Chapter Eleven
Sebastian – “I can do this”
The following Monday felt rigid from the moment Sebastian woke up. Eyelids heavy, ears pulsing, and the sun hadn’t even risen yet.
He had spent the entire weekend locked away in his apartment. There was no need for him to be anywhere else, so he didn’t. He’d planted himself on his couch, turned on his television, and barely moved.
By Sunday night, his body had the itch to move and to have some sort of function.
So, he cleaned. The couch lined back up with the rug.
The coffee table put back into place. All the dirty dishes washed, dried, and returned to their cupboards.
The first aid kit neatly sorted, checked twice, and placed back where it belonged.
It had stopped his body from feeling like it needed to do something, but it had given his brain too much space to work. Maybe that was why he hadn’t slept well. Maybe that was why he’d woken up two hours before his alarm.
Sebastian ran a hand down his face, then swept the blankets off. Cold air rushed across his body, and a shiver shot through him.
His morning routine followed, slowed down in the hope of dragging it out for as long as possible. Shower. Clothes. Breakfast he made himself eat because training on an empty stomach was stupid.
Today was going to be his first day paired with Marcos.
Starting at the gym.
The Mustangs’ facility was still quiet when Sebastian arrived.
A few staff members were already circling the building, and a couple of players had started morning runs or gone straight into the gym.
The usual full-team noise hadn’t settled in yet.
The hallways held the early sounds instead: shoes on hard flooring, doors opening and closing, low voices carrying from different rooms.
Sebastian stood in the locker room with his bag open on the bench. The schedule Jacob had given him sat neatly on top of his clothes, towels, and boots, folded and placed with care. He didn’t need to read over it again. He knew exactly what it said and what the day would bring.
He sighed, dug through his bag, and grabbed his training gear, changing quickly before he could stand there long enough for the thought to settle too deeply.
A few of his teammates filtered into the locker room, giving him small nods or waves as they moved to their lockers.
None of them said anything, but the looks on their faces told Sebastian news of the program with him and Marcos had reached them.
Sebastian knew everyone would know about it. Of course they would. Football clubs were terrible places for secrets. A restructured training routine because two players had tried to beat the shit out of each other during match simulation was not something that would stay contained for long.
Still, he didn’t expect the careful way people didn’t mention it.
Did they all think he and Marcos wouldn’t be able to handle being stuck together?
Sebastian zipped his bag harder than he needed to.
He was starting to wonder that himself.
Before, maybe, even with the rivalry on the field and the history between them, they would have been able to work together. To talk to each other. To look at each other without everything underneath it crowding into the room.
Now, it didn’t seem like it. Marcos was clearly working through his own thoughts and feelings about what had happened and didn’t want Sebastian to have anything to do with it. Didn’t want Sebastian to have even a glimpse.
Sebastian took a deep breath, gripped his forearm, and squeezed once. Then he let his hands fall to his sides and left the locker room.
He threaded through the corridor and pushed his way into the gym, scanning it as he entered. The lights were already bright, and the space had started to fill with the morning rhythm of bodies and equipment.
Marcos was already there.
He stood in the corner near the rack of dumbbells with Zach, one of their fitness coordinators.
Marcos seemed relaxed. At least, more than he had last week.
His arms were loose by his sides, his shoulders were down, and he nodded along with whatever Zach was saying.
His hair swayed messily with every movement, and Sebastian could see muscle flex under his compression top when he shifted his weight.
Sebastian nipped at his lip before Zach caught his eye and beckoned him over.
Marcos’ gaze flicked up to meet Sebastian’s. Quick and direct. Then it fell back on Zach.
That was better than nothing.
Sebastian walked across the gym and came to a halt beside them, keeping his attention on Zach.
The man wore the look of someone who was patient, but also wasn’t going to take anyone’s shit. Late-thirties, maybe. Slight wrinkles running across his forehead, completely bald head, and the kind of build that showed he had been doing this for a lot longer than Sebastian.
He handed Sebastian his tablet.
“It’s been sent to both of you as well,” he said before giving Sebastian time to look through it.
It was their workout routine. Push, pull, legs, upper, lower. A standard split. Easy to follow. It was the text that sat with each workout, though, that caught Sebastian’s attention.
Together. One spot and record. One lift.
It was plain. It made sense. It twisted Sebastian’s stomach in an uncomfortable way.
They weren’t going to be able to come to the gym and pretend the other wasn’t there. They were going to have to interact. Help each other. Sebastian was going to have to stand over Marcos while he pushed out reps. Marcos would have to guide Sebastian’s arms when he was about to reach failure.
Zach took the tablet back and said something about laps around the field after each workout, and Marcos and Sebastian both nodded. Then he left, leaving the two of them alone as the sound of the gym slowly came alive around them.
Marcos shifted first, clearing his throat and moving to the rack, starting to set up an incline bench press. He adjusted the bench, set the height of the bar, and started pushing plates onto it.
Sebastian stepped in to help, and Marcos let him.
They didn’t speak, and Marcos still didn’t look at Sebastian properly, but he lifted a plate toward him. Sebastian took it and slid it onto the bar.
When it was ready, Marcos gestured to the bench.
Sebastian got onto it, lying back and watching Marcos walk around behind him to stand ready in case he needed assistance.
He didn’t.
The weight lifted easily for most of the reps. The bar moved down, touched, then rose again, clean and steady. Sebastian kept his eyes on the ceiling and counted in his head, refusing to focus on the shape of Marcos standing behind him.
He stalled a little on the eighth, but Marcos didn’t have to step in.
Sebastian racked the bar and got up.
Marcos’ eyes slid over him once, quickly. Then he double-checked the weight and took Sebastian’s spot.
Sebastian watched him take up the space on the bench. His broad shoulders hung over the edges, and his arms flexed as he reached up for the bar. His thick legs tensed and shifted as his feet planted firmly against the floor.
Sebastian swallowed, brought his gaze back to the weight, and adjusted his stance in case Marcos needed help.
Marcos completed the set with ease and racked the weight. Then they waited in silence. Seconds passed slowly while they recovered, both of them standing close enough that Sebastian could hear Marcos’ breathing return to normal.
Then it was Sebastian’s turn again.
That was how the rest of the session went.
No conversation. No contact. Barely a second glance.
By Thursday, the shape of it had become worse because it had become familiar.
They moved from gym to field, from field to recovery, and back again. The club folded their forced partnership into the rest of the training program with the brutal efficiency of a place built around schedules.
Staff stopped looking surprised when Sebastian and Marcos walked into a room together. Teammates stopped making jokes every time they were sent to the same station. Even Randal only lasted two days before losing interest in asking how Sebastian and Marcos hadn’t killed each other yet.
The lack of attention only gave Sebastian more room to notice things no one else cared about.
Marcos handed him a towel after conditioning on the second afternoon without looking him properly. His fingers brushed Sebastian’s for half a second, then stayed there long enough that he looked down.
Marcos let go after that.
On Friday, they ran stoppage drills with the centre group. Marcos took the ruck, Sebastian the ruck-rover, both of them in the place Jacob wanted them, both of them with no choice but to function. The ball went up. Marcos moved. Sebastian read him easily.
Marcos tapped down toward the left pocket without calling for it, and Sebastian was already moving. He took the ball cleanly, twisted out of pressure, and handballed to Kirk before the reserve mid could close in on him. Jacob blew the whistle, reset the drill, and made them run it again.
The second time, the tap went forward.
Sebastian caught that, too.
Third time, Marcos palmed it toward space where Sebastian hadn’t planned to be, but his body took him there anyway. Boots over grass, hands ready, shoulder dropped to avoid contact. The ball came down exactly where Marcos had sent it, and Sebastian had it before his head truly caught up.
Across the oval, Jacob watched with his arms folded.
Sebastian didn’t look at him for long. He already knew what Jacob had seen.
They were good together.
Professionally, that should’ve mattered more than anything.
It should’ve cut through the rest. The club had signed them for this exact reason.
ruck and ruck-rover. Contest and clearance.
Marcos putting the ball where Sebastian could use it, Sebastian making the tap look deliberate even when half of it was instinct.
But each clean passage of play made the private mess harder to dismiss.
Every new day continued around that problem.