Miriam looked up, and her gaze met Silas’. His green eyes stared directly into hers. She tried to keep eye contact with him but was the first to look away. “What do you want?”
“I just want to talk.”
“Well, I don’t.”
He leaned in and lowered his voice. “It’s been two days.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head.
“So, what? You’re just going to ignore me for the rest of the season?”
“Of course not.” She twisted one of the bracelets in her hands.
“Then what?”
“We’re going to keep it strictly professional.”
“Strictly pro—” He rubbed his hands over his face. “You act like you didn’t feel something between us the other day.”
“Of course, I felt something, Silas.” She let out a humorless laugh and let her eyes find his once again. “That’s the problem. I let myself fall for you once, and in the end, I was heartbroken and alone. If you think that I’m going to let that happen again, then you’re insane.”
“I was wrong to leave.”
She nodded. “Yeah, you were.”
They looked at each other for a long time before Silas spoke again. “How long am I going to have to suffer for my mistakes?”
How long washegoing to suffer?
Miriam stood up, leaving the mess on the floor. She’d come back for it later when the closet was less crowded. She looked down at Silas. “Only as long as I do.”
Right now, that felt like forever.
She gave him a sad smile, and then she walked out—leaving him the same way he’d left her.
Silas
Silas had messed up.
But that wasn’t the only thing weighing heavily on him.
Most of the team still held a grudge against him. Practices were rough, and Silas was convinced that everyone was ganging up against him during scrimmages. The only positive was that it sharpened his skills for actual games. He was playing better than ever, and he hoped that if he scored enough goals, he’d eventually win them over.
Today he was given another chance.
They had a home game that night, and Silas was ready.
As the Storm warmed up in the arena, his eyes occasionally went to the stands. He knew Miriam wouldn’t be there yet—she’d be working the Storm table just outside the arena—but he always liked to see the sea of green and black as fans came early to watch the players go through drills.
Loud cheering caught his attention, and he noticed two girls wearing what looked like authentic game day jerseys leaning over the railing behind the home bench. One had dark hair, the other blond. “We love you!” they screamed in unison.
Some of the players chuckled and waved. Silas shook his head and went through some footwork drills.
“Jenkins!” the same two voices called again.
Silas looked up to see them waving their arms above their heads. When they realized they had his attention, they both turned around to reveal that their jerseys had Jenkins and the number thirty-two on the backs.
Fangirls were no stranger to Silas. Women liked watching the sport and sometimes developed little crushes on the players. No big deal as long as it stayed innocent. He grinned and waved at them. “Hey.”
