Halfway down the field, my thoughts drifted—Ellery’s face when she’d tried to sound fine, the exhaustion behind her smile. I picked up speed, legs burning, lungs screaming. Anything to drown that image out.
When we reached the end, Lawson barked another set, but I wasn’t listening anymore. My phone was still buzzing on the bench, another reply coming in.
Confirmed partnership. Details to follow.
I stared at it for a second, sweat dripping into my eyes, chest heaving.
That was three sponsors locked. Enough to keep her foundation above water.
I wiped my face with my sleeve and muttered under my breath, “Can't believe you didn't fucking know. And you call yourself a boyfriend? Fuck me."
I didn't know why this pissed me off so much, but it did.
Kyle jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead, the air between us heavy with that post-drill burn and something worse—curiosity.
He planted his hands on his hips. “What did you say?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.
I stared at him. “You’re her boyfriend. Shouldn’t you know what’s going on?”
His head snapped up at that, tone going defensive. “She’s been busy. I’ve been training. We don’t have time to talk about every crisis she has.”
Something in me bristled. Maybe it was the way he said every crisis, like what she did was an inconvenience instead of the thing she built her whole world around.
“It’s not every crisis,” I said before I could stop myself. “It’s her life’s work.”
The words came out sharper than I meant, but I didn’t take them back.
Kyle’s eyes narrowed, that easy charm he always wore slipping just a little. “You sound like you care a lot for someone who just met her.”
I met his stare head-on. “Someone’s gotta.”
The field went quiet again, or maybe it just felt that way. Lawson was yelling at someone near midfield, but the sound was muted—background noise to the tension sitting between us.
Kyle let out a short, humorless laugh. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
I smirked, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “Never been my strong suit.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, maybe throw a punch just to make it simple again, but he didn’t. He just shook his head, muttering something under his breath, and jogged back toward the rest of the team.
I stood there for a second, breathing hard, trying to shake off the edge in my voice. I hadn’t planned to get into it with him. Hell, I hadn’t planned to feel anything about any of this.
But the truth was, hearing him talk like that—like she was some side project he’d get around to when life slowed down—got under my skin more than it should have.
Ellery didn’t half-ass anything. She worked herself raw trying to make that foundation matter, and people like Kyle got to be her reason for smiling while the rest of us watched her carry the weight alone.
I turned back toward the bench, grabbed my water bottle, and took a long drink. The water was lukewarm, useless, but it gave me something to do while my temper cooled.
Across the field, Kyle was laughing again with Adam and Derek, slipping back into the easy rhythm of teammates who never stayed mad for long. I envied that—how simple it was for him to move on.
I couldn’t stop replaying the look on Ellery’s face the last time I saw her.
I tossed the bottle aside and went back to drills, running harder than before—trying to burn the thought of her, of him, out of my head.
It didn’t work.
After practice, Adam cornered me before I could even sit down, towel still slung around my neck, sweat cooling on my skin. The locker room was a low hum of voices and slamming lockers, the usual chaos after drills, but he somehow made it feel like a spotlight was pointed right at me.
“So,” he said, leaning against the bench, grin too sharp to be friendly. “Rumor says you went nuclear on Reynolds.”
