would answer. His mother might call out from somewhere in the background. There would be the usual questions at the start, the ones that sounded simple.

How was football? Was he eating properly? Had he spoken to his grandparents? Had he called Loren? Had he thought about coming down soon?

Then, eventually, one of them would bring up the past.

Sebastian’s parents always seemed to think things had been different when he was a kid. Not as bad. Not as angry. Not as full of slammed doors, muttered comments, long silences, and Sebastian learning which parts of himself to hide.

He had stopped trying to argue about it a long time ago.

The thought settled uncomfortably in his stomach.

He didn’t respond.