Page 98 of Playing the Field

They’re struggling.

And they know it.

Half-Time Score: Houston Sabercats 19 – Toronto Tigers 6

The players jog off the field, some limping, some shaking their heads, some too pissed off to say a word.

Dominic’s jaw is tight as he walks past me, sweat dripping down his face. His knee is stiff—I can see it in his gait—but he doesn’t even glance my way.

I make a note to check on him anyway.

Finn stops in front of me, gulping down water. “They’re reading everything we do,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“They’re good,” I admit.

He exhales. “Yeah, well, we need to be better.”

He tosses the bottle aside and disappears into the locker room.

I glance toward the coaching staff, where Graham stands next to Brandt, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

But I know him.

And I know that look.

Graham is furious.

Not because they’re losing.

But because they’re not playing like themselves.

In the second half, the Tigers come out swinging.

It’s Dominic who leads the charge—barreling into Houston’s forward pack, smashing through the gain line with a burst of power.

He gets the ball to Malik, who twists past one tackle, then another, before he’s dragged down just outside the twenty-two.

Finn is there in a flash, ripping the ball from the breakdown and sending it wide.

Straight to Zane.

And Zane?

He knows what to do.

He spots Leo breaking wide, a split-second opening before Houston’s defense can shift⁠—

And he kicks.

A high, spinning ball that lands perfectly in Leo’s hands.

The right-wing takes off, dodging one defender, then another, his speed carrying him straight toward the try line.

The crowd rises to their feet as he plants the ball down, breathless.

Try.

I exhale hard, my grip tightening around my clipboard.