The Falcons win the faceoff, and the game kicks into high gear. My stick is firm in my hands, the weight of the lacrosse ball resting in the pocket as I sprint into position. I throw myself into the action, trying to block out everything else, but it’s no use. Brock’s there, always in the corner of my eye, like a shadow I can’t escape.
Ford’s voice cuts through the chaos, barking orders from his position in midfield, his presence as commanding as ever. I glance at him, catching the sweat glistening on his brow, the determination in his eyes, and my chest tightens. He’s counting on me. They all are. And tonight I might let them down.
Jacob catches a pass from Henry and, without hesitation, sends it my way. The ball settles in my stick, and I take off down the field, weaving through the Falcons’ defense, my feet pounding the grass. But my heart’s not in it. My body feels heavy, my mind clouded. I can’t focus.
Suddenly, I’m checked hard by another player, an elbow driving into my side, and the force sends me sprawling to the ground. The stick slips from my grasp, and I hit the turf with a painful thud, the wind knocked out of me. I gasp for breath, but the world spins around me. The stadium noises fade, everythingmuffled, and through the blur of my vision, I see Brock on the sideline, smirking. His face, that damn smirk—it makes my blood boil.
“Dylan!” Ford’s at my side in an instant, pulling me up, his hands steady and strong. His face is a mix of concern and intensity. “You okay?”
I nod quickly, but it’s a lie. I’m not okay. I’m not okay at all.
Jacob and Henry are there too, closing in, their expressions mirroring Ford’s. I can’t meet their eyes. The guilt is suffocating. I want to tell them. I want to spill everything, to let it all out—the truth about Brock, about that night—but the words don’t come. Not here. Not now.
I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stand. “I’m fine. Let’s finish this.”
They exchange a look—Ford, Jacob, both of them sensing something’s off, but they know me too well to push when I’m like this. I can see the worry in their eyes, and it makes the guilt twist even deeper.
As the game drags on, I can feel myself unraveling. Each minute that passes with Brock on the field is a minute too long. I catch Ford’s eye as we head off the field for halftime, his brow furrowed with unspoken questions. I know he’s going to ask me what’s really going on. I know I can’t lie to him anymore—to any of them. It’s time to come clean.
But the thought of saying it out loud—of reliving that night, of seeing the rage in their eyes when they realize what Brock did—it scares me. Because I know them. I know how protective they are. And I know what they’ll do if they find out the truth.
And as much as I want Brock to pay for what he did, I can’t risk losing them. Not now.
Chapter 41
Jacob
We make our way back onto the field, but something’s off. It’s not that she’s not playing well, but she’s shaky, hesitating, almost too cautious with her plays. It has been like that the whole night. But I can’t figure it out for the life of me and no matter how many times Ford or I ask Dylan, she keeps saying nothing.That’s a lie. There is something, and I’m bound and determined to figure it out. I don’t care if we have to corner her after this game is over and make her confess. Our relationship can’t survive with secrets and right now my gut is telling me that Dylan has one.
Coach Woosley motions us to him, giving us another pep talk before we head into the next half. We’re currently down by a point. The need to score a goal burns within me. We’re doing better than any other team has against them, and I can see the fear in their eyes. For the first time, they’re unsure if they’ll walk off the green as winners or defeated.
My attention is drawn to the Summerview team, their loud, obnoxious laughter pulling me from my thoughts of Pickle. The captain stands at the head of the raucous group, his helmet tucked underneath his arm as he lords over them like he’s a fucking god.
My eyes stay locked on him; there’s something familiar. His build is larger, hair a little longer, but there’s no mistaking who he is. How did I not see that before?
Brock fucking Johnson. I should’ve known he’d be playing college ball. I just never expected that I'd be playing against him. While he was a fucking amazing player, he was arrogant as hell and a total douche. But no matter how much of a prick he was, the masses loved him. Teachers thought he could do no wrong. All the girls fawned over him, begging for his attention. And the guys? Well, they all wanted to be his best friend. Not me though. I saw through the mask he portrayed to everyone. I knew he was evil. The only bright spot about moving was not having to go to school with him anymore.
Is that why Dylan’s rattled? Playing against someone we used to go to school with.
Brock chooses that moment to look up, his eyes locking with mine, almost as if we’re in a battle of wills, waiting to see who will submit first. He must remember who I am quicker than I did him, and he tosses me a smirk before putting his helmet on and making sure the strap is in place.
I hear movement around me, realizing I’ve totally spaced on the whole fucking pep talk the coach gave us. I only hope he didn’t notice and I won’t be running laps at the next practice.
“You okay?” Ford bumps into my shoulder.
“Yeah, just noticed the captain was someone Dylan and I went to school with.” Ford looks in his direction, shaking his head.
“He looks and acts like a tool. Being on an undefeated team hasn’t taught him anything about humility.”
“I wouldn’t blame it on being undefeated. He was always a dick.”
When I turn toward the field, I see Dylan, geared up and already heading to her spot. Henry’s heading to the center for the face off against Brock.
“We got this, and we got her. Let’s teach those assholes what it feels like to lose against a team far superior in skills than them.” Ford pats me on my shoulder and takes off at a jog, moving into position on the field ready for the second half to begin.
The referee raises the ball. Both Henry and Brock crouch low, and I imagine their eyes are locked in a fierce stare. The atmosphere on the field is electric, the tension palpable. The fans in the stands lean in, holding their breath as both players spring into action, eager to see who will come out victorious with control of the ball.
They collide with a powerful thud, sticks clashing as they each try to gain leverage over the other. Brock quickly drops his body lower, using his weight to push against Henry while simultaneously sweeping his stick forward to scoop the ball. I clench my jaw, ready to move when it’s time. Henry counters with a quick, agile move, clamping down on the ball, securing it before pushing against Brock.
