“Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m… confused,” I manage. “I need time to think.”
He laughs—a harsh, ugly sound. “Time to think? About what? Whether you can do better than me?”
“This isn’t about?—”
“Oh, come on.” His voice rises, sharp enough to cut. “You think I don’t know what this is? You’re the golden boy, the owner’s son. You can’t handle bad press, so you’re dropping me before it gets messy.”
“That’s not?—”
He steps closer again, face twisting into something unfamiliar. “You’re making this way harder than it has to be. This was supposed to be simple, Alaric. A good look for both of us. You think I wanted this circus?”
The shift in tone chills me. “What are you talking about?”
Kyle exhales sharply, shoving his hands through his hair. “I just wanted a quick thing, alright? Some fun. Then your dad called. He offered to keep me in the spotlight if I played along. It’s PR gold—the team’s golden heir and his perfect partner.”
I freeze. “Hewhat?”
Kyle looks annoyed, like he’s explaining something obvious. “He said it’d help everyone. The team, me, even you. I didn’t think it mattered to you, honestly.”
“You made a deal with my father?”
“It’s not like I had a choice. You’re the one he wanted me linked to.”
Something in my chest snaps.
“So what was any of this?” I demand. “The dinners? The photos? The way you acted?”
He shrugs. “Publicity. You’re good press, man.”
I laugh, disbelieving. It comes out broken. “You’re serious.”
“Don’t get dramatic. It’s not personal.”
That does it.
I grab his jersey collar and shove him hard against the wall of lockers. The metal clangs, echoing through the hall.
“Don’t,” I hiss, “talk to me like that.”
He shoves me back, eyes flashing. “You gonna hit me, Al? That’d make a great headline—owner’s son in a domestic violence case.”
I don’t even think. I swing. My fist catches his jaw.
He reels back, cursing, then lunges at me. The two of us crash into the lockers, fists, elbows, the sharp crack of metal and bone.
Devon’s voice cuts through it, distant at first. “Hey! What the hell?” Then he’s pulling Kyle off me while Liam grabs my arm.
“Enough!” Coach Hendricks’s bark follows, heavy and final.
We’re both panting, blood smeared, shirts torn. Kyle’s lip is split. My knuckles throb.
“Office. Now,” the coach snaps.
No one moves. The silence stretches until Devon mutters, “Jesus, you two are insane.”
Coach points at me. “You—medic. You—shower. I don’t want to see either of you until you remember you’re teammates, not enemies.”
Kyle glares at me, wiping his mouth. “You’re gonna regret this.”
