I didn’t slow down. “Little of both.”
He gave a quiet snort, not amused but not surprised either. “Then make sure you’re still breathing when the proving part’s done.”
Typical Lawson. No yelling, no lectures. Just that steady disapproval that sank deeper than anything else.
I pushed off again, cutting across the field, legs heavy but mind worse. I told myself it was about the missed goal yesterday, about the way Adam wouldn’t shut up during drills, about the national scouts who were supposed to show up next week. Easy targets. The usual noise.
But it wasn’t that. Not really.
It was her.
The way Ellery had looked yesterday — tired but still standing. Trying to hold everything together while the rest of us acted like the world revolved around a ball. She didn’t even say much, but that look stuck. The one that said she’d learned how to carry more than she should have to.
I didn’t think about things like that. Couldn’t afford to. You either fixed them or forgot them.
I kept running. Harder. Faster. Until the edges of my vision blurred and my lungs burned like I’d swallowed fire.
Lawson called something after me, but I didn’t catch it. Didn’t care.
I needed the ache. It was cleaner than the thoughts clawing at me.
By the time I stopped, the sky was bright, my breath ragged. My hands trembled as I leaned forward, resting them on my knees. Sweat dripped down onto the grass, tiny dark circles that disappeared as fast as they came.
You don’t think about her, Mason. You don’t want to think about her.
But I did.
The way she’d smiled despite being exhausted. The quiet way she worked, no show, no ego — just grit.
And maybe that was the problem.
People like me burned hot, then burned out. People like her? They kept going, no matter how much it hurt.
I wiped my face with the hem of my shirt and forced myself upright again.
Forget it. Forget her.
I set the ball down, lined up another shot, and struck it clean — the sound of the impact echoing across the empty pitch.
For a second, I thought maybe I’d outrun it.
But I hadn’t.
“Hey, man, you gonna keep brooding or are we actually hitting the club like normal human beings?”
Without warning, Adam’s voice cut through the morning haze like a damn siren.
Where the fuck did he come from?
I groaned, wiping sweat off my forehead with the back of my arm. He was leaning on the fence, grinning like he’d been waiting all morning to annoy me.
“I don’t brood,” I muttered, grabbing my water bottle. The words came out rough, too defensive.
Adam’s grin widened. “You absolutely brood. It’s your brand. Angry striker, tragic past, mysterious jawline.”
I shot him a look. “Go away.”
He just laughed, the kind of easy, cocky sound that made people like him so damn magnetic. “Can’t. Derek’s making us go out tonight. He’s buying. Even you can’t brood through free drinks.”
