Page 145 of Scrum Heat

His face shifts, and something behind his eyescracks.

And then, he swings.

Right on cue.

Right hook, open fist, no control. A wild, stupid punch that barely glances off my shoulder pad.

The whistle shrieks as the ref blows hard, and flags go up around the pitch.

AndthenI hit him.

Up under the ribs, andhard. He folds, gasping, and I step in—grab his jersey, yank him forward, and drive a forearm across his chest like it’s part of the play. He stumbles back into the grass, wheezing.

Now the whistle isreallyblowing.

Arms are waving, refs sprinting in, and Rory’s hand finds my chest again, already there, already steady.

The crowd is losing it, booing heavily as Marcus Vale charges at the ref and begins to talk at him with his hands. The OSC, wherever they are, aredefinitelypaying attention now—but as far as I’m concerned, I’m an innocent party in all of this.

And the scoreboard is still ours—even if not by much.

The ref pushes Marcus away and points to the player. “Instigation.”

I can’t help but smirk.

No card for me.

Rory watches me carefully as the ref gives us a penalty. “You good?”

I nod once.

Theo whistles low. “Jesus, Jax.”

Finn grins. “Fuckingsurgical.”

Denton’s number six is still on the ground, red-faced and sputtering, and I step back into position, calm and composed and completely in control.

And if dirty’s what they want, then dirty’s what they’ll fuckingget.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Rory

The final five minutes stretch longer than the rest of the game combined.

Every tackle is louder, every hit leaves a mark, and every time one of my boys gets shoved, spat at, or clipped off the ball, I feel it burn through my spine like a match pressed to fuse.

But I stay calm, because I can feelher: somewhere just beyond the barrier, heart pounding, breath held, watching.

And her bond is what’s keeping me here; keeping me grounded, keeping me focused. If I didn’t have that thread pulling me back to her, anchoring me, I don’t know what I’d be right now.

Probably ejected.Definitelybleeding.

Instead, I keep calling plays, and keep driving them forward.

But Vale keeps pressing, too. Their winger knocks Theo into the dirt while their flanker trips Finnagain. Jax doesn’t even flinch when someone elbows him in the ribs mid-maul—just resets, clears the ruck like the guy wasn’t even there.

They’re trying to break us, but they forgot who we are now.

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