Kyle lunged for me again. There was no space left between us—just heat, breath, and fury. Every muscle in my body coiled tight, my pulse hammering in my ears. You could practically taste the tension; it was thick enough to choke on.
He was breathing hard, chest heaving, eyes wild. “You cost me sponsors,” he spat, voice breaking under the weight of anger.
I laughed once, short and sharp. “You cost yourself. You were too busy chasing glory to notice the person holding you together.”
That hit. I saw it—the flicker of recognition, the crack behind the fury. But he buried it fast, jaw tightening before he shoved me hard in the chest.
My feet slid through the grass. I shoved back before I could think, adrenaline surging through me like fire. The field erupted instantly—shouting, cleats scraping, the sound of bodies closing in.
Adam and Derek were suddenly between us, hands up like human barriers.
“Hey, hey! Chill out!” Adam barked, pushing Kyle back a step.
Derek grabbed my arm, muttering under his breath, “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”
Coach Lawson’s whistle blared across the pitch. “Enough!”
But Kyle wasn’t listening. His face was red, his voice cracking. “You’re nothing without chaos!” he shouted over the noise. “You think she’ll last five minutes with someone like you?”
Something snapped inside me then—not anger, just clarity.
My eyes met his. “Then why’s she still standing,” I said evenly, “while you’re here throwing tantrums?”
The words hung between us like a challenge neither of us could take back.
For a second, I thought he was going to swing. His fist twitched at his side, knuckles white, breath coming fast. The entire team froze—waiting for the hit, for the sound of contact.
Then Coach’s whistle cut through everything. Sharp. Final. “Both of you,” he barked. “Off my field. Now.”
Nobody moved. Not even Kyle. His chest rose and fell, fury shaking his shoulders. Finally, he stepped back, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like a curse.
He turned, storming toward the gate without another word. Cameras would have a field day with this—two teammates, center stage, the scandal still fresh.
I stayed where I was, breathing hard, sweat and anger still crawling under my skin.
Coach stalked over, jaw tight, eyes like steel. “You want to ruin what’s left of your season?” he snapped. “Keep this up.”
I nodded once, biting back a retort.
When he walked off to deal with Kyle, Adam clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Well,” he said grimly, “that’ll make tomorrow’s headlines easier to find.”
I gave a humorless laugh. “They were already writing them.”
As the field slowly came back to life—drills resuming, murmurs rising again—I stayed rooted to the same spot, the grass torn up beneath my cleats.
All I could think about was Ellery—how she’d look when she saw this, what she’d think of me now.
Because for all the noise and all the fury, the truth was simple. I hadn’t swung. Not because I couldn’t. Because she wouldn’t have wanted me to.
The locker room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that hummed in your ears, heavy with everything unsaid. No one cracked a joke this time, no music played from the corner speaker. Just the smell of sweat, disinfectant, and the faint sting of adrenaline burning off.
I sat on the bench, elbows on my knees, head down. My knuckles were still white, veins still pulsing from holding back what every instinct wanted to finish. The silence pressed closer until even my own breathing felt too loud.
Then the door slammed open.
Cam stormed in, clipboard in hand, jaw tight enough to cut glass. “Congratulations,” he said, voice sharp and cutting. “You just gave the media the clip they were waiting for.”
I didn’t look up. Didn’t have to. I could already picture it—grainy video on every sports channel by sundown, two Storm players going at it on the field. Perfect headline to feed the mess already spilling across the internet.
