Page 138 of Scrum Heat

Whatever. I’m trying not to worry about it too much. After all, we’re clean, we’re bonded, and we’re better together.

Which means we’re going to win.

Rory’s already heading toward the center with the ref. Marcus Vale—Denton’s captain—is waiting there, arms crossed,expression sharp. He’s all smug build and empty grit; the kind of player who wins dirty and shouts about discipline.

The kind of player Theodespises.

The two captains shake hands—brief, but firm. The ref calls it down the line.

“Cleanside today—Denton, your kick. Alderbridge, you receive. Reset in formation.”

We jog into place. Me on the wing, Theo just behind the ruck line, Jax near the forward pod. Rory shifts to full view, giving quick hand signals, locking in our defensive wall.

He glances once over his shoulder—just once—and we all move.

The whistle hits.

The stadium erupts.

And the game begins.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Theo

If Marcus Vale so much as breathes in my direction before kickoff, I might punt him into the next time zone

He’s already doing that thing he does—standing there with his chin up, arms crossed, all smug posture and fake poise. Rory’s now giving him the world’s most professional handshake while I’m actively imagining kicking him in the shin with just enough force to make it look accidental.

Ihatethat fucker more than anyone else. Butthisgame?

This one’smine.

The whistle blows, and we’re off.

They kick short—cowards—and Jax catches it without flinching. No drama, just full control. He hits the ground clean and low, and Rory’s already organizing the pod like we’ve got eyes in the back of our heads.

“Secure it! Clear the line!”

Ben hits the breakdown hard. I swing wide, waiting. Finn moves past me in a blur.

Ball’s out—Jax to Ollie to Rory—and then to me.

And god: there’sspace.

I explode through the gap, boots digging into turf, arms tucked tight. One step, two, dummy left—defender bites—cut back inside. Another one’s coming, but he’s too slow. I’m already gone.

Twenty meters out. Then fifteen.

Marcus is coming straight for me, full tilt. I don’t stop, I don’t brace—

I drop the ball to my foot and send itflying.

It sails through the air at the perfect angle; no wind to fight against it. I watch with my heart in my mouth as it heads straight through the uprights.

The flags go up, the ref signals the score, and the crowderupts.

“YES!” Finnscreamsbehind me. “LET’SGO!”

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