I’d spent the last few weeks telling myself what we had wasn’t anything. That the late nights fixing decorations, the quiet jokes, the way she smiled when she caught me helping the kids — none of it meant a damn thing.
She was just someone who needed help. I was just the guy who happened to be there.
But standing there, watching her laugh at someone else’s joke — watching her light up for someone who had every right to her time and her touch — I realized how deep the hook had already gone.
And it pissed me off.
Because I didn’t want this. I didn’t want her to matter like that. I didn’t want to be the guy standing on the sidelines, pretending not to care while every instinct screamed otherwise.
I turned back toward the field, pushing harder into the next drill, trying to sweat it out, burn it off. But no matter how fast I moved, my eyes still drifted back to her — to the way the sun caught in her hair, to the way Kyle leaned a little too close when he spoke.
And I hated that I couldn’t decide which part bothered me more: that she didn’t see me watching… or that she did.
Adam and Derek fell into step beside me just as I realized I’d stopped pretending to stretch.
Adam followed my line of sight, his grin immediate. “You’re glaring at our Reynold’s girlfriend, Mason. That’s a bold strategy.”
“I’m not glaring,” I muttered.
Derek snorted. “You’re absolutely glaring.”
“I’m not?—”
Adam cut in, laughing. “—glaring, sure. You’re just burning a hole through her face for fun.”
I grabbed my water bottle and lobbed it at him. He dodged easily, still grinning like a jackass. “Shut up.”
“No judgment,” he said, holding up both hands in mock surrender. “Everyone loves a challenge.”
“Not this one.”
He didn’t buy it. Neither did Derek, judging by the sideways look he gave me.
“Relax,” Derek said, voice low, the way older players always sound when they’re giving advice you didn’t ask for. “Just don’t make it weird.”
Too late.
Their laughter followed me as I stalked off toward the equipment racks, but I barely heard it. My pulse was too loud in my ears.
It wasn’t about competition anymore.
When this started — whatever this was — I could’ve lied to myself and said it was pride. Kyle had everything handed to him: the sponsorships, the praise, the leadership role, her. It would’ve been easy to call it jealousy.
But it wasn’t. Not really.
This wasn’t about winning. It wasn’t about proving I was better or faster or more deserving.
It was personal.
I hated how much space she took up in my head — how a single laugh or glance could derail my focus faster than a bad play ever could. I hated that my teammates noticed. That they were right.
Adam’s voice echoed in my skull even after I walked away, Everyone loves a challenge.
Yeah. Maybe. But this didn’t feel like a challenge I could win.
I yanked open the gear bin and started organizing the cones and balls just to give my hands something to do. The plastic clattered, sharp and hollow. The kind of noise that covered the things I didn’t want to think about.
Across the field, Ellery brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. Kyle said something that made her laugh again — the easy kind of laugh people gave when they felt safe.
