The glow of the field’s large scoreboard in the corner mocked Jack’s patience from the sideline Tuesday night. It had been about nine days since he’d felt Matt’s soft, fluffy blonde hair brush his inner thigh, since Matt’s breath had warmed his groin.
Jack swayed back and forth on the sideline, antsy and ready for the semifinal game against the three seed, his cleats digging into the grass. His team had earned a bye this past weekend in round one as the two seed (as had Matt’s as the one seed) and there was now just one game and win separating their teams from facing each other for the state championship in their state group. He’d spent the last week oscillating between intense training, trying to burn off restless energy, and doing an uncomfortable introspection into who he was at his core.
Their matches were staggered, played on adjacent fields at the sprawling regional sports complex, the roar of the crowd and the sharp whistle of referees bleeding into each other.
Jack’s mind eased as his match got underway, focused on the thud of the ball, the surge of adrenaline as he weaved through defenders. He was a pure attacker, waiting like a snake to strike at any moment. Twenty minutes into the second half, the scoreboard showed his team up 1-0. A narrow lead, but his team’s defense was holding strong. Jack was itching to find the net. He’d had a few good runs, a couple of close shots, but nothing had clicked yet.
There was a quick stoppage for an injury, a teammate rolling around, likely embellishing to catch a break, that gave Jack a minute to retreat to the sideline for water. As he turned to listen to his coach barking strategic orders, his gaze drifted across the field, over the heads of the parents and younger siblings clustered along the fence, to Matt now standing with his arms folded, his blonde hair disheveled and just recently free from his usual headband.
Jack’s heart gave a strange, unwelcome lurch. His rival. His…whatever Matt was. Matt gave a small, casual. A sudden, irrational need to impress him surged through Jack, overriding the game plan, overriding everything. He wanted to score, not just for his team, but for Matt. Before going back out on the pitch, he jogged towards the sideline where Matt stood as the medical team took a long at the fake injury on the field.
“Hey,” Jack panted. He gestured vaguely towards the other field. “How’d it go? You guys win?” He tried to sound nonchalant, but he was anxious, praying the team that he could never beat had in fact won and would now await his own in the championship.
Matt’s lips quivered into a small, cocky smile. “Of course we won. Four-nil.”
Jack felt his jaw clench. Four-nil. Of course. The suffocating midfield, led by Matt, rarely conceded a single opposing goal. Their number one seed status wasn't just for show. Jack rolled his eyes, “of course you did…”
Jack heard his name being called to rejoin his teammates for the start of play. As he turned, Matt gave one more shout, “Jack…go take care of business.”
The moment Jack stepped back onto the pitch, a fire lit within him. The whistle blew, signaling the restart. Jack was everywhere. His mind, usually analytical and focused on team play, was now singularly fixated on that tall blonde boy on the sideline, an electric current pushing him forward.
Ten minutes later, a through ball from his midfielder teammate sliced through the opposing defense. Jack was already in motion, anticipating, reading the play before anyone else. He ghosted past a flailing defender, collected the ball with a first touch, positioning it perfectly for his right foot. Two more touches, a quick glance at the keeper, and then he unleashed a low, driven shot that threaded the needle between the keeper’s outstretched hand and the near post. SWISH. The net rippled. Goal.
The crowd erupted, but Jack’s eyes instinctively darted to the sideline. Matt was still there, his head tilted slightly, watching. Jack allowed himself a quick smirk that Matt returned, proud of him.
He scored again five minutes later. This time, it was a header from a corner, a powerful leap above two defenders, the ball thudding off his forehead with a satisfying bang. The keeper had no chance as it sailed into the top corner.
Two goals in five minutes for Matt. Jack, pumped full of adrenaline felt a surge of triumph and pumped his fist, eyes finding Matt’s again. This time, Matt offered a slow, deliberate clap.
When the final whistle blew, the scoreboard read 3-0. Jack’s team had secured their spot in the final. And, more importantly, a clash with Matt, making their last wager officially a go. As Jack approached the sideline after the handshake line, he found Matt toweling off his blonde locks, which were damp and even fluffier without the headband.
“Good game,” Matt said, as Jack came to a stop a few feet from him, his breathing still ragged. They both smelled from their matches. Matt lowered the towel, his bright blue eyes meeting Jack’s. “Jack you were flying out there. Seriously. Those two goals were amazing.” His compliment wasn’t just polite; it was genuinely delivered.
Jack felt a strange flutter in his stomach, a sensation he vaguely recognized as butterflies, but one he usually associated with pre-game nerves or girls. “Thanks, Matt. You too. Four-nil, pretty impressive.”
“So, championship Saturday, huh?,” Matt said, a slight flush on his cheeks. He leaned against the fence, his gaze drifting over the emptying field.
Jack’s heart pounded a little harder. “Looks like it…” He paused, remembering their last conversation.
Matt looked back at him, his expression serious. “Jack I broke up with my girlfriend.” His voice was low, as if people were around, listening. “She cried, of course. Said she didn’t see it coming. Neither did I a few weeks ago.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
Jack was surprised. He hadn't actually expected Matt to follow through, not so quickly. “Wow,” Jack breathed, the word soft. “You actually did it.”
Matt nodded. “Yeah. I did. Did you…?” His gaze was direct, expectant.
Jack felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t. Not yet. The last nine days had been focused on training and he still wondered if their ‘fling’ would end at any moment.
“Not yet,” Jack confessed, his voice a little strained. He saw a flicker of something in Matt’s eyes.
“But I will. Before Saturday. I promise.” The words were out before he could second-guess them. “I don’t want anything holding me back. Or…us.” The last two words were barely a whisper, a daring step that put more out into the open than anything they’d said so far.
Matt’s lips curved into that soft, almost shy smile again. “Good.” He pushed off the fence, taking a step closer.
Jack laughed, a short, nervous puff of air. “Yeah…”
Without a word, Matt reached out. His hands, still damp, wrapped around Jack’s shoulders. It was a close hug, surprisingly tender for two sweaty, exhausted athletes. Jack’s arms instinctively wrapped around Matt’s waist, pulling him closer. He could feel the warmth of Matt’s skin, the subtle scent of his sweat mixing with his deodorant. Everything about it felt right. Comfortable.
For a long moment, they just held each other, the noise of the departing crowds, the distant hum of the stadium lights, fading into the background. Jack closed his eyes, inhaling Matt’s scent, feeling the lean softness of his back through his jersey under his hands.
Finally, they pulled apart, a lingering warmth between them. “Good luck with the rest of the week, Jack. See you Saturday.”
“You too, Matt,” Jack replied, his voice a little hoarse. “See you Saturday.”
They exchanged one last look, acknowledging the momentous game ahead, and the even bigger consequence hanging over the loser. Jack watched Matt walk away, his tall figure disappearing towards the parking lot. He felt a shift in his world finally taking shape.
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