Page 127 of Contested

Harry didn’t wait. He turned and sent the ball back through the middle, flatter this time, toward Phetmany. The kick fell a metre short, skidding off the damp grass, but Phetmany adjusted, dropped his body low, and scooped it before a Bendigo player could take his legs out.

The game continued, the wetness of the ground turned it messy, and it stayed that way.

By the second centre bounce, Marcos knew Laurence was going to be a problem.

Not because he was good enough to beat him consistently. He wasn’t. Marcos could feel that within the first few minutes. Laurence was strong enough, and he had decent reach, but he was too impatient. He gave away his jump early and tried to make up for it with body pressure. Against someone else, maybe that worked. Against Marcos, he didn’t stand much of a chance.

The problem was his mouth.

Every reset, every stoppage, every time they came close enough for Laurence to get words under the crowd, he used it.

“You’ve become a bit of a pussy since you left.”

Marcos ignored that one.

Another bounce.

Marcos got first hand to the ball, knocked it down toward Lachie, and took the shoulder Laurence drove into him on the way down. It was barely legal and hard enough to leave a line of pain across his ribs.

Lachie was wrapped up instantly, and the umpire called for another stoppage.

Laurence stepped close as they reset. “How’s the ribs? Wanna cry yet?”

The umpire threw the ball up.

Marcos went early this time. Not early enough to give away a free kick, but enough to force Laurence to adjust under him. He hit the ball down to his own feet, landed, followed up, and knocked it out to Sebastian with one hand while the Bandits’ players collapsed toward the contest.

Sebastian took it and was gone. That settled Marcos for a while.

The insults kept coming, and the noise from the crowd kept rolling in, but Marcos kept his focus as sharp as he could and drove the game forward. The bounce, the contest, the placement. Sebastian moving into the right space, and Phetmany cutting across the front when the tap needed to go short. Lachie staying low and brutal through the opposition and Parker making himself loud and free on the outside.

The first quarter ran hard and tight. The Bandits scored a few goals first, the play staying strong in their fifty. The Mustangs managed to answer with a few good centre clearances that gave their forward players a chance to claw the score back.

After one good play where Marcos tapped the ball down toward Lachie, then got himself back in a position to receive a handball and send it down to Andrew, who scored a quick goal, Sebastian clapped him on the shoulder.

He said nothing, and only offered a small grin, which Marcos returned.

Laurence’s gaze flicked between them. “Cute. Who’s the woman there?”

Marcos’ hands flexed.

The umpire bounced the ball before Marcos could answer.

His timing was half a second late.

Laurence got into his body, blocked his line, and knocked the ball forward. The Bandits’ midfield pounced, running it clear before Phetmany could shut it down. Marcos landed badly, one foot sliding on the damp patch near the edge of the square, and had to work twice as hard to recover. By the time he turned, the Bandits had pushed inside fifty and scored a goal.

The Bandits crowd found its voice, brown, red, and white rising together as the scoreboard shifted.

Laurence backed away toward the centre, smiling.

Marcos breathed through his nose and rolled his neck, setting his shoulders back.

The first quarter ended with Bendigo up by three.

In the huddle, Jacob kept his voice controlled. That was usually worse than yelling, but today Marcos preferred it. He didn’t need more noise. He needed a clear line to follow, and Jacob gave him one.

Don’t get dragged into body contents. Clear space for Sebastian.