Next Level Up (Co-op Corrupted Duet #2)

Chapter 1 Haven

Haven

[GROUP CHAT]

Carter: don’t judge me for this, the lighting was weird [image sent]

Tate: you look pathetic

Carter: it’s called smoldering

Me: andddd I saved it, for reasons :)

Tate: since we’re apparently sending pictures, guess I’ll contribute to the collection [image sent]

Carter: WHY WOULD YOU SEND THAT IN HERE

Me: oh wow I just remembered I have zero self-control and a free mouth

Tate: My mouth, pretty girl

God, he says shit like that like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t immediately short-circuit every functioning brain cell I have. Like I’m not sitting here fully aware that if he said it in person, I’d fold so fast it’d be embarrassing. Actually—no. Not embarrassing, dangerous.

Cassie glances up from where she’s curled on the other end of my couch, one leg tucked under her. “What’s so interesting hmm?”

“Group chat stupidity,” I say, setting my coffee down on the coffee table before I accidentally drop it.

My hands are still sweaty from the caffeine or the conversation, I’m not sure.

Tate’s photo is imprinted into my brain.

Mask on, shirt off. The angle is absolutely sinful, starting at the waistband of his sweats and ending just under his throat, he knows exactly how to short-circuit my soul.

Which, of course, he did. The man sends thirst traps like they’re tactical strikes.

And then Carter’s. Fully clothed, lit by soft glow of his desk lamp.

The kind of smirk that says he knows he’s hot, but still hopes I like it anyway.

God, he knows exactly what he’s doing too. Different flavor, same problem.

.“Carter and Tate are having a hot twin-off.” I say before I lose myself too deeply in the moment.

Cassie raises a brow. “Which one’s winning?”

I pretend to think about it for a second too long. “Me.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love me.”

She hums in agreement, leaning over to grab the last donut off the plate between us. My phone vibrates with another message.

Carter: so… any chance your weekend’s free?

Me: depends, is this a come over and behave or come over and cause chaos?

Typing… stops. Starts again…

Tate: both. obviously

Carter: mostly behave

Tate: speak for yourself

Carter: I’m trying to make us sound respectful

Me: you failed. both of you. miserably but I’ll let you know

Cassie is watching me now. I can feel it. “What?” I ask, eyes still on the screen.

“You’re glowing,” she says flatly. “And trying to hide it. Which means you’re either sexting or plotting a murder.”

I am not glowing, I refuse to be glowing. Glowing implies emotional stability that I am absolutely not participating in. I am—at most—slightly unhinged and making questionable decisions. “Why not both?”

She pretend gags, then she sets her phone down and stretches, yawning. “So… what’s really going on?”

I blink at her. “Nothing.” That was the weakest ‘nothing’ I’ve ever said in my life.

She gives me that look. The one that’s more exasperated sister than best friend. “Try again, but this time without lying directly to my face.”

Here we go. I could lie. I’m going to lie…

but she’s not going to let me. I sigh, tug my knees up to my chest, and stare into my now cold coffee like it might give me the courage to say it out loud.

“I signed up for something,” I finally say.

Shit, no taking it back now. No pretending it’s just some dumb idea I can quietly abandon if I panic hard enough.

She leans in immediately, interested. “Okay, what kind of something? Fun something? Bad idea something? Sex dungeon something?”

I choke. “Gaming something.” Wow. Incredible delivery. Truly inspiring. Say it like it’s the least interesting thing in the world, Haven, maybe she won’t realize you’re internally spiraling.

She lifts an unimpressed brow. “That’s the least exciting answer you could’ve given me.”

Bingo. “No, but it’s a big one,” I say, the nerves suddenly rolling in harder now. “It’s my first official tournament. Like, real bracket. Invite-only. Heavily sponsored. High visibility.”

Cassie sits up straighter. “Wait. Seriously? Like, the kind with actual money and fan eyes and potential sponsors watching from the shadows?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah.”

“Haven, that’s amazing!”

“It’s terrifying.” Yeah. Amazing. Terrifying. Same thing, apparently.

She narrows her eyes. “Okay, but still amazing.”

“I don’t know if I’m good enough.” The words leave before I can catch them.

“I’ve always been good, Cass, but this is different.

This isn’t just streaming and being funny and wiping the floor with randos in matchmaking.

This is organized, competitive, with a team.

I’m not used to playing with other people like that. ”

Cassie snorts. “Could’ve fooled me, you’re not allowed to talk about being ‘not good enough’ when I’ve watched you drop three ranked players in a single round with your mic muted and a bag of chips in your hand.”

“That was luck.” It wasn’t luck. Stop saying that. Why do I always say that?

“No,” she says firmly, sliding closer and bumping her knee against mine. “That’s talent. And you know what else? You’ve worked your ass off for this. You’ve built your following, you’ve put in the hours, and you didn’t let a single dude talk you out of taking up space in the scene.”

My throat tightens. “What if I mess it up anyway?”

“Then you mess it up like a badass,” Cassie says. “But you won’t. Because you’ve already done the hardest part.”

“Which is?”

“Signing up.”

I blink. “That’s disgustingly supportive.”

She stands up to stretch, “That’s what I’m here for,” wandering toward the kitchen like we’re not in the middle of a casual emotional breakdown. “I’m making iced coffee,” she calls. “You want serotonin in the form of liquid sugar?”

“Obviously, please,” I say back, reaching for my laptop from the coffee table as she disappears behind the counter.

My tournament dashboard is still open in a background tab.

I haven’t looked at it since the invite dropped.

Part of me doesn’t want to jinx it. The other part, okay, most of me is scared.

Okay. Just look, it’s not that serious. If it’s bad, just… deal with it.

I click the tab, scroll past the welcome message, past the general rules. Until I hit the matchup list. My heart skips.

Bracket 1 | Team: Clutch Circuit

Players: HavenHexed, D7LAN, KillSwitch, P1XELH3AD

Okay. Fine. Normal names. Regular people. This is fine. I can work with this. I—

I stare at the usernames, one sticks out immediately like a punch to the gut. No. No. Nope. No. Absolutely the fuck not. That’s not real.

I click through to the linked profiles. Confirm what I already know. Dylan, my ex.

The same one Carter knows about—the one I’d cried to him over multiple times in voice chat months ago. The one who made me feel small. Controlled. Erased. Who told me I was “lucky anyone wanted to watch a girl play shooter games at all.”

My vision goes tight around the edges. I haven’t seen his name in over a year. Not since I blocked him across every platform I could.

Now he’s in my bracket. In the same team, in the same game. Playing under the same banner as me. I slam the laptop shut a little too hard, my breath caught halfway between panic and fury. I’m going to throw up. No, I’m not. I’m fine. I’m fine.

Cassie reappears instantly. “What?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “What happened?”

I look at her. I try to swallow the answer. I try to tell myself it’s fine, that I can handle this, that it’s just a game. But it’s not just a game.

“It’s Dylan,” I whisper.

Cassie’s whole face changes. Her smile instantly drops. “What do you mean it’s Dylan?”

I open the laptop again, screen still glowing with his handle, taunting me. “He’s on my team.”

Her expression is now hardening into something I rarely see, pure protectiveness. The kind that reminds me she might be bubbly, but she’s not soft. “Dylan’s in the tournament?” she asks, voice flat.

“Not just in it,” I whisper. “On my team.”

Her jaw tightens. “Are you kidding me?”

I shake my head. My fingers are still curled around the edge of the laptop, knuckles white.

Cassie walks back over, drops onto the couch beside me. “Okay, breathe. We can fix this.”

“There’s no fixing it,” I say. “Team assignments are locked. It’s part of the format, random bracket teams for the first half of the tournament. You can’t switch once they’re set like that, not for start up.”

Well fuck, what are the odds?”

“I don’t know.” I close my eyes. My stomach turns. “But apparently, I’m cursed.” Actually cursed, not even being dramatic.

“Or he is,” she mutters.

I let out a laugh, but it’s humorless. “He’s probably laughing about this right now. Probably thinks this is fate. Or some twisted redemption arc where he gets to ‘coach me’ through my first official match.”

Cassie’s eyes flash. “You don’t have to play.”

“Yes, I do.”

She blinks at me. I meet her gaze. “I have to play. If I back out now, he wins. He gets to think he still has some kind of power over me. That he can still scare me into disappearing.”

She goes quiet for a second. “So what’s the move?”

I exhale slowly, hands dropping into my lap. “The move,” I say, forcing my voice to steady, “is that I play. I dominate. I make sure he remembers exactly what it feels like to be destroyed by a girl who used to cry over him.”

“There’s my girl.”

But even as I say it, even as I try to believe it, something tightens in my chest. I know I can’t do this alone. Not this time. I also know the second Carter and Tate find out? Shit is going to hit the fan.

Cassie doesn’t ask any more questions. She just hands me the most ridiculous iced coffee concoction, throws a blanket over us, and picks the dumbest movie she can find. Something with bad CGI and a plot so dumb it distracts us for almost two hours. We eat, we laugh, and make fun of every character.

When I stop laughing too suddenly, or when my smile slips just a little too long, she just moves closer, leans her head on my shoulder, and lets me have the silence without asking why I need it.

We end the night curled on opposite sides of the couch, blankets tangled around our legs, the TV screen still glowing softly with the end credits.

“Call him,” she says, not looking at me.

I blink, throat tight. “Who?”

She snorts. “The one whose hoodie you’re wearing. The one you keep looking at your phone for. The one who’s going to go nuclear when he finds out about the tournament.”

I swallow hard, heart already racing.

Her voice is gentle, like she’s trying not to spook the truth out of me. Then she stands, stretching as she grabs her keys from the counter. “I’m crashing at James’ tonight.”

I blink up at her. “Thanks,” I say, voice quiet.

Cassie crosses the room, pulls me into a hug, and kisses the side of my head. “Go melt your boyfriends brains.”

Then she’s gone. My apartment is quiet again. Just me, the noise of the TV, and the weight of what I’m about to do pressing against my ribs like a loaded gun. I don’t let myself overthink it. I pick up my phone and Carter’s contact. I hit call, it rings once before he answers.

“Hey.” his voice is low, sleepy and warm as ever.

I press my knees to my chest, my voice catching a little. “Did I wake you?” Please say no. Please don’t make me feel worse.

There’s a rustle on the other end—sheets, maybe. A breath followed by a groan. “Nah. Was just lying here thinking about you. I was gonna call but figured you were with Cassie.”

“I was,” I say. “She just left.”

Silence stretches for a second. He doesn’t push, I almost wish he would.

“I need to tell you something,” I say finally, the words sliding out faster than I expected. “Something kind of important.”

Carter’s breath sharpens, but he keeps his voice gentle. “Okay.”

“I got placed on a team for the Aim High tournament.” My chest grows tighter by the second.

“That’s amazing. Wait—you didn’t tell me you signed up.”

“I wasn’t going to at first,” I admit. “I needed to do something for me. Something that didn’t involve you or Tate or… anyone. Just me.”

“Okay,” he says again, and I can hear the smile in his voice even as it collides with something else. “I get that. Who’s on your team, do you know any of them?”

I hesitate.

“Haven,” he says softly. “Talk to me.”

I close my eyes. “It’s… Dylan…”

There’s a pause before he repeats the name out loud. “Wait. That’s—” His voice cuts off.

I wait.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Carter’s voice doesn’t rise, but it doesn’t have to. The weight behind it says everything. I can hear the shift, the way his breath changes, like someone flipped a switch and everything soft in him is suddenly burning. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I was.” He’s going to think I hid it. God, I should’ve said something.

His inhale is sharp. “He’s on the list?”

“Yes.”

“And you can’t drop out?”

“No Carter,” I whisper. “It’s locked.”

A pause, another breath. “Fuck, Haven.”

I press my hand to my chest, trying to slow my breathing. “I didn’t know. I didn’t even think I’d get in. It was random team selection and… and I was just trying to focus on something else. Something that didn’t feel like the rest of my life is caving in.”

Carter doesn’t respond right away. I hate the silence more than I expected.

“I’m sorry,” I add, hating the way the words feel in my throat. “I know I should’ve told you sooner.”

“No,” he says finally, voice almost rough. “Don’t apologize. I’m not mad at you.”

“You sound mad.”

“I’m mad for you.” He exhales, and the sound is heartbreakingly ragged. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that asshole ever again, let alone play on his team.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can handle him.”

“That’s not the point baby.” Another pause.“Does Tate know?”

“No.” Yeah… that’s going to be a whole thing. A big, loud, chaotic thing.

“Are you going to tell him?”

“I will,” I say. “I just… needed to tell you first.”

His breath stutters. “Why?” he asks.

Because I know you’d understand. Because you were the one I cried to when it all fell apart.

Because you’re the one who stayed on the call after I muted myself.

Because you’re the one who said I deserved better when I didn’t believe it.

That’s what I wanted to say, but all I can whisper out is “because you were there.”

I hear Carter shift and clear his throat before he speaks.

“Yeah. I was, and still am Haven. That’s not going to change for anything.”

Neither of us say anything for a long moment. The silence stretches but doesn’t break. It just builds with all the things we’re both too tired to say out loud. “You still want to play?” Carter asks quietly.

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll figure it out.”

My throat tightens. “We?” We. Okay… yeah. That helps, at least one of us is thinking clearly.

He exhales like he’s smiling. “You didn’t think me and Tate are gonna let you face him alone, did you?”