And there he was—grinning at something on his phone like this was a joke.
I blinked once. Twice. My jaw clenched so tight I could feel it in my temples.
“You think this is funny?” I asked again, voice sharp enough to slice through the tension.
Troy looked up, surprised, like he hadn’t even realized someone might have a problem.
“Bro,” he said with a lazy smirk, “chill?—”
“Chill?” My voice cracked. “You handed them both fucking goals.”
He shrugged. “It happens. Whole team was off today, not just me.”
The words didn’t even finish leaving his mouth before I was in his space. I shoved him, hard, straight into the lockers.
A loud clang echoed. Heads whipped around. Bags dropped.
“Don’t you dare hide behind the team,” I growled. “You coasted. You quit. You lost us that game.”
“Jesus, Kieren, get over yourself?—”
Another shove. This time players rushed between us—Griffin grabbed my arm, Caleb pushed Troy back.
“Enough!” someone barked.
But I was still locked in, chest heaving, fists clenched.
I didn’t even notice the cameras until Caleb swore under his breath. One of the interns was still filming, probably capturing locker room “reaction shots” for the media team. The audio might be trash with all the shouting, but it didn’t take a genius to read the scene:
Me—furious, teeth bared, a heartbeat from throwing a punch.
Troy—shocked, arms raised, playing innocent.
Coach stormed in seconds later.
“What the hell is going on?” he snapped.
“He’s lucky I didn’t knock him out,” I said through my teeth.
“You’re supposed to lead, not start fights,” Reid fired back. “That what you call leadership now?”
I stepped forward. “Then bench the ones who don’t show up. Bench him.”
“You’re done.” Coach pointed at the door. “Out. Now.”
Fine by me.
I shoved past the cluster of teammates and stormed into the hallway, every step vibrating with rage.
Troy’s laugh still echoed in my skull like a trigger.
I could feel the eyes behind me—some shocked, some disappointed, some just waiting to see what the fallout would be.
I didn’t care.
I wasn’t going to sit by and smile while guys who didn’t give a shit dragged us through the mud. My name was on that jersey. My future tied to every damn stat. I wasn’t going to let a lazy midfielder coast through the season while I bled for this team.
I didn’t stop walking until I hit the sidewalk outside the stadium. The air was cold, slicing across my jaw like a slap, but I welcomed it.
