“You okay?” Judd asks, raking dusty brown hair back with his fingers before dropping to all fours and sinking into a knee stretch.
“Barty is back for the Bears,” he says, rolling out his neck. “I’m so sick of that guy's face.”
I look over to the Bears’ side of the field, and sure enough, Henry Barton is running passing drills with another player. He’s been out with a groin strain for a few weeks, and playing against the Bears has been enjoyable without him.
The Harbor Hogs aren’t exactly the most professional team. Sure, we play hard and are good, but a lot of the guys on the team are here because they needed a hobby. We have a few imports, Judd Loveday—Lovey to the boys—is one of them. A center from the United Kingdom, he’s fast, big, and enjoys the sport. He came over with a program to help the sport grow and he’s extremely knowledgeable when he’s not being a dumbass.
But Henry Barton plays like he has something to prove. It’s sweaty for no reason, and it gets under Boone’s skin like nobody's business. My brother watches him like a hawk as Judd rambles on about something in an accent I barely understand half the time. I roll out of the grass and wander back over to the bench to get some water before the game starts, and look up to find every single Hillcat in the bleachers.
Sunday waves excitedly, and I lift my bottle, trying to ignore who’s sitting on her left.
Rhea’s wearing the tiniest crop top I’ve ever seen in my entire life. So small that every time her tattooed stomach rises and falls, I catch a glimpse of the lacy black bra she’s wearing beneath. She talks to Kaia with a smile on her face and picks at the tears on her black jeans, completely oblivious to half the players staring at them. I grind my jaw down and turn my eyes back to the field, praying that today’s game is rough enough to lay me out permanently so the torture that is Rhea Drake can stop.
Across the way on the second field, a team of workers is changing the bulbs on half of the game lights that usually illuminate the field for night games, and there are a set of unmarked trucks in the parking lot. I reach over and pat Raul on the shoulder, “What’s all that for?”
“They’re doing some midnight foam run thing this weekend, set up started today.” He explains and finishes taping his calf.
“Alright, Captains,” The referee blows his whistle, and the game comes to a slow start. If we’re honest, the Hogs don’t really have a captain; it’s just whoever wants to go through the torture of listening to the game-day speech. Judd draws the short straw and marches across the field to get it started as Boone starts chirping at Kaia behind me.
“Pay attention,” I grab him by the collar, and he stumbles backwards but manages to flip her off before we take the field.
The Bears take possession. The clock starts.
Tolia, one of our smaller guys, is quick off the line and manages to get to the ball before anyone else. He’s immediately met with contact, but drives his shoulder hard into the attacker and pops the ball backwards to Judd, who takes it cleanly, sidesteps the next guy, and eats up another ten yards. He’s pushed to the outside of the field, but I’m there to take up the slack, and the second the channel closes, he flicks the ball out, and it finds my hands. Two guys are coming at me, one a half-step ahead, forcing me to hesitate—then my stall trips him up and leaves a hole between them to slip through.
My calves burn in the best kind of way as I find the pocket and take off and leave the nearest guy behind, scoring the first try of the game. The exercise, tangled with the adrenaline, feels incredible, and I realizethis is why we play. To forget everything else. I toss the ball to Chris, our fly-half, and jog back to where I belong with sweat dripping between my shoulder blades.
By the time the whistle echoes out, we’re down two, and everyone is ready to collapse in the heat. “It’s too hot out here today.” I palm a tossed water bottle and drink down the water before chucking it to the next guy.
“Hey, man, no one asked you to show off that early. You set the tone for the game.” Judd is leaning over on his thighs in line as the ref blows the whistle, and I laugh at his disgruntled comment.
“It’s been seven minutes, boys,” Kaia yells down from the bleachers.
“And six tries. Bugger off,” Judd groans.
“I’ve seen toddlers put in more effort, Lovey,” she harasses him, and he tries to ignore her, but she’s just too good at getting under his skin, and it’s not just him. She’s got the attention of at least four other players.
“Says the girl who hasn’t scored in two games,” he clips back.
“I don’t have to score every game; we have a whole team of winners,” she teases. “It’s not our fault you boys have one golden egg.”
Her gaze snaps to me. I shake my head, unamused by her shit and too gassed to give her anything back. She smiles at me viciously.
“What, no smart remark, Killjoy?” she hums, using my nickname, and all I can do is turn my back on her. “It’s been more entertaining watching them change lightbulbs,” she teases, and I hear the rest of the girls laugh.
“Seven more minutes, give them nothing but hell.” Judd pulls us together.
It takes all seven minutes to secure the win; every second counts as we pull ourselves through the heat exhaustion and up the field, inch by inch. The Hillcats make themselves loud and clear as the clock ticks by, and I think the heckling actually makes them play a little harder. The fear of Kaia having more ammo is terrifying enough to make Boone run faster than he ever has.
“Slow poke!” Kaia yells as we jog back to our line for one last push up the field.
Boone’s lips curl into a smirk, annoyed and amused by her all at once, and maybe a little turned on, which makes me roll my eyes.
“Pay attention,” I snap at him, and he waves me off as the ball flips into motion. Luckily, his focus is quick, and his eyes flicker to the ball. He surges his body forward and slams hard into the player who has it, pushing him back a few steps before he collapses to the ground, forcing a wide right field scrum before the ball is shoved from between the bodies.
It rocks free of the player's hands and tumbles along the ground. The Bears stumble to get control of it, flicking it out, but it slips through the fingertips of their winger, and Judd is there to scoop it out of their possession. He moves quickly, coming to a wedge as Boone and I wrap behind him, giving him a split second to give Boone the ball. The attackers trip over each other, and Boone slips through the lane, untouchable as he picks up speed and leaves them behind.
His chest is pumping as he sets the ball down, and we take the game by six points.The best thing about Boone is that he makes the smallest things feel enormous. Like a recreational game of rugby, there are no stakes, no trophies, no television broadcasts. And yet, Boone screams at the top of his lungs like an animal, catching a rip in his jersey and tearing it more as the Bears wander around him, disappointed in themselves. The celebration starts immediately. Judd throws Boone over his shoulder and claps him hard a few times before setting him down. I watch him point over to the bleachers, making sure that Kaia has seen every step.
