Page 82 of Playing for Keeps
Right from the start, they were playing with an intensity that we had to scramble to match. Every one of their passes was sharp. Every tackle was hard.
Tyler Bannings controlled the game for the Greens, kicking with such accuracy you’d swear he’d implanted a GPS locator in the ball. He did a great little chip kick over the top which let Mateo Olsen run in for an easy try.
Aiden Jones was doing his best to counter his husband, keeping his usual level head as he marshaled us to stay calm under the Greens’ pressure. He kicked three penalties to keep us in the game.
At halftime the game was evenly poised, the score line 12–9 to the Greens.
I’d failed to do anything special in the first half. It appeared the Greens had spent a lot of time studying game tapes and working out how to thwart me. All my miracles were failing to launch.
How could I break the deadlock? Did I need to change it up and do something different? Something they wouldn’t expect?
After Coach’s halftime speech, I sat bent over in the dressing room, a towel around my neck, eyes scrunched shut, trying desperately to refocus.
I sensed someone hovering. There was only one person I could tolerate seeing right now. I snapped my eyes open.
Ethan.
Thank god.
He hadn’t played in the first half so his uniform was still pristine. He gave me one of his sunshiny smiles and the tightness inside me unwound slightly.
“Do you remember teaching me what the name Marauders means?” he asked.
I frowned. “No.”
“When we were kids, I had no idea it was an actual word rather than just the team’s name. But you told me they were outlaws who raided and looted.”
I snorted. That sounded like me. Always the know-it-all.
Everyone in the dressing room was standing up, getting ready to run back out, but Ethan stayed where he was, his gorgeous eyes pinning me. “We’ve already done this so many times,” he said.
My forehead creased. “Done what?”
“Won the Supreme Rugby final for the Marauders. When we were kids, all those games we played.”
I managed to chuckle. Because he was right, we’d spent a good portion of our childhood in my backyard, acting out this exact scenario. Pretending we were playing for the Marauders or New Zealand, winning the game for our team. We’d never failed.
“So, let’s just go do it again,” Ethan said.
“Yeah. Okay.”
He reached out and grabbed my hand, hauling me to my feet.
He released me, but only to offer his fist to bump.
“We already did that before the game,” I pointed out.
“This game is worthy of a double fist bump, I reckon.”
I obligingly bumped his fist. Ethan’s hand was smooth and warm, his knuckles sliding into the grooves of mine perfectly.
His eyes were bright. “Time to go get the spoils.”
The second half felt different right from the outset. I’d thought the first half had been intense, but it had nothing on this. The whole season for both teams came down to the next forty minutes.
Alfie cleared the ball from a scrum and handed it off to the backline, where it passed through Ali’s hands to me.
I then offloaded the ball to Isaiah Leota who rampaged home for a try.
