“I can’t help it,” Thiago’s hands settle on my waist, pulling me flush against him. “Covering this beauty of a body would be a crime.”
“Walking around indecent is a crime,” I shoot back, my brow raised. Thi presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth and then tilts his head to look at the phone in my hand once more. This time, he assesses, concealing his reaction with an appreciative nod.
“You know, if you tilt your head and squint your eyes, it kinda looks like a duck wearing a monocle.” He does his best to sound appraising. I shove him a step away, putting up back on the path towards the stadium. His fingers intertwine with mine instantly.
“That’s the last time I’m showing you anything. Art is about expression, you know.”
“Forgive me, Amorzinha. I’m simplysouncultured,” he mocks, sarcasm dripping from his tone. My cheeks ache from the smile I’m trying to withhold, and he knows it. I exhale, quietly aware that I haven’t felt this way in a long time. With Thi, it’s natural. He took the time to understand me before he inserted himself into my life, watching on and learning what I needed. I reckon he knows me better than I do, not that I’d admit it. We approach the stadium, and the giddiness in my chest shifts.
The stadium rises ahead of us like a different world entirely, its looming structure casting long shadows across the path as if warning me what waits inside. It’s strange how quickly the atmosphere shifts, the lightness of our walk becoming charged, the closer we get. In my head, anyway. At the side, the gates are wide open, presenting flashes of green turf. There’s a distant echo of sticks clashing, and voices carrying with a competitive mirth. I slow at the entrance, the giddiness in my chest shifting.
“Are you sure you want to watch practice? It’s not very entertaining, and there’s no telling what mood Everest will be in today.” I wince. I’d kinda hoped Thiago would shrug and convince me to skip practice altogether, offering to whisk me away for something else. Anything else. Instead, he glances at me sideways and winks.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he replies easily, but there’s a trace of protectiveness beneath the humor now. Perhaps there’s a reason he feels the need to accompany me after all. “It’s about time I saw you in your element.”
My stomach flips, nerves tangling with a thread of excitement. Lacrosse has always been my thing, my crowning glory. At least it was, before I felt like I’ve got something to prove every time I step onto that field. Thi unshoulders the largegym bag he’s been carrying for me, holding out the strap like an offering. I hesitate taking it.
“I should warn you,” I add, lifting a brow as I glance up at him, “we’re a mess right now. There’s no teamwork or trust. Just a bunch of overcompetitive idiots trying to outshine each other.” My lips twitch despite myself. “Including me.” Thiago hums in thought
“Sounds entertaining. I’ll grab a front row seat then.” He gives my fingers a squeeze and then guides me towards the stadium doors. I enter alone, heading to the locker room while Thiago rounds the building to the stands. I can’t imagine what Everest’s reaction to seeing him will be, and with that thought in mind, I change into my jersey and leggings in record time.
Jogging out onto the pitch, the soft give of artificial turf cushions my steps. The air is cooler out here, brushed with the faint scent of sweat already lingering from early warm-ups. My gaze searches the stands instinctively, drawn beyond the group gathering around Everest. Thiago is exactly where I expected him, front and center, leaning against a railing. Our eyes meet, and he lifts his hand, giving me a small thumbs up, exaggerated enough to make me huff out the beginning of a laugh. This is the collision of my two worlds finally syncing together, but knowing the blond commanding everyone’s attention on the pitch, I know it won’t be a smooth ride.
“Exciting news, team,” Everest announces as I close in. Conversations die instantly, heads turning forward and bodies straightening like they’ve been pulled on strings. “I’ve secured our first home match. Next Wednesday, the Radley Rangers will be joining us on the main pitch.” He pauses to roll his shoulders, as if physically combatting the ripple of tension moving through the group. “It won’t count toward official ranking, but I figured it’s time we put whatever this is,” his hand gestures vaguely at the team, “to the test.”
There’s a round of grumbles that Everest silences with a whistle, sending the troops off to run laps. I remain rooted to the spot, my jaw tightening as I watch them go, sticks grasped in gloved hands. Once they’re out of earshot, I twist towards the smug captain in his number one jersey.
“What the fuck are you thinking?” I snap. “We’re not ready for a match. We haven’t even locked down positions yet, let alone figured out how to play as a team.” Everest doesn’t flinch. He just watches me, his expression carved from stone.
“That’s exactly why you’re going to be here every day until the match, helping whip this team into shape,” he replies, taking a step towards me. My stomach drops but I hold my ground, even when I’m forced to tilt my head up to look at him.
“I’ve already spoken to Dean Colt. You’ve been cleared from your classes. We show up, we put in the work, and we focus. No distractions.” As he says this, his gaze shifts beyond his shoulder, sliding toward the stands. I inhale deeply, not needing to follow to know what he’s looking at. Or more specifically, who.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I spit, venom rippling through my body. Everest couldn’t be any more obvious if he tried. First, he crashes my date with demands, and now he’s pulling me from classes to spend every day here with idiots who don’t respect me. It’s so ridiculous, I could laugh. “You didn’t get your way, so now you’re throwing a fucking power trip?”
“You need to be here, Meg,” Everest cuts in, his voice tightening for the first time. My skin tingles from the possessiveness he radiates. Just beyond him, Thiago straightens and tilts his head, tracking the conversation from a distance. He can’t hear our words, but if Thi is anything, it’s observant of body language. Everest steps closer again, crowding my space.
“And you need to be present. How are you supposed to find your way back to yourself with him filling your time with googly eyes and dinner dates?” I glare into the green eyes staring downat me, noting the jealous fury burning there. Something in me snaps.
It’s not just what he’s saying, as convoluted as it is. It’s the assumption behind it. The certainty that he knows what version of me is worth his attention and anything outside of that is a distraction. Anything I decide to create for myself is a mistake.
I’ve been circling this thought for days now, tripping over it, trying to convince myself that the version of myself I should be isn’t always going to feel just out of reach. The old Meg. The one everyone seems to want back. Screw what everyone else wants.
“I’m not going back to how I used to be,” I state, a dangerous edge dripping from my tone. “She’s gone for good.” Everest’s jaw tightens, something flickering behind his expression that I can’t catch. He exhales harshly, shifting the strands of hair around my face that escaped my rushed ponytail.
“I liked you that way,” he mutters so low, I’m sure I misheard. Clearing his throat, Everest swallows and I track the shift of his Adam’s apple. “You were stubborn and tenacious.”
Suddenly, Reid’s sketch flashes in my mind. The way he drew me, the words he wrote. My teeth grind harder.
“I’m getting really fucking sick of people thinking they can label me,” I bite out, stepping back just enough to break the space he’s trying to trap me in. Turning on my heel, I walk back toward the rack, grabbing two sticks. I toss one at him harder than necessary, and he catches it at the last second. A ball drops to the turf between us a second later. I nudge it forward with my foot, then flick it up into my stick, knocking it back and forth with controlled movements, my stance braced and ready.
“Come on then,” I mutter, the challenge clear in the set of my jaw, the fire in my chest finally finding its release. Everest doesn’t hesitate. The second the ball leaves my stick, he moves in a flash. I suck in a breath, a delayed part of my brain forgetting that this field isn’t just my playground. It’s also his. Where I’vebeen struggling to recondition my body after such a long break, Everest has been putting in the hours.
His stick snaps up to meet mine, the crack of plastic on plastic ringing out across the pitch as he hooks the ball cleanly from my control. I pivot instantly, chasing him down, my cleats biting into the turf. Lunging forward, my shoulder clips his as I try to knock him off balance, yet he barely budges. In fact, I reckon I came off worse, rebounding off Everest’s solid frame as he spins, dragging the ball with him.
I take charge, not letting him out of my reach for more than a second. Skidding my leg out in an illegal move, I manage to regain control of the ball just long enough to spin back and set a course back the way we came. Everest expected the change in direction, heading me off with a rough tackle. Neither of us is willing to lose easily.
Our sticks clash again and again as we fight for control like it actually matters, like there’s an end goal. My lungs burn, my pulse roaring in my ears, but I don’t slow. Not when he’s pushing like this, not when every glance he throws me feels like a test of my talent. I go in for a slap check, cracking the length of my stick against his. The impact jars up my arms, and Everest retaliates instantly, stepping into my space, forcing me back a half step.
