Page 67 of A Game of Ruck
Even without the confirmation text from Marco Martinez, I feel her.
Like a sixth sense.
Like gravity realigning.
She’s here.
She always brings calm with her, like sunshine cracking through storm clouds.
And when I finally catch sight of her in the stands, nerves painted across her pretty face as she gnaws that full lower lip, sitting between Daniela and Finley—I swear, I stop breathing for a second.
Goddamn.She is finally here.
And everything inside me settles.
Just like that.
This is why I work so hard.
This is why I will stay and wait forever.
Because she completes me.And everything I do?It’s all for her.
“Alright, you sorry sacks of donkey shite, bring your arses in!”Coach calls, waving us into the huddle.
His accent is thick as ever, part Kiwi, part dragon.
Honestly, half the shit he says sounds like a medieval insult.
But whatever.I’m dialed in.
“You looking to score a try today, mate?”Coach asks, squinting at me like he already knows the answer.
“I’m looking to win it all,” I snap back, voice steady.
He nods once.“Then get your game face on.Gators are fast and sloppy.Don’t let ‘em control the tempo.We ruck hard and fast.Target their nine.We go in with discipline, precision, and bloody fucking violence!”
Heads nod.
Grunts sound.
Cleats scrape the ground.
The air shifts.
This is it.
We lock arms and stomp out toward the pitch.
Studs bite into turf.
Breath fogs in the air even though it’s hot as hell.
Sun blaring, sweat already soaking through jerseys.
The ref blows the whistle.
The crowd erupts.
