The quiet hits instantly. The music is still there, faint and distant, but it’s muffled enough that I can finally breathe. I let out a long exhale, and lean back against the door for a moment. The tension in my chest loosens, but it doesn’t fully let go.
Crossing the room, I set my bag down by the foot of the bed, place the cup on the dresser, and fish my phone out of the side pocket. The screen lights up, and a single notification staresback at me. It’s a message from my mother. It’s simple, just a few words, but they mean so much.
Mom:Proud of you.
The knot in my chest eases further, a small warmth creeping in to replace it. Nationals aren’t just about the game. They’re about them. Every sacrifice, every early morning, every extra shift they took on just to make sure I had what I needed. They’re about doing something my family can be proud of.
I set the phone down, the message still glowing faintly on the screen as I stride into the bathroom. I flip the switch, and the light flickers as it comes on, casting the small space in a harsh glow. I lean forward with my palms against the edge of the counter. The cool surface presses into my hands as I let my eyes drift shut. When I open them again, my reflection stares back.
I exhale slowly, assessing the person in the mirror. The lines of my face feel heavier tonight, the weight of expectations sitting firmly on my shoulders.
Why can’t Alex or Kane take any of this seriously?
Finals.
Nationals.
The future.
All it takes is one bad decision and everything we’ve worked for can be stripped away.
But as quickly as it comes, I push the thought away. I guess everyone deals with pressure in their own way. Mine is silence and space. Theirs, booze, girls, and noise. I’m not judging—just tired. It’s lonely sometimes, but a necessary evil. There’ll be plenty of time for girlsafterwe win nationals. Until then, I’ll keep my head on the game. That’s easy enough, or at least it usedto be, until that girl showed up in class today, staring at me like she can see right through me. There was something about her, something I haven’t been able to pinpoint. Whatever it is, I push it out of my mind.
I peer at the gash above my brows, now healed, yet a constant reminder of the sport I love so much. Roughhousing a little too much during practice with no gear will result in all sorts of bruises. It’s just the nature of the game. We play hard, dirty and unrelenting.
Pushing off the counter, I face the shower and turn on the water. Steam thickens, fogging the mirror until I can no longer see myself. I peel off my sweaty clothes, letting them fall into a pile at my feet. What’s left of the cool air bites at my skin for a moment before I step into the heat of the shower.
The water beats against my skin, the pressure massaging away the aches from practice. And when I undo my braid and stick my head under the showerhead, all the tension from the day melts.
Nationals isn’t just a game—it’s our lifeline—so while I want nothing but to catch some Zs and call it a night, I mentally prepare myself to wrangle the mess downstairs. Because another house party turned police report is the last thing the team needs.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SAM
Quick glimpses between an array of trees are all I can make out as we turn down the gravel road, but even from a partial view you can’t miss how massive the property is.
Some people have it all, and clearly, whoever lives here has never seen a bad day in their life. How could they? But then again, if I’ve learned anything these past few days, it’s that even rich people can be just as miserable as the rest of us.
Still. It must be nice.
“Whew,” Douglas whistles as he pulls into the driveway. “What I would give to live here.”
We stare out the front window in awe. Just two people caught off guard by how wealthy some people really are on the rich side of town. The vacation homes of politicians, lawyers, and businessmen, all dispersed around and overlooking the lake.
This particular house sits on a hilltop, and the view is nothing short of amazing. It’s a sprawling two-level property with a huge deck that faces Lake Haven and floor-to-ceiling windows that reflect the moonlight.
Douglas brings us to a stop in the sea of parked cars. Students mill about, laughing and shouting at each other. The noise from inside the house spills out into the night, a mix of thumping bassand the occasional cheer. Settled in my seat for a moment longer, I take it all in, my heart pounding in my chest.
What the hell am I doing here?
This isn’t my scene. These people aren’t my friends. Hell, I don’t even like half of them, and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual. This world of privilege and excess is so far removed from my own reality that it’s almost laughable.
Almost.
“I can do this,” I encourage myself, only it feels like a lie. I suck in a breath and let my hand rest on the latch of the door for a painfully long minute.
“Look, kid, I have a long night ahead of me,” Douglas says, interrupting my inner struggle.
