Something brittle inside me finally fractures, and heat rushes in to take its place. I surge forward, gripping his sweater and yanking him into my space, fueled entirely by the fury curling in my core and not the reality of how close we are.
“Or you could learn to use these more often,” I shoot back, ripping the headphone from his ear and slamming it into his chest. He catches it before it can fall, and for the first time, something flickers across his face, not anger or amusement, but interest. I shove myself away, forcing my breathing steady while my fists remain clenched, nails biting hard into my palms.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves, the air between us vibrating with everything left unsaid. Then he steps aside, turning to leave.
“I want a name,” I state before he can reach the door. He pauses, glancing back with a pierced brow arched. “I can’t keep calling you the asshole next door.”
That same flicker passes through his eyes, like he’s internally laughing at me. To my surprise, he turns back, cracking his knuckles.
“Someone wasn’t paying attention at the clinic,” he says. In that one sentence, I find myself at a disadvantage. He’s right, I didn’t give a shit about anyone at the rehab facility, but he clearly made a point to learn about me.
“Reid Wilder. Although the asshole next door has a nice ring to it.” His tone is lighter now, a thin crack of humor breaking through.
I nod, satisfied that at least something came out of this class. Remaining in the doorway for a stilted moment, his gaze slides over me once more, and his tongue briefly flicks out to wet his lips. Then, he grins, a wide motion that reveals a pair of dimples I wasn’t prepared for.
“Good luck with expressing your emotions, Meg O’Connor. Looks like you’ve got plenty bottled up.”
Chapter Fifteen
I reach the lacrosse field late, partly due to not wanting to be here. The other reason is the snaking trail of scaffolding between the stadium and the temporary unit that is acting as the female locker room until renovations are finished.
As I step onto the pitch, Everest doesn’t follow everyone’s eyeline, presumably already knowing what they’re gawking at. I ignore the stares too, jogging across the green with my skin prickling from the familiar awareness of being judged.
Despite my one-to-one with Everest the other day, the uniform still feels foreign on my body. Compression shorts cling tight to my thighs beneath the pleated practice skirt, every seam a reminder that there is nowhere to hide out here under the opensky. The sleeveless Hollowbrook Vultures practice jersey hangs loose at my shoulders, the fabric is light and offers no protection at all. But at least I have my number one on the back, as does Everest.
The afternoon sun hangs low enough to glare directly into my eyes, bleaching the turf a harsh green and turning the white field lines into blinding scars beneath my feet. A handful of players are already scattered across the grass, sticks slung over shoulders, laughter carrying easily on the breeze. No one looks particularly concerned that this is supposed to be the first official practice under new leadership, or that one of those leaders is me.
Well, unfortunately for them, my nerves have already been stretched thin. The day did not recover after Reid left me standing alone in the art room, my conviction shredded from how he saw straight through the layers I work so hard to keep intact.Bottled-up emotionwas his casual observation. I’ll be more than happy to flick off the cap on that bottle and watch it explode if he dares to play his music again tonight.
I carried that agitation into my afternoon social intervention, which turned out to be a circle of anxious women perched on the edge of their chairs, hands twisting in their laps, eyes darting toward the exit. I was supposed to share in their coping strategies and calming techniques. Instead, I unleashed everything I wished I’d said to Reid, reenacting the way I’d pounded on his door the night before, whilst explicitly describing how I wished it was his face. A few flinched and one actually shrank back before the leading therapist asked if I’d like to step out early.
That only made my mood worse. There was no release, no conclusion, no one telling me I was justified or understood. Just a room of women I’d terrified and the echo of my own anger bouncing back at me, louder and heavier than before. So, I didthe only thing that’s ever worked when my chest feels too tight to breathe. I’ve brought my fury to the field.
I slow to a stop near his side, rolling my shoulders as if that might shake some of the tension loose. Everest finally turns his head, his gaze landing on me with stark accuracy. Surprisingly, he’s not high today. His green eyes flick briefly to the clock mounted near the bleachers before returning to my face.
“You’re late,” he drawls. I roll my eyes and close the small distance between us to stand at his side.
“And you’re observant. Shall we stop stating the obvious and get on with it?” I reply, bending to tighten the laces on my cleats. Everest exhales through his nose harshly as I stand back to my full height of five-seven. His demeanor is different today, a far cry from the surface-level, cocky jock I know him to be.
“As co-captain, you’re supposed to set the standard.” I meet his gaze, the sun hitting his hair just right and casting him in that infuriating golden glow. There is nothing angelic about this man, and he should be happy that I’ve even shown. After all, I’m here as a favor to Dean Colt.
“I was just giving you time to warm up the players you’ve selected.” I gesture to those standing around, seemingly doing nothing. Everest’s selections are immediately obvious, not picked on skill or cohesion, but due to his family’s political standing. A cluster of guys hover near him at all times, their attention naturally orbiting towards their leader. Most of them are in matching sleeveless jerseys, muscles on full display, numbers splayed across their chests. A few have opted out of uniform, wearing old varsity hoodies cut at the sleeves and baggy shorts that will do nothing for their aerodynamics.
A few of the guys are undeniably talented, their movements loose and confident even while warming up, but they don’t look at each other when they pass, don’t adjust their spacing, don’t communicate beyond barking for the ball. It’s all flash and nostructure, every sprint a solo act, every shot an attempt to impress an invisible audience.
The men outnumber the women nearly three to one. The women who are here stand slightly apart, their body language guarded and eyes flicking between one another as if silently questioning if they should have turned up. At least they’ve come dressed appropriately, layered in long sleeves and cleats fastened tight. That is, if Everest decides to let them take part, but I suppose that’s why I’m here.
“Alright everyone, jog it out. Five laps to warm up.” I circle my finger in the air, keeping my voice both loud and steady. For a moment, no one moves. Glaring between the two groups, I raise a brow. “Did I stutter? Move it!” Someone scoffs, another sniggers. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Everest’s small nod, and suddenly, everyone on the field moves, jogging to the edge and following through with the instruction. My jaw tightens, but I don’t comment.
“You too, Rookie,” Everest turns to me, his arms loosely folding across his broad chest. I scowl instantly. “You’re out of practice, your stamina has been set back months. You’ll need to train just as hard, if not harder than the rest of them.”
“I don’t disagree,” I mutter, steadying myself to join the next lap as the team thunders towards us. Preparing to fall in with the ladies who are hanging back, I quickly glare over my shoulder. “By the way, Rookie is the same as Faker. Don’t think you can work around my rule that easily.” I catch the faintest hint of amusement light in Everest’s eyes before I take off, finding myself shoulder to shoulder with Claire. I don’t pay her any attention, focusing on picking up my heartbeat and gracing my limbs with a trace of warmth.
As my feet pound into the turf, my thoughts spiral with every breath. Reid’s voice replays uninvited.Looks like you’ve got plenty of emotion bottled up.The therapist’s startled face. Theway the room went quiet after I spoke. The way Everest spoke to me just now, like I’m the least qualified to be here. Anger sharpens my focus, but at least it tunes out the images that try to assault me as I trample over the spot where I was beaten and dragged away all those months ago. By the time we finish the laps, lungs burning and legs trembling, I take a stand at the front of the group.
“Okay, now we’re going to run some drills, starting with ground ball gauntlet. I want men lined up on the left, women on the right. Everest and I will take turns running the ball through the middle, and each opposite pair will try to take possession?—”
“We know what ground ball gauntlet is,” a guy towards the back of the group calls out, dripping with disinterest in anything I have to say. I hold up a hand when Everest takes a step towards me, not needing him to come to my defense. For some of us, respect must be earned, not commanded.
