Page 69 of The Fly-Half

“I think so,” he said with a set expression, fingers adjusting the side of his scrum cap. “Just need to treat it like any other match. I can’t let it get into my head.”

“We can do it.” I brushed my fingers across his, a simple touch to let him know I was there. My own nerves were sitting on my chest, not heavy or intrusive but more of a reminder of what was at stake. Losing one match wouldn’t totally remove us from the competition, but it would be a setback.

I’d played in European competitions regularly with Marseille, but this time it felt different. Everyone here had worked their arse off for this opportunity, and we had something to prove. It wasn’t a given that we’d succeed, but that didn’t mean we wouldn’t. We might have to push harder, think smarter, and give more than we ever had, but this team could do it.

The home crowd roared as we jogged out onto the pitch, the bright December sunshine glaring down on us. The turf felt good beneath my feet and there was barely any wind, which meant it’d be good kicking conditions as long as I didn’t have to kick into the sun.

My eyes ran over the players lining up against us. There were a few familiar faces amongst them, people I’d played against before and even one guy who’d been at Marseille with me for acouple of seasons before he’d moved. We’d exchange hugs and pleasantries later when he wasn’t preparing to slam me into the floor. I knew I was going to hit the deck today, but my only hope was that Jonny would be able to control himself.

We couldn’t afford to be a man down at any point, so we all needed to toe the line.

The whistle blew and the match began, and within five minutes it had already become really fucking clear it was going to be a slog. Angers had gone straight through the middle of our defences in two minutes flat to score a try while we all stood there stunned. None of us had expected them to catch us off guard so quickly, and now we were already on the back foot.

“Pass it, pass it,” Matty yelled as we tried to push forward, the ground practically shaking as players collided. Mason, Jaden, and West were a wall of muscle, and the hours of fitness training were starting to pay off as Charlie and Danny wove around the chaos. The ball came towards me and I caught it midstride, looking for an impossible gap. I threw the ball to my left, straight into the arms of Kegan, who hit the pitch with it clutched in his arms.

Every inch we pushed forward felt hard won and even when Ollie somehow burst through the line, he didn’t get far before the Angers fullback clattered into him.

It took everything we had to get anywhere near the goal line and when the referee called for a scrum five meters from the line, we all knew we had to make the most of the opportunity. We were all panting and sore, but none of that mattered.

My eyes were fixed on Jonny at the back of the scrum as he engaged, thick thighs straining as he hauled Hunter and Gabriel into line. Grunts and yells filled the air as the front rows of the scrum pushed against each other, each trying to force the opposite side to give. Matty put the ball in and I watched, waiting to see if it would come to me.

The ball was between Jonny’s feet and in a flash he disengaged, scooping it up as everyone closed in around him. Sometimes, the only way to get the ball across the line was by sheer bloody force and brute strength. The scrum was on its feet as the rest of us inched closer, a mass of bodies around Jonny as they sheltered him and dragged him towards the line.

“Heave!” West shouted as they inched forward, determination driving them on. They were so close now, but Angers weren’t giving up without a fight, hands grabbing at shirts as they tried to bring players down and force the group apart.

“Heads up,” Jonny yelled as he threw the ball, trying to get it away from the defenders. I could see it coming towards me, and for a spilt second it was the entirety of my focus.

Which was why I didn’t see the Angers player until it was too late…

“Dev? Dev, can you hear me?”

“Give us some space, please.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Jonny, give them some space. It’s okay. They know what they’re doing.”

I knew who was speaking but their voices sounded slightly funny, like they were standing in a tunnel. I tried to blink and pain radiated through one side of my face as I did.

Fuck.

“Devon, can you hear me?” It was one of the doctors. Natalie? No, not Natalie. Meredith maybe? It was hard to remember when my entire brain was focused on the screaming pain in my right eye.

“Yeah,” I said, carefully opening my left eye and realising I was lying flat on the pitch surrounded by players and staff. “I can hear you.” It felt a little like I’d been steamrollered, and while I’d been on the receiving end of hard tackles before, that one was going straight into the top five. “I can’t open my right eye.”

I looked at the doctor—it was definitely Meredith this time—and slowly tried to sit up, my fingers reaching for my face.

“Let’s not do that,” Meredith said with a gentle smile, her gloved fingers gently grasping my jaw. “Hell of a knock you took there.”

I huffed out a laugh as I tried to look over her shoulder. “Yeah, you’re telling me. Fucking Christ.”

“Sense of humour is still intact. That’s good. But—” I hissed as she carefully touched the skin to the side of my nose, just under my eye. Which I was starting to realise was swollen shut. “I think you might have an orbital fracture.”

“Lucky me,” I said sourly. “Just what I wanted for Christmas.”

Scowling was painful, so I settled for trying to look at the rest of the team. Quite a few of them were still huddled around us, and their expressions ranged from relief, to anger, to annoyance. I was going to assume they weren’t angry at me.

If they were, I’d kick their asses.

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