Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Thiago
For the first time in days, the sun is out, and it’s uncharacteristically warm for February.
I bite down on my steak and bean burrito, the foil crinkling as I walk towards the field.
It’s an odd day; no one really needs anything.
My phone hasn’t been blowing up with notifications like it usually is, and the club chat is silent, no donors demanding updates.
No Peter. Just quiet.
This is the closest feeling to peace I’ll ever get. I stop midway, watching as Nico taps the ball with his feet, rolling behind it before launching it towards the goal. Zayden blocks using his head, the thud echoing across the empty bleachers.
“You trying to kill me or prove you just can’t aim?” Zayden calls, rubbing his forehead. I know he’s teasing, I’ve seen him take worse hits.
Nico covers his mouth with his hand, hiding his laugh before firing back. “You’re welcome for the practice.”
Eagerly, I finish off my burrito, taking large bites until nothing is left before tossing the paper into the trash and stepping onto the turf.
I’m not wearing any cleats, and don’t give a fuck it won’t be a fair game.
The air smells like fresh cut grass, even though the field is dead crisp.
I take it all in. Filling my lungs with the crisp scent, it wakes me up in a way no kind of coffee can do.
“You two look bored,” I say, jogging towards them. Adrenaline finally surges through my bloodstream. “Let me fix that.”
Zayden grins, always up for a challenge, daring me to try. Bring it on, meu principe. “You can’t even keep up with us.”
“But, baby, I’m better.” I wink, tilting my head to the side, thankful for the thin Nike headband keeping my hair out of my face. “Eyes on me, Ruas.”
Just like that, the ball’s at my feet before he speaks again. I flick it past him, sprinting down the line. He’s faster, though—always has been—and he cuts me off, shoulder to shoulder, the friction between us could spark a fire.
“You’re cocky,” he mutters.
“And you love it,” I shoot back, gaining a small gap between us.
Nico whistles from the midfield. “Play nice, lover boys.”
Zayden flips him off without breaking stride.
I laugh, chest burning from the exertion, pulse hammering.
Nico joins the play, cutting through the field with sharp and controlled movements.
He’s quick and aggressive—but predictable.
I intercept his pass, pivot, and send the ball flying toward the goal.
Zayden dives, but he’s a second too late.
The net ripples, and I turn with a glide.
“And that,” I say, grinning, “Is how it’s done.”
Nico groans, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “You’re insufferable.”
“Maybe a lil’...” I shrug. “You love me for it.”
He groans, and we both watch as Zayden jogs back, smirking. “You got lucky.”
“Luck’s just skill in disguise,” I quip back, before we resume our game.
It’s been a while since I felt this free; the heaviness in my chest slowly fades into nothing.
We’re laughing and playing like three little kids with no worries on our shoulders.
The field becomes its own world, a safety net woven from sweat, sunlight, and rivalry.
We crash into each other. Taking turns stealing the ball, it all feels like a conversation we will never have out loud.
Then I see my opening, Nico’s too far left and Zayden is distracted, and I end the conversation when I take the shot.
And score again.
It’s a clean and direct shot. The ball slams into the net, and satisfaction floods my veins. Zayden’s grin falters, and Nico curses under his breath, then bursts out laughing.
“Alright, show off… You win,” he says, waving me off. “You’re the better player today.” He makes sure to punctuate today, and I smirk at that, arching a brow.
“Today?” I echo, pursing my lips together before stretching back to a grin. “Try always.”
The game finally slows as the sun dips lower, painting everything in amber.
My lungs ache, and my uniform shirt clings to my skin from the sweat, making me feel sticky and gross.
But for a moment, everything feels simple, and I want to stay in it forever.
Zayden kicks the ball toward Nico, who traps it easily.
“We should eat before the auction,” Nico says. I can tell he wants no part of it, but he knows Shiloh will be there. And since he’s up for auction, I’m betting she won’t have a budget to get what she wants, which is him.
“Yeah,” Zayden agrees, wiping the sweat on his face, using his shirt. “I’m starving.”
Same.
Starving for you, I think to myself as my gaze slides down his tight and defined abdomen.
Abs on full display, his happy trail disappearing beneath his waistband, picturing myself licking and kissing my way down it until he’s a weeping mess of need.
I force myself to look away before the thought becomes visible between my legs.
Without another word, we start walking off the field.
The air is cooler now, the sky bleeding into orange and violet.
The campus is quiet and deserted. Everyone is getting ready for the biggest event of the semester.
Once we reach the parking lot, my eyes land on someone who shouldn’t be here.
Lucia… my step-mother.
My brows pull together as I pick up my pace, walking ahead and meeting her halfway.
Her heels sink into the grass, wind tugging at her dark hair.
She looks out of place, lips swollen and eyes puffy.
Not sure if she’s been crying or been fucked.
I can hear Nico and Zayden closing in, and my pulse races at a speed that is not humanly possible.
Blood rushes to my ears, making them feel full and ringing.
“Lucia, what are you doing here?” I ask, rushing to her side, wearing the mask of the perfect son, concern etched into my features. It’s not like her to visit me.
“Thiago,” she says, her voice tight, almost breaking. Her eyes flick between me and, I’m sure, Zayden. Lucia clears her throat. “Have you seen your father?”
I nod slowly.
“Yeah. Last night at the club.”
She doesn’t ask anything else. Her face flickers from disgust to resignation.
Already knowing he spent his night fucking a petal while she sat alone in our multi-million-dollar home.
Empty and devoid of anything real. Anything worth wanting.
What a sad and pathetic life. A life destined for my future wife.
I step to the side, gesturing towards them. “Lucia, this is Zayden and Nico.”
She turns, forcing a polite smile that trembles at the edges. She studies Zayden. Can she recognize him? See the similarities I see? After all, it’s her son who stands in front of her. Confirmed by the DNA test, I was able to obtain it thanks to the few strands of hair I stole from her and Zayden.
I watch her closely, waiting for the recognition to flicker. Zayden shifts under her stare, visibly becoming uncomfortable. His mind is trying to piece together the sensation of knowing. She looks different now—plastic surgery has erased the woman from his father’s photo—but I know…
Nico glances between us, sensing the tension but not understanding it. Lucia's eyes widen, something unreadable flashing there before straightening her posture.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” she says in her warmest motherly tone. “Thiago has said so much about you two.”
I haven’t.
She knows that and so do they.
No one corrects her, though. We just exchange quick pleasantries before we watch her slip inside the backseat of the sleek SUV.
The door shuts with a soft click that sounds louder than it should.
Something’s wrong… She wasn't here for my father or me. She was here for something else, and I’m willing to bet money that it’s something my father doesn’t give her.
My eyes move to the building she exited, and I smile, knowing it’s the tech building. Whatever she’s hiding, it starts there.
Zayden
It’s auction time….
And no amount of weed or nicotine can ease the nerves within me.
I nibble on the inside of my cheek, feeling my heart pound inside my chest. My tongue moves around the hoop in my bottom lip.
The gym looks nothing like a place of exercise.
Gotta admit, the volunteers really did their thing with the decor.
It looks like Mount Olympus dropped into Villalargos.
Marble white pillars adorned with gold vines, gold and dark red drapery decorate the ceilings, fog machines surround the stage, spilling clouds across the floor.
Students wearing togas and laurel crowns drift around like they’re auditioning for a Hercules movie.
The air smells like perfume, sweat, and vanilla.
My extremities tingle. I plaster on a fake smile as I weave through the crowd, making my way outside to find Nico.
From the corner of my eye, I catch the auction line.
The offerings to the Gods. Half the soccer team, scholarship recipients, and, of course, the petals—who all look happy as fuck to be here.
I ignore the pressure that settles within my chest, continuing my path towards the door—needing something to take the edge off.
The cold air bites at my skin. Shoving my hand into my shorts pocket, I pull out a small tube that has my rolled joint.
I hate that I don’t have cigarettes to smoke, so this will have to do.
Placing the joint between my lips, I spot Nico walking around the fountain, phone against his ear. He looks stressed and rightfully so.
“Trouble in paradise?” I ask, knowing damn well there is.