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va was still tired after being in the car for the all-day drive from Sydney, but she wouldn’t be anywhere else. Bright lights shone in her eyes, the pitch-black sky above, clear. A crisp breeze blew outside, although they were somewhat sheltered in the stadium.
It was a home game and a Queensland derby—Bryce and Liam on the field together against the team’s closest rivals, the Broncos.
She sat on the edge of her seat, her heart in her throat when the boundary ref called a forward pass to the other team. They’d been awarded a penalty, and although that was supposed to be good, the resulting scrum was the one thing in football that sent Ava into panic-mode quicker than Bryce getting tackled.
Play stopped and the men lined up, Bryce taking up his spot on the front row. His job was to propel his team forward into the line of the other team, controlling the play. What it really meant was that Bryce, with his arm around the player closest to him, would throw himself against the other team, locking his opponents in a wrestling grip and use the combined force of the men behind him to surge forward.
Scrums were better nowadays—less rough play and more finesse—but injuries still occurred, and Bryce was always black and blue for days after the hard hits.
Her guy was on the end of the scrum closest to them, his teammates backing him up in a three-two-one formation. He planted his feet, using his thick legs as propulsion.
Bryce’s jersey moulded to his every muscle as he bent at the waist and waited for the play to begin. A split second later, they slammed forward, the sound of bodies crashing together audible even over the screaming fans.
Ava bit her thumbnail, watching in silence as the ball was rolled between the two teams who raked their feet back, trying to steal the ball. Ava held her breath, waiting as their hooker caught it on his heel, shoving it back through their scrum and into the waiting arms of the team’s scrum half. Her breath whooshed out of her lungs as the scrum half moved like the wind, passing it back and away from the Broncos’ defensive line, and the teams pulled apart.
One pass, then a second straight to Liam on the wing. He was one of the smaller men on the field, lightning fast and nimble on his feet. He hurdled one player who’d dove too early, trying to take out his legs, and sidestepped a second. But there were three more converging on him. He was trapped by the touchline to his left, the try line only a few metres away.
There was no way he’d make it.
Ava focussed on Bryce as he sprinted toward the melee. Nerves assailed her, excitement and fear vying for attention. It was the same with every game Bryce played. She was sure she aged a decade with every week during the season. Bryce put his body on the line every time he went near the play, and Ava locked her muscles tight, bracing for impact even though it was over the barriers on the field.
He’d come so far in only a few short months. His personal struggles had been motivation for him to step up his game again, and his training and skill level had taken another leap forward.
Adelaide choked out a cry as Liam waited until the last possible split second to pass. Her brother and Cole were shouting while King looked away, their eyes meeting and holding, fear and hope mingling in her friend’s eyes.
Time seemed to slow as Liam flung the ball sideways, on a perfect backward arc to Bryce. It was a sublime pass, straight into Bryce’s outstretched hands. Liam sidestepped, going down as he and the opposing wing crashed into each other.
But Ava was focussed on her man.
Bryce was a battering ram, charging forward with the ball tucked under his arm. He mowed down his opposition, not giving them the opportunity to tackle him. Two, then three men, hurled themselves on him. He looked around, searching for a clear line to pass. But there was none.
Ava gasped as Bryce seemed to make up his mind, surging forward again. Another half-step forward. The try line was only an outstretched arm away. Could he make it?
He stumbled. The weight of the footballers who’d tackled him dragged him down.
He pushed forward again, another few centimetres gained. Between the opposition’s bodies he reached out, his huge paw gripping the ball tight. Forward momentum carried him, despite the press of players against him.
Ava covered her mouth with both hands, screaming in frustration. She was on her feet, her eyes locked on where her man went down, hitting the ground hard. Her breath whooshed out of her lungs and her chest seized, stopping her from sucking in a breath.
The ball was on the field still in Bryce’s outstretched hand. Whistles blew. The line ref motioned for a try, referring the final decision to the video referee.
Ava was lightheaded, still unable to breathe. Was Bryce okay? He was still down. He hadn’t moved. The big screens blanked out, the focus now on whether Bryce had scored. The try scoring sponsor’s logo and decision pending flashed up. Cole wrapped his arm around her shoulders, equally as tense.
The players lying on Bryce gingerly lifted themselves up, freeing him from beneath them. He stayed still, unmoving.
The screens blacked out again before a flag unfurled with try written on it in bright green lettering lit up the screen. Bryce jumped up, punching the air and shouting. Ava’s legs almost gave out from underneath her as tears sprang to her eyes and she choked out a sob. Bryce’s teammates threw their arms around him, slapping his back and high-fiving him as the crowd roared. They were ecstatic. The try had nearly equalled the score, giving them a fighting chance. If their kicker managed a conversion, they’d be in the lead.
But all Ava could concentrate on was that Bryce was upright. Cole pulled her close. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. He’s okay.”
“I fucking hate this game,” she sobbed. “Every time I watch him, I want to go out and kill the other players for hurting him. Three on one, Cole. They could have broken something.”
He chuckled but held her tighter. “He’s strong. He knows how to fall so he isn’t hurt. But yeah, I love and hate him being out there too.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “The kicker’s lining up.”
Ava turned her attention back to the field, but she didn’t leave the safety of Cole’s arms. Burying her head in his chest seemed like a good idea. As the kicker set the ball on the tee and stepped back, readying to land the conversion, Ava sought out Bryce. He was lined up with his teammates, Liam resting his arm on Bryce’s shoulder. They were almost the same height, but they were so different in build, Liam looking downright scrawny next to Bryce’s solid frame.
The kicker’s boot connected with the ball, a loud thwomp amplified by the high grandstands in the stadium. The ball soared in a high arc, but it was too far to the right.
“Come on, come on! Get in there!” Adelaide shouted. The ball sailed ever closer to the post, but instead of flying over the crossbar, it bounced off the post.
