Page 99 of Playing the Field

We’re still in this.

Houston 22, Toronto 18

It’s a war.

Bodies crash into each other, the impact of every hit echoing through the stadium.

Dominic is everywhere, pushing his team forward, dragging them into the fight with him.

But Houston?

They refuse to break.

Their defensive line holds tight, forcing our forwards into brutal contact after brutal contact.

I watch as Callum dives into a ruck, fighting for possession, his fingers clawing for the ball as Houston’s players pile over him.

He gets it out—barely—before he’s flattened under a wave of bodies.

Finn fires the ball back to Toby, who sends it wide to Nico, who sends it even wider to Max.

Max sprints for the corner.

It’s open.

I grip the edge of my jacket, my breath catching⁠—

And then⁠—

A bone-crunching tackle from Houston’s fullback sends Max sprawling out of bounds.

The whistle blows.

Final Score: Houston Sabercats 22 – Toronto Tigers 18

The stadium is silent.

For a second, no one moves.

And then, slowly, Houston erupts in celebration.

The Tigers, meanwhile, stand exhausted, bloody, and pissed off, staring at the field like they can’t believe they let this slip away.

I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I turn to see Graham, his expression unreadable.

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t have to.

This loss hurts.

Not just for the players.

But for him.

For all of us.