I spotted Aaron immediately when we took our seats. He was in full focus, rallying with the team and going through warm-ups with intense concentration. Until he saw me and the jersey I was wearing, and his expression hardened.
But he didn't look away. And neither did I.
"This is going to be intense," Ivy murmured beside me.
She had no idea.
The game started strong. Westpoint came out aggressive, just like everyone expected. But our defense held firm, and within the first twenty minutes, Max had scored off a beautiful assist from Maddox.
Derek was playing well, strong, fast, and focused. Every time he touched the ball, the crowd held its breath. Every time he scored, they erupted.
But I could see the tension in his body. The way he flinched slightly when defenders got too close. The phantom pain he was fighting through.
In the second half, with the score tied 2-2, everything fell apart.
A Westpoint defender, not the one who'd injured Derek, but cut from the same cloth, came in with a late tackle. Derek went down hard, and the crowd gasped.
He didn't get up right away.
My heart stopped. I was on my feet before I realized I'd moved, straining to see if he was okay.
On the field, Aaron was the first one there. Despite everything between them, he knelt beside Derek, his face creased with concern.
Derek waved him off, getting slowly to his feet. He was limping, favoring his left leg, but he stayed in the game.
"He needs to come off," I said to no one in particular.
But Derek shook his head at the sidelines, refusing to be substituted.
The final twenty minutes were brutal. Every tackle felt personal. Every foul felt deliberate. The referee was losing control of the game.
With five minutes left, tied 3-3, Derek got the ball in open space. He had a clear shot on goal.
Time seemed to slow. I watched him line up, saw him calculate the angle, saw him pull his leg back to shoot.
And then I saw the defender coming in from behind.
"NO!" The scream left my throat before I could stop it.
But Derek had seen him too. At the last second, he pivoted, passing to Maddox instead of taking the shot himself.
Maddox scored.
4-3 to Hillview.
The crowd went insane. Our section erupted. Ivy was crying, Nova was screaming, and Daisy was hugging me so hard I could barely breathe.
But I only had eyes for Derek.
He was walking off the field, his head down, his shoulders slumped despite the win. He looked defeated even in victory.
Because he'd passed instead of shooting. He'd let his fear win.
The final whistle blew. We'd won, but Derek looked like he'd lost everything.
I pushed through the crowd, ignoring the chaos, ignoring everything but the need to get to him.
He was sitting on the bench when I found him, still in his gear, staring at the ground.
