Page 130 of Contested

The ball spilled Bendigo’s way.

Sebastian chased.

Marcos forced himself after it, anger making his legs move even though his body had started to feel slightly out of rhythm. The ball came loose near the edge of the square. Sebastian bent to gather, but a Bendigo player hit him from the side, knocking him off balance. The ball skidded forward.

Marcos got there first.

He grabbed it off the damp grass, took one step, and was wrapped up almost immediately. Laurence’s arm came around him high, another body hit low, and Marcos went down under both of them. The tackle drove him into the turf, shoulder first, breath punching out of him.

The umpire blew the whistle. “Holding the ball.”

Marcos lay there for a moment, staring at the grass, before he pushed himself to his knees.

His chest was heaving now. Mud streaked one forearm, and his mouth tasted metallic, though he didn’t know if it was blood or not.

Sebastian appeared in front of him, hand half-extended.

Marcos didn’t take it, and he stood without help. “I’m fine.”

Sebastian’s eyes flicked over him once, then turned away, running downfield.

Marcos rolled his shoulders, pain rippling through his back as he did, but he shook it off and stood on the mark while Bendigo prepared to keep the play moving.

The third quarter time kept ticking down, and the score stayed static as both teams locked the ball down hard and barely gave the other any chance to move.

Chants from the crowd rose even higher, and Marcos’ ears rang with each cheer that circled the stadium. He tried to keep his head down. Focus only on the ball. Ignore all the pain growing throughout his entire body.

When the Bandits managed to get the ball toward their goals and kicked it through for a behind, Marcos keeled over, a long hiss coming through gritted teeth. He blinked hard, then dragged a ragged breath into his lungs before straightening.

The ball came back into play, kicked in by Randal. No one marked it. It skidded along the ground near the left wing, and bodies collapsed onto it. Marcos rushed through the centre, each step taxing on his body.

Someone managed to knock the ball free with enough force it bounced near the centre box. Marcos was the closest Mustang player to it. Three Bendigo players were nearby, too, but Marcos paid no mind to them.

He pushed his legs as hard as he could, sprinting toward the ball as it slid across the wet grass. His body bent as he reached it, scooping it up and pulling it close to his chest. His eyes snapped up, trying to find somewhere to send the ball.

That was when he saw the first Bendigo player right in front of him, head down, ready to tackle. Marcos planted his feet and stepped to the side. A hand gripped his jersey, and he tried to pull away, hearing the material rip as he did.

The next Bendigo player, he didn’t see, but he felt him. A shoulder landing hard against his own and arms wrapping around him. He heard something was wrong before his body had moved an inch. A deafening crack sounded, followed by an intense pain wrapping around his shoulder.

His whole body moved with the impact, carried toward the ground with too much speed. The third Bendigo player was there, too, running in too fast and with too much purpose to stop or get out of the way.

The side of Marcos’ head slammed into his knee, and everything went black.

|| Chapter Twenty-Eight ||

Marcos – “Did I say something stupid?”

The lights at the hospital made everything look too clean and white. They reflected off the walls sharply, bouncing from the floor, the desk, the glass panels, and every polished surface until Sebastian had to squint while his eyes adjusted. The whole place was too bright, and it made Sebastian feel too exposed.

Nothing in the building seemed to care that his hands were shaking.

Sebastian sat in one of the chairs near the wall, elbows on his knees, hands gripped so tightly together that his knuckles had started to whiten. He had been waiting for the nurse to come back and tell him whether he could go in and see Marcos.

After the collision, Marcos had been taken off the field quickly.

That was the part Sebastian kept seeing.

Not anything else that happened in the match. Not the final score. Not the final siren or the Bendigo players celebrating while the Mustangs stood around with the season ending under their boots. Just Marcos hitting the ground. The way the sound of the crowd had shifted before anyone actually knew what had happened.