12 target practise
By the time I sit down in my first class, I already know I'm not going to fully lock in, not because I can't but because my head is still somewhere else, caught between practice, Everly, and the fact that sharing a room with someone changes how everything feels without asking for permission.
It's been two weeks, which is long enough that I know her routines without trying, long enough that the room feels different when she's not there, and I don't love that I've noticed that.
I spin my pen between my fingers while the professor talks, writing down just enough to not completely screw myself later, then zoning out again, because right now class feels like something I'm sitting through, not something I'm part of.
"Walk in the fucking park," I mutter under my breath, glancing at the page like it personally betrayed me.
Yeah.
Sure.
By the time the last class ends, I'm already halfway out the door before the professor finishes talking, because none of this matters the same way practice does.
-
The field hits different now.
Not tryouts, not proving anything, just... being here, part of it, and the second I step onto it, I can feel it again.
Logan.
Watching.
It's not subtle.
It wasn't subtle yesterday either, but today it's sharper, more direct, like he's not even pretending it's just general observation anymore.
I jog into position anyway, not reacting, because I already know why.
It's not about last night.
It's about the fact that I'm in the same room as his sister every day.
That's the problem.
Drills start fast, routes stacking one after another, and I push it without thinking, sharper cuts, tighter timing, catching everything clean because if he's going to watch me like this, I'm not giving him anything to call out. Still-
"Bennett."
I turn, jogging over. "Yeah."
"You're drifting on your last step," Logan says, tone even but firm, like he's not guessing.
"I'm not," I reply automatically.
"You are."
I hold his gaze for a second, then nod once, because arguing with him right now isn't worth it. "Got it."
"Fix it."
I jog back into position, resetting, and the next rep is clean.
No drift, no wasted movement.
I glance toward the sideline for half a second.
He's still watching.
Of course he is.
Scott falls into step next to me when we rotate out, grabbing his water bottle.
"Damn," he says, nodding toward the sideline. "Coleman's locked in today."
"Yeah," I reply.
Scott watches him for a second, then looks back at me. "He's on you more than usual."
I shrug. "Probably."
"That's not random," he says. "What'd you do?"
I hesitate for half a second. Then, "Nothing."
He looks at me like that's complete bullshit.
"Bennett."
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. "It's not a big deal."
"It is if the captain's riding you like that."
I glance toward Logan again, then back at Scott. "He's not mad about something I did."
"Then what Scott asks.
I tilt my head slightly. "He's mad about where I live."
Scott frowns. "What does that even mean?"
I take a second, then say it like it's obvious. "I live with the one famous girl in the male dormitory."
There's a beat. Then Scott's eyes widen slightly.
"Shit," he says. "Everly."
I roll my eyes. "Yeah. The one and only."
Scott lets out a loud laugh, shaking his head. "No way."
"Yeah."
"That's why," he says, still laughing. "That's exactly why."
"I didn't do anything," I mutter.
"That doesn't matter," he replies. "You exist in the same room as her, that's enough."
"Good to know."
He's still grinning. "That's brutal."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine," he says. "That's his sister."
"I'm aware."
Scott shakes his head again, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Good luck with that."
I narrow my eyes slightly. "What does that mean?"
But he's already backing away, jogging toward the field again.
"Allen," I call after him.
He just waves me off. "You'll figure it out, Bennett."
"Yeah," I mutter. "That's helpful."
Practice runs long after that, intensity not dropping once, and by the time we're done, everything in my body feels used in the way that actually feels good.
Logan doesn't say anything else to me.
But he doesn't need to.
-
When I get back to the dorm, it's quiet.
I step inside, dropping my bag onto the floor, the room feeling off without Everly there, like I'm noticing the space more than usual.
There's a piece of paper on my bed.
I pick it up.
Jackson,
Out with Nola.
p.s. might come back with a guy, might not.
- Everly
I stare at it for a second. Then I laugh, shaking my head slightly.
"Yeah," I mutter, dropping back onto my bed. "Fair enough, Coleman."
I toss the note onto my desk, leaning back, staring up at the ceiling.
The room is quiet.
But it doesn't feel empty.
Just... waiting.