Page 39 of Scrum Heat

He read it in a blog post once, and now it’s tradition.

The energy’s slightly different, though, because Frankie’s here, too.

She’s perched on the edge of a kit box in a pair of skin-tight jeans and an Alderbridge RFC jersey that’s way too big. It’s one of ours—Theo’s, if I had to take a guess. She’s got her phone in her lap and her legs tucked up like she’s trying not to take up space. Her foot’s bouncing, and she’s half-focused, half-ready to bolt.

But she keeps looking at me.

She watches like I’m an equation: the unknown variable in a house full of loud constants. I haven’t given her much—no flirtation, no casual conversation; no soft, golden-boy smiles. That’s not me.

I’m the one who doesn’t knock before contact. The one who gets sent in when things get ugly. And maybe that’s what she’s sensing—that underneath the quiet, there’s something sharper, something less safe.

Good. That makes her smart.

And she shouldn’t trust what she doesn’t know.

But still, when her knee brushes mine as she shifts, when she tucks her hair behind her ear and bites her lip while reviewing footage, Ifeelit. Every single cell in my body clocks it.

My silence isn’t a strategy—it’s just how I am. Always has been.

Because silent stays alive. Silent sees everything.

Silent doesn’t get caught in the fallout.

I spent years learning to make myself invisible in a house where noise was dangerous, where stillness was survival. I’ve got the scars to prove it—thin and faded, one of the worst tucked beneath the tape on my left wrist. You’d only notice it if you were looking for something wrong.

Most people don’t look.

But she might.

Rory claps once, loud and sharp. Everyone jerks up.

“It’s time.”

Theo kisses his biceps and jumps to his feet. “Let’s go ruin some egos, gentlemen.”

Finn straightens his collar and gives a little nod. “Maybe we could actually try for a clean game, with no injuries, where everyone drinks water.”

“Just once, can we lead with violence?” Theo groans.

Ollie and Ben, two of our teammates, laugh in agreement.

“Violenceandaccountability,” Rory mutters, grabbing for his boots. “Let’s not have anyone getting benched in the first ten minutes.”

Theo flexes in front of the mirror again. “Rory,please. I’m the morale boost. You’re the scowl. Jax is the nuclear option.”

Everyone turns to me for a beat, but I don’t respond. I just tighten the strap on my glove and keep moving.

Rory jerks his chin. “Game plan’s clear. Harwich will try to muscle wide early—don’t let ‘em. We hold formation and keep our heads.”

“Especially yours, Theo,” Finn adds.

“Mine’s gorgeous,” Theo says. “But noted.”

Rory’s already halfway to the door. “No one gets through us. Not today.”

“Let’s give them something to whine about in the group chat for the rest of the season,” Finn snickers.

There are grins all around, and I finish taping my right wrist. I stretch my fingers and roll my neck once to each side.

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