You’re awake #2
The Bandits came at him through Laurence and through anyone else close enough to make contact count.
A half-forward blocked his run at a boundary throw-in, stepping across him just as Marcos moved to the drop.
The contact wasn’t much, but it cost him position, and Laurence got enough of the ball to knock it down to the Bandits’ Rover.
Two minutes later, at another stoppage, someone caught Marcos across the back of the shoulder after the ball had spilled loose.
He turned, saw no one watching him, and kept going.
The umpires weren’t missing everything. They paid one hold against Laurence halfway through the quarter after he dragged Marcos back by the front of his jersey, fingers hooked in the maroon and gold while pretending he didn’t know Marcos had already offloaded the ball.
Marcos took the free kick, sent it short to Darcy, and watched the Mustangs move forward through the corridor.
Most of it, though, the umpires missed.
A late elbow in a skirmish. A knee landing after a contest. A shoulder through Marcos’ ribs when the play had already moved on.
At the next bounce, Laurence pressed his forearm into Marcos’ chest before the ball had even left the umpire’s hands. Marcos shoved him off.
The whistle came, and both of them froze.
The umpire pointed at Marcos. “Free for Bendigo.”
The Bandits’ crowd roared like they had earned it.
Marcos stared at the umpire, then turned away before his mouth cost the team more.
Laurence brushed past him, shoulder knocking his arm. “Easy.”
The Bandits managed to get a goal from the free kick. A punt down into their fifty, a handball from that, and then it went through the posts.
Marcos kicked at the ground and breathed hard before resetting.
The umpire prepared the ball, and Marcos cracked his fingers, eyes set on Laurence.
The ball went up.
This time, Marcos’ gaze snapped to it, and he watched nothing but the ball.
He won the tap clean, Sebastian took it, and Melbourne scored within thirty seconds.
That was how the quarter shifted back. It wasn’t easy, and the Bandits still hit hard and did everything they could to stop the Mustangs from running through the centre and getting the ball into their fifty.
It didn’t work, and by half-time, the Mustangs were up by four.
In the rooms, the air felt close and damp.
Players moved around each other, sitting, standing, drinking, stretching, getting worked on by trainers.
Marcos sat on the bench, towel over his shoulders, listening as Jacob spoke.
His ribs ached where Laurence had driven into him.
His left hip was tight from landing badly after a throw-in. None of it mattered enough to mention.
Across the room, Sebastian sat with his elbows on his knees, listening with his head down. His hair was damp and pushed away from his forehead.
Marcos looked away before he was caught staring.
Parker dropped onto the bench beside him. “Old mates playing nice?” he asked, reaching for his bottle.
Marcos wiped his face with the towel. “Not really.”
“Didn’t think so.” Parker took a drink, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “They’re getting into you?”
“They’re trying.”
Parker hummed. “Well, fuck them. Give ‘em hell.”
Those words settled into him, and he held them close as the third quarter started.
The first five minutes were worse than anything the Bandits had done in the first half.
It wasn’t only Laurence now. That became clear almost immediately. The Bandits had come out of half-time with a plan, and the plan was Marcos.
At the first centre bounce, Laurence bodied him under the ball while the Bandits’ Rover blocked Sebastian’s run.
Marcos adjusted, got a hand to it, and knocked the ball sideways, but a Bendigo midfielder came through late and clipped him across the shoulder as he landed.
Marcos staggered, recovered, and chased the ball down.
The next contest, a half-forward stepped into his path as he chased the ball, shouldering him out of the contest before he got the chance to join it.
This time, Laurence smiled at him.
Marcos said nothing.
The ball went up again. Marcos jumped, met Laurence in the air, and got the tap down toward Lachie. As he landed, someone caught his side hard enough to knock the breath loose, and he turned too late to see who it was. By the time he recovered, the Bandits had already surged forward.
Sebastian went after the ball, got taken in a tackle, and was forced to get it out quickly. Harry cleaned it up at half back and sent it wide.
Marcos bent slightly, hands on his knees for half a second, pulling air into his lungs. His side burned, his ribs throbbed, and his jaw ached from how hard he had clenched it.
The game didn’t wait for Marcos to catch his breath.
The next passage went Melbourne’s way. Corey took a mark on the wing, moved it quickly to Phetmany, and Phetmany hit Andrew on the lead. Andrew went back, kicked the goal, and the Mustangs’ end erupted hard enough to shake the air.
They were up by ten. They could win this.
That should have been the only thing in his head, but Laurence didn’t let it be.
At the reset, he stepped in close enough that the umpire told them both to separate.
Marcos stepped back. Laurence did too, hands lifted as if he had done nothing.
“You seem a bit worn out,” Laurence said, voice low. “Maybe you should get the reject to step in.” He nodded at Sebastian.
“Do you ever shut up?” Marcos asked, eyes forward.
“Hey, I’m just waiting for you to actually put up a challenge.”
Marcos’ jaw worked once.
The umpire bounced the ball.