CHAPTER fifty-four #10
Three folding tables are sagging under mountains of food—burgers, ribs, wings, hotdogs, grilled corn, giant bowls of queso, chips, dips, and an absolutely unhinged hockey-puck cake that says:
HAPPY 20TH, YOU MENACE
The whole place smells like smoke, chlorine, and overpriced cologne.
Everyone is in full party mode.
Half the guys are shirtless in board shorts, dripping pool water everywhere.
Some of the girls showed up in bikinis and cover-ups—floating on the pool loungers, legs dangling in the water, laughing their asses off. Others are dancing barefoot in the grass, red solo cups lifted like trophies.
Cody, of course, is the star of the chaos — shirt halfway unbuttoned, hair wet from the twins throwing him in the pool earlier.
He's on the makeshift "dance floor"—which is really just a dry patch of grass—beer in one hand, other hand glued to some girl's hip while she's grinding her ass against him like she's trying to win a trophy for "Most Aggressive Human Metronome."
He's laughing loud enough to shake the damn lights strung above us.
Definitely birthday-boy nirvana.
Kentaro is sitting beside me, stiff as a board, both hands wrapped around his water like it's a holy relic.
This is his version of hell—too loud, too sweaty, too many bodies.
He's only out here instead of locking himself in his room because Cody turned those stupid puppy-dog eyes on him and practically begged.
After a while, Kentaro mutters something about needing the bathroom and practically bolts out of his seat.
So it's just me... and Elijah.
Sitting across from me.
Not dancing.
Not drinking.
Not talking.
Just staring at his damn phone with an intensity that should've set the screen on fire by now.
The guy looks like he's trying to mentally force a message to appear.
Honestly, if he stares any harder, he'll poke a hole straight through the glass.
He's been like this all. Freaking. Day.
Ever since he flew back from Duluth this morning.
We all came home yesterday—except him. Some "personal thing," is what he mumbled before leaving.
And when he walked into practice today? He looked... wrecked.
Not hungover wrecked. Not tired wrecked.
Emptied.
Like someone scooped out everything inside him and forgot to put it back.
All day, he kept checking his phone. Over and over. Face falling each time nothing showed up.
And a few times?
I caught him staring at me. Like he wanted to say something. Ask something. But then he'd close off again and walk away.
Usually, I'd go to him.
He's my best friend.
Was, my brain corrects bitterly.
But we haven't talked for a few weeks
And I don't plan to be the first to break.
If Elijah wants to pretend he feels nothing for Sam—fine.
But he's not getting another ounce of effort from me until he pulls his head out of his ass.
Still... Watching him now — jaw tight, shoulders tense, thumb hovering like he's waiting for a life-or-death message — a small, stupid, traitorous part of me wants to ask.
What's going on with you?
Are you okay?
But I don't. I lean back, take a long sip of my drink, and just watch him.
If he's not coming clean, I'm not digging.
So I sit here.
He sits there.
Music booming. People yelling and dancing. Cody grinding like he's trying to start a friction fire.
But between me and Elijah?
Just heavy silence.
I take a sip of my beer, letting it cool my throat, then reach for my phone on the table. Caroline's still at the gym, so I shoot her a quick text.
ME
Let me know when you're on your way, okay? Or if you changed your mind and want me to pick you up instead.
She insisted on driving herself, told me I didn't have to fetch her, that she'd go back to her dorm first and takes a shower after her workout. Fine. I let it go, thinking she and Sam might show up together anyway.
A minute later, my phone buzzes.
CAROLINE
Just got back to the dorm. I'll head out in a bit
I smile without meaning to... then the next message pops up.
CAROLINE
Is Sam already there?
I stare at the screen for a second, eyebrows pulling in.
ME
She's not. I thought she's coming with you.
Weird. If there's one thing consistent about my sister, it's that she's always the first to show up when the team throws a party. But... not tonight.
Yeah, I told her not to come to Pond parties anymore, but this isn't just some random weekend-night chaos. Cody personally invited her to his birthday, and they're good friends. I can't exactly uninvite my own sister from a celebration she was actually asked to attend.
A small knot forms in my stomach.
I tap her name and call. It rings... and rings... straight to voicemail.
Try again.
Same thing.
My eyes drift toward Elijah across the table before I can stop myself. And suddenly it clicks.
Maybe she's not coming because he's here.
Maybe this is what letting him go looks like for her... staying away from the one place she'd normally run to just to be near him.
And damn, that hits me harder than I expected. Because if she's really doing this—if she's actually cutting herself off after ten years of chasing him—then that's huge. I'm proud of her. Really proud.
But underneath that pride, something uneasy curls deeper.
Because if she isn't here... where is she?
Is she alone somewhere? Sad? Crying? Fighting through it all on her own?
I should be with her. Not sitting here, partying.
I shoot my sister a text.
ME
Everything ok? You comin' to Cody's birthday?
Before I can overthink it, the backyard erupts with screaming.
I glance toward the pool and—yeah, chaos. Absolute chaos.
Liam is on Reese's shoulders, wobbling around like a drunk skyscraper while Luke is perched on Jasper's shoulders across from them.
They're smacking each other with pool noodles, shouting battle cries like eight-year-olds on a sugar high.
People are chanting, yelling, splashing.
Music is blasting. Someone does a cannonball so big it soaks half the patio.
My phone buzzes. I tear my eyes from the aquatic stupidity and check the screen.
SAM
All good, big bro. Just hanging out with some friends.
Another bubble pops in.
SAM
Can you tell Cody happy birthday for me? And sorry I couldn't make it
I exhale, tension loosening from my shoulders.
She's out. With people. Not holed up alone somewhere replaying Elijah-shaped heartbreak in her head.
Thank God.
I type back a quick reply.
ME
Have fun. text me if you need anything.
I tuck my phone into my pocket, feeling lighter—not completely calm, but at least not on the verge of storming across town to track her down.
While I wait for Caroline, I drift toward the pool where a couple of the rookies are hanging around near the edge—beer in hand, shirts damp from getting splashed, eyes glued to Liam and Reese trying to murder Luke and Jasper in their shoulder-war death match.
Jasper's yelling something about illegal reach. Liam's cackling like a gremlin. Someone's definitely about to crack their skull, but honestly? That's a tomorrow problem.
One of the rookies—Mason—spots me and straightens up. "Uh, Westbrook... can I ask you something?"
I take a sip of my beer. "What's up?"
He glances at the pool, then lowers his voice a little. "I keep replaying the last game in my head. I feel like I blew three transitions. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."
Another rookie, Ben, nods beside him. "Yeah, and my forecheck timing was off. I keep jumping too early or too late."
I shake my head. "You guys didn't blow anything. And forecheck timing? That's reps, not instinct—yet."
They're listening, really listening, and it hits me again how young they are. How much pressure they put on themselves.
"Tomorrow," I say, tapping Mason's beer bottle with mine, "we'll rewatch the full game film. All of us. Not to roast you—don't tense up—just to break it down. See what angles you were taking, where you hesitated, what we can calibrate."
Ben looks a little embarrassed. "But won't that slow everyone down?"
"No," I say firmly. "That's how we get better. That's how you get better. We fix the little shit before it becomes big shit."
Mason exhales, "Thanks, man. Seriously."
I shrug. "You're part of the team. We lift each other up. And trust me—half of us have fucked up transitions. It happens."
Both rookies laugh, finally loosening their shoulders.
Behind us, Liam falls off Reese's shoulders with a scream that could crack glass, splashing half the backyard.
The rookies snort.
"See?" I say, smirking. "You're already doing better than him."
The rookies crack up, and we're still laughing when their eyes suddenly flick upward—right behind me.
Their expressions shift instantly.
Mason tries (and fails) to smother a grin.
Ben bites his lip like he's physically holding laughter back.
And just like that, every muscle in my body goes on alert.
Oh, I know exactly what's coming.
I turn—slowly.
And there they are. The Archer Twins.
Dripping wet.
Hair plastered to their foreheads.
Grins carved straight out of hell.
Liam wiggles his fingers at me like some deranged sea creature. Luke cracks his neck like he's preparing for combat.
I narrow my eyes. "Don't you fucking dare."
They take one synchronized step toward me.
I step back.
They step forward.
Another step.
Another.
Everyone around us starts laughing, whistles cutting through the music.
"Boys," I warn, palms out. "I'm in jeans. And I swear to God—"
Too late.
Liam hooks his arms under my shoulders while Luke grabs my legs, and the whole backyard erupts with laughter as they haul me toward the pool like it's a goddamn sacrifice ritual.
"Ben! His phone!" Liam barks.
Ben darts forward, fishes my phone out of my pocket, and holds it up triumphantly. "Got it!"
"PUT ME DOWN—DAMMIT—PUT ME—"
"Nope," Liam chirps.
"You deserve this," Luke adds cheerfully.
"What the hell did I do?!"
"Existing," Liam says.
Luke smirks. "And for being disgustingly in love 24/7."