Page 25

For now, this game is ours to control.

The moment the ball is placed back at center field, Seattle’s body language shifts. They aren’t rattled, but they sure as hell aren’t happy about giving up the first try either. They’re an experienced squad, second in the conference for a reason. I can already see their fly-half barking orders, adjusting their attacking shape before the ref blows the whistle for the restart. Seattle’s number ten sends a deep kickoff into our half, the ball spinning high under the stadium lights. Zane is already tracking it, his positioning perfect as he settles under the ball. He catches cleanly, but Seattle’s chase is relentless—two of their flankers come in hot, and this time, Zane has no room to counter. Dominic is there first. He charges in like a wrecking ball, clearing out the first Seattle player and making enough space for Finn to dig for the ball. He snatches it up, quick as ever, and fires a short pass to Toby at fly-half, who has options. He can kick, but Seattle’s back three are already dropping into coverage.

Instead, he sells a dummy pass to Nico before slicing a grubber kick straight through the defensive line. The ball bounces unpredictably, skipping past Seattle’s scrambling defenders. Leo is already sprinting onto it. His acceleration is lethal. He kicks it forward once, twice, keeping the ball in control with perfectly timed touches before scooping it up at full speed. The Seawolves’ fullback is closing in, but Leo’s one step ahead, chipping the ball delicately over him before gathering it and diving for the try line.

TRY!

The ref points to the spot, and the stadium erupts again.

Seattle’s captain is already in the ref’s ear, demanding a knock-on review, but the replay on the big screen shows it clearly—clean touches all the way. Toby lines up the conversion, this time from the right side of the field. The wind is picking up, making the angle trickier, but Toby’s as cool as ever. He takes his steps back, breathes deep, and strikes through.

14-0, Tigers.

I glance at Brady, and he just nods. This is exactly what we wanted—a fast start, full control. But Seattle is too experienced to let this get away from them easily.

And just like that, they adjust. Seattle regroups and starts dominating possession. Their pack is physical, slowing our breakdowns, and their backs move the ball through quick hands, stretching our defense. Their first breakthrough comes in the 27th minute, when their inside center crashes through a half-gap between Nico and Elliot, offloading to their winger at the last second.

The guy is fast—too fast to stop. He burns down the sideline, stepping past Zane before grounding the ball.

Conversion is good. 14-7.

Their second try is even worse.

After a prolonged attack inside our 22-meter line, Seattle keeps battering at our defense. Callum and Luka make crucial tackles, keeping them from crossing, but our line is stretched too thin.

Finally, their fly-half sees an opportunity, sending a perfectly weighted cross-field kick to their right wing, who catches it uncontested and touches down.

Conversion? Good.

14-14.

Just like that, the lead is gone, and the last minutes of the half are a war.

Seattle is pressing hard, but we manage to push them back to midfield after a huge turnover from Malik Dembélé, who steals the ball at the breakdown. We go on the attack, moving the ball fast, but Seattle’s defense is holding firm. Toby spots a slight opening, drops back, and goes for a drop goal from 35 meters out.

The strike is clean. The ball sails toward the posts, hanging in the air for a split second before it drops over the crossbar.

Drop goal!

17-14, Tigers.

The ref blows the whistle, signaling halftime.

The players jog off, breaths heavy, sweat pouring down their faces. Some look frustrated, others focused. This isn’t a comfortable lead—not even close.

Seattle has momentum, but we have fight. I exchange a look with Coach Brandt as we walk toward the huddle. “They’re making us work for it,” he mutters.

“No one said this was gonna be easy,” I reply. As the team gathers, I scan the sideline. Trainers are already working on rehydrating the players, checking for signs of fatigue or minor injuries. And then, my eyes find her.

Anastasia is standing near the medical staff, clipboard in hand, watching the team. She looks focused, but there’s something in the way she bites the inside of her cheek, the way her fingers tighten slightly around her pen, that tells me her mind isn’t just on player assessments.

It’s on me.

And for the first time in 24 hours, I know exactly what I’m going to say to her when we finally talk. Because if this game has reminded me of anything, it’s that you don’t win by playing it safe.

And I’m done playing it safe with Anastasia Bellows.