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“Damn it.” Eli, Adelaide’s brother yelled, clapping loudly, “Come on, boys, you can do it. One more.” That’s all they had time for too. The countdown clock was down to a handful of minutes.
The opposition took possession of the ball while Bryce’s team lined up, ready to receive the kick in their defensive zone. The ball sailed high, dropping into their forty-metre zone. A catch, and they were moving forward, a row of men in red-and-orange uniforms running hard as they passed the ball, attempting to gain as much ground as possible before the first tackle.
The Gold Coast’s utility caught it, immediately passing it to their number nine—the hooker. The Broncos were gaining on them, but they were already over the halfway line. The first tackle was on the way to the forty-metre line just as their kicker was positioning himself to punt a field goal. As soon as the ball was in play, their kicker was surrounded, the other team strangling any chance of a kick getting them the win.
It was slow going, the team barely making a couple of metres before they were taken to the ground again in the second tackle. King hissed as Liam was put down hard. He was slow to his feet, the hit looking like it had winded him.
The third and fourth tackles saw them take it over the twenty-metre line, with Bryce catching and passing it as the team slogged forward. Ava managed a squeak of a cheer when he caught it, but with her heart in her throat, it was hard to get anything out, and she was too on edge. The other team were on them like a rash, and it would only take a split-second hesitation in a pass to be dropped.
Ava dared another glimpse at the countdown clock. Two minutes. Two points behind. If they could score another try, they’d win. If not, Brisbane would walk away the victors.
The ball went back and forth between Bryce’s teammates as they played keep away while inching closer to the try line.
“Come on, Bryce,” Cole muttered as their boyfriend charged forward through a gap with the ball. He hurdled his counterpart, before rolling over another back-to-back. He dodged left. Faked a right. Lunged forward.
But the other team’s two back rowers were waiting. They smashed into him like wrecking balls demolishing a building.
Ava held her breath.
The ball sailed backward, still in play. “Oh, god,” she uttered, her palms sweating and her nails making half-moons in her hands.
It was as if time slowed, Ava’s focus zeroing in on Bryce as he relaxed into the crush of bodies. It wasn’t hard to miss the play for what it was—a ruse to attack the wrong player. Their captain was right behind Bryce, scooping up the ball mid-flight, charging forward.
That scary-as-fuck move was intentional? Ava’s chest unclenched but her belly flipped, and not in a good way. She sucked in a breath, trying not to be sick at the thought of Bryce using his body as a roadblock.
The captain sidestepped, dodging out of reach of the players scrambling up from the ground. Bryce was up on his feet too, staying close to their captain’s shadow, readying to catch the ball if a pass was necessary. The nausea stilled, like waters suddenly becoming calm, and Ava held onto her belly, wishing for a quicker end to the game than the remaining few second countdown.
Arms outstretched, ball gripped firmly in the captain’s hands, he threw himself forward. Diving for the turf, he sailed over the try line. Slamming the ball down, his momentum carried him in a slide along the ground.
The ref’s whistle sounded. She looked up at the countdown clock sitting on zero. Her eyes widened. Her mouth popped open. Holy. Shit. He’d scored. He’d done it. Even seeing it happen right before her eyes, Ava didn’t believe it was real.
But it was.
They’d won. They’d actually won.
The captain was on his feet. Arms raised in the air with the ball held high. He pointed to Bryce. Raised his arm high and pointed to the scoreboard, lit up in green with try pulsing on it. He wrapped an arm around Bryce’s beefy shoulders and pulled him into a hug.
Bryce’s teammates surrounded them, adding to the group hug. The vision was beamed on the big screen, and Ava watched joyfully as every member joined in the back-slapping and hair ruffling. Bryce laughed, his grin radiant as he formed a fist, tapped his heart and held up two fingers.
It was an “I love both of you” from him to them. The acceptance from the team was real, not just lip service—the play and the congratulations made that as clear as day.
Their kicker broke away, lining up for the conversion. He’d missed the last one and worn a scowl on his face ever since. This was his chance at redemption.
The team settled down, spreading out to show their support as he placed the ball on the tee. He lined himself up, stepping backward so he could take a run up. Ava watched as he centred himself, finding his zone and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet until he was ready. Three strides and he kicked, the thwomp echoing around the stadium.
Ava could see how different this kick was than the last one. It shot from the ground like a bullet, harder and faster than his earlier attempt at a conversion. It soared in an arc that took it dead centre to the posts.
The crowd erupted. Cheering, whistles, and feet stomped on the concrete floor. Music began pumping from the speakers. Ava recognized the team’s song, but still didn’t know the words. Cheerleaders danced along the sidelines as the players lined up and shook hands. Ava cheered and clapped while Cole whistled, and the rest of their group hollered the words to the team song.
It was easy to get carried away when the vision of the team’s smiles were shown on the grounds. Sports reporters clambered onto the field, racing over to the players. “Darren, congratulations on the win,” the woman said to their team captain, the interview playing on the big screen.
“Thank you. It was definitely hard fought. We were the underdogs tonight, but we’ve come a long way as a team these last few years, and tonight we played the way we’ve aspired to.”
“That last try was incredible. Tell me about it.”
“Bryce and I have really clicked playing together. Something told me I needed to be there at that precise moment, so I got there. The play went off seamlessly.”
“Has the media attention around Flaharty’s and Masters’ sexuality affected the team?”
