Page 131 of Contested

Once the game had ended, the Mustangs had clambered to find out what had happened and if Marcos was okay. No one had enough information. Staff spoke to other staff in hushed voices, passing through the venue with more purpose than usual. Players stood half-changed in the rooms with tape still on and grass still stuck to their socks. Parker kept asking the same question in different ways until Harry told him to sit down. Jacob disappeared with one of the medical staff at one point, then came back with his face drawn tighter.

All they were told was that Marcos hadn’t woken up yet.

Sebastian had asked what hospital he had gone to, and as soon as he was presentable enough, he had come straight here.

His hair was still damp from the shower at the ground, and his clothes sat wrong against his skin as though he shouldn’t be allowed comfort until he knew Marcos was okay.

His knee ached from a hit in the second quarter, and there was a bruise forming across his forearm. None of that mattered enough to notice properly.

The nurse had told Sebastian that Marcos was stable, but not awake, and that his family had already come by and were in the cafeteria now. Sebastian had considered going there as well. He had pictured Marcos’ family in the random shape they took in Sebastian’s head all gathered together barely eating the food in front of them while they waited for news.

Sebastian didn’t belong near any of that. So he didn’t go.

He had asked if he could see Marcos instead, and the nurse had told him to wait.

So, he waited.

The sound of the hospital moved around him. Phones ringing and the distant squeaking of wheels over the floor. Someone being called over the speakers above him for something that made no sense to Sebastian. Voices lowered out of respect or habit, all of them blurring into the same careful tone.

He had kept his gaze sweeping the room at first, taking in everything that was happening, trying to give his mind something to hold besides the image of Marcos on the ground.

A woman crying quietly near the far chairs.

A nurse at the desk typing without looking down.

A man in a hoodie pacing with both hands locked behind his neck.

Eventually, the white light started getting to be too much. His eyes dropped to the ground instead, unfocused on the polished floor between his shoes, while his mind tried to stay fixed on the fact that Marcos was stable.

Sebastian pressed his thumbs harder against each other until one joint cracked.

“He’s awake. We’re going to notify his family.”

The nurse’s voice cut through Sebastian’s thoughts, and he glanced up.

She looked as though she’d worked through the whole night before and was somehow still here working as the next one was about to begin.

Sebastian gave a quick nod, his lips pulled tight and his jaw clenched. He watched the nurse walk away and his eyes flicked toward the hall.

He knew what room Marcos was in. The nurse had pointed it out earlier. He also knew it would take Marcos’ family a little bit of time to get up from the cafeteria.

Not long. But maybe enough.

Sebastian took a deep breath and got to his feet.

His legs felt unsteady for the first few steps, then too fast once they got moving. He walked quickly down the hall, past the desk, past a half-open supply room, past a trolley pushed close to the wall with folded blankets stacked on top.

The room number came up quickly, and Sebastian stopped outside the door.

He smoothed one hand down the front of his shirt, then ran a hand through his hair before shaking his head at himself. Marcos wasn’t going to care what he looked like. He was probably in pain or confused and concussed from how hard he hit his head.

Sebastian took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The room was smaller than he expected.

A bed sat in the centre, angled slightly toward the door, with machines and stands gathered around it in a way that made Marcos look too still. A chair had been pulled close on one side, probably by one of his family members. A plastic cup sat on the side table beside a wrapped straw, a packet of tissues, and a folded hospital blanket. The blinds were half-drawn, cutting the fading daylight into pale strips across the wall.

Marcos lay propped against the pillows. A thick bandage wrapped around his head, covering his eyes completely. More gauze sat near his temple, where the swelling changed the shape of his face. His right arm was secured against his body, shoulder immobilised, and plaster covered his third and fourth fingers on his right hand.