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Sort of never sounded so beautiful.
* * *
Heart pounding like it's trying to escape my chest, I crane my neck to take in the gargantuan temple of paintball mayhem we’re about to dive into. I can practically taste the tang of anticipation in the air, mixed with a whiff of fresh paint and dirt. This makeshift Colosseum is Roger’s love letter. Designed by a man with too much money and a passion for spectacle, this over-the-top indulgence is an overgrown beast of inflatable bunkers and treacherous no-man's lands..
"Man, Roger really went all out," Wyatt mumbles beside me, his voice tinged with awe and a hint of amusement as we all stand decked out in actual army gear, masks and ear pieces included.
"Looks more like we’re storming Normandy than playing paintball," I chuckle, taking a moment to appreciate the absurdity.
The arena sprawls before us, a labyrinth of walls and obstacles that would put most action movie sets to shame. There’s fake foliage, towering barriers, and enough nooks and crannies for an army of chameleons to disappear into. It's as if Roger has been conspiring with every kid's wildest dreams to birth this behemoth of a battlefield.
Kat moves up to my side, her fiery spirit even brighter than the wild colors splashed across the arena. And hell if I'm not determined to win this for her, to be her knight in splattered armor. She's worth every bruise and every mad dash across this crazy battlefield.
"Ready to kick some ass?" Kat grins at me, her eyes alight with the same wildfire dancing in my gut.
"Born ready," I shoot back, slapping a magazine into my paintball gun with more zeal than necessary. But hell, this isn't just any game. This is war–a kaleidoscope of color and chaos where I’m not just playing to win; I'm playing to protect Kat. To stand by her, cover her six, and make sure she knows she's got an ally in every corner of this madness.
"Welcome to the Sharpe Shootout!" Roger's voice booms out around us, amplified to godlike proportions. Descending across the crowd, the sound of his voice stirs up the teams huddled in their respective starting zones and sharpens everyone’s competitive edge. The tension so thick you could spread it on toast.
"Remember, it's all in good fun," he continues, but there's a glint in his eye that says otherwise. This is the same man who probably taught Sun Tzu a thing or two about strategy in another life. “But also…the winners get an all expenses paid trip to…drumroll please…my house for dinner.”
The entire Sharpe clan lets out a chorus of boos and Roger laughs good-naturedly. “Sorry. I’m kidding. I’m kidding. The winners, of course, get an all expenses paid trip for up to six people to New Zealand!”
Cheers ring out, but it all becomes background noise as I catch Kat's gaze, a silent promise passing between us–no matter how this plays out, we're in it together. Her determined nod sends a jolt straight through me, igniting every nerve ending. She’s our captain, our fearless leader, and today, I swear she’s shining brighter than the sun in a cloudless sky.
The countdown begins, and every muscle in my body coils tighter than a rattlesnake ready to strike.
Three... Two... One...
The air horn blasts, and the world explodes into motion. Teams break from their huddles, scattering like ants under a magnifying glass. Paintballs zip through the air, splattering bright splotches of color wherever they land. Shouts and laughter mingle with the pop-pop-pop of paintball guns, creating a symphony of organized chaos.
Adrenaline surges and I'm moving, dodging, weaving through the artificial jungle with the grace of a gazelle–if gazelles were armed to the teeth and high on the thrill of competition. I’m part of a well-oiled machine, each of us playing our role in this dance of paint and victory.
"Stick to the plan!" Kat shouts, flashing a wild grin at Wyatt, who’s already lining up shots with the precision of a sniper. And I don’t even get jealous. Look at me go.
Okay, so maybe I do a little. But that’s okay, it’ll just push me to be better. To try harder. Right?
We’re doing this for Kat. For the crazy ride that’s brought us all together. And as paint fills the air, turning the battleground into a canvas of combat, I can’t help but think that this right here? This is living.
We’ve got this.
Splatters of neon green and electric blue drench the inflatable barricades as I sprint behind them, my heart thumping a relentless rhythm. "Left flank!" Kat's voice pierces through the cacophony, sharp as the crack of a paintball against plastic. In this colorful warzone of Roger Sharpe's making, we're more than just a team–we're an unstoppable force.
"Got it," I call back, swinging around to cover Wyatt, who’s perched like a hawk on higher ground. His gun is an extension of his arm, each shot sending a streaking paintball across the field with deadly accuracy, popping against helmets and chests like vindictive raindrops.
"Emrys, your six!" The warning barely leaves my lips before Emrys, ever the ghost, melts into the shadows of the arena's mock foliage. One second he's there, the next, he's gone, only to reappear where you least expect him–silent and deadly. Metaphorically, of course.
As for me? I’m the wildcard. While Wyatt calculates angles and Emrys slinks unseen, I charge headlong into the fray, a grin plastered on my face. Each dive and roll feels like a dance move, each trigger pulling a note in our symphony of mayhem. I'm all about the thrill, the rush of pushing the limits—because that's what she brings out in me: the reckless, fun-loving daredevil. Only that daredevil has a purpose now.
I slide into a new spot and pop off a couple of shots. A paintball zings by, close enough to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. "Missed me," I sing out to nobody in particular.
"Keep it down, Casanova," Wyatt mutters, his sniper-like focus never wavering. I stick my tongue out at him because maturity is overrated, and we're all about having fun here, right?
"Hey, Wilder, remember that time you tried to impress Kat by eating a ghost pepper?" Emrys chimes in, his smirk evident even from behind his mask as he surfaces on my left out of nowhere.
"Let's not relive my moments of gastrointestinal bravery right now," I shoot back, wincing at the memory. Note to self: Hot peppers and heroics don't mix.
"Kat, I'm going in!" I signal to our commander-in-chief, who nods once, her eyes alight with the fire of battle.
