Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Bea’s phone lit up just past ten.
Incoming call: Gage
She answered on the second ring. “Hi.”
“Next Friday night,” he said, no preamble. “Are you free?”
“Yes,” she replied, already sitting up straighter. “What are we doing?”
“Dinner with my parents. They’d like to see you again.”
“Oh.” Bea tried to sound casual, but her brain was already flipping hangers and sifting through possible outfits. “Where are we going?”
“To their place. I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Should I bring something?” she asked, remembering how Gage had once shown up to her parents’ house with a fruit basket that could feed a small village.
“No need. Just wear something nice.”
Bea made a silent note to text Georgina the second they hung up.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said.
Her chest did that fluttery thing it always did at the endearment. “Goodnight.”
Bea snapped her folder shut and slid it into her tote. Nico was cramming loose papers into his backpack like he was late for a flight he also forgot to book.
“Try not to destroy everything I just corrected.”
“I like it better lived-in,” he said, zipping it halfway. Then, throwing it out casually, “We’ve got a game Friday.”
Bea looked up. “Oh?”
“Championship,” he said, adjusting his desk. “You should come. If you want.”
It was nothing, the way he said it. It didn’t matter. But she knew it did. And it meant more than she could say that he’d asked.
“I’d love to,” she said. Her smile dimmed. “Wait. Friday night?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I have dinner with Gage’s parents. I’m so sorry, Nico.”
He shrugged. Too fast. Too blank. “It’s not a big deal.”
It was.
“Nico, wait.” She touched his arm. “Could I come to watch you practice?”
He gave her a look. “You want to sit in a sweaty gym for two hours and watch us pretend to play the championship game?”
“I’ll bring snacks,” she offered. “The delicious kind with ten grams of protein per hundred calories.”
That got a small smile. “They better have chocolate.”
“Obviously. And peanut butter. Unless your school has a ban on joy.”
“We can handle nuts,” he said, dry. “Six thirty on Wednesday. Don’t be late.”
“I’ll be there.”
The gym was already loud when she walked in. Sneakers on wood, balls hitting glass, boys shouting each other’s names like battle cries.
Bea stayed near the door, scanning for Nico. She spotted him in the far lane, running a full-court drill, sweat-darkened shirt clinging to his back.
He turned just enough to see her. Grinned without missing a step, and kept running the play.
She made her way to the bleachers. Chose a spot a couple of meters away from where the coach was yelling. Pulled out a banana, peeled it, and sat.
Practice moved fast. High-energy, locked-in, no wasted motion.
And then someone turned up the voltage. A player snapped, “Jefe’s in.”
Rafael stepped onto the court. Black athletic shirt and basketball shorts to his knees, outlining thighs and calves that didn’t skip leg day. No clipboard or whistle.
He wasn’t introduced. He didn’t announce himself.
One of the seniors passed him the ball without being asked. Rafael caught it, turned, and drove—fast, low, all muscle and concentration. When the boy guarding him tried to get fancy, Rafael spun through the contact, letting the boy ricochet off his side like he’d hit a wall.
“Balance first. Swagger later,” he said, tossing the ball to the next line.
He moved like someone who knew exactly how much give the court would allow. The boys fell into rhythm behind him, like formation came naturally once a commander showed up.
Someone missed a screen angle. Rafael didn’t stop the play; he repeated it.
“Again. Cleaner,” he said. “With your feet under you this time.”
The coach, an older man with a buzz cut, had his hands behind his back. He didn’t interfere. Seemed to accept that the rhythm now belonged to Rafael.
“Is he always here?” Bea asked him.
“Not every week. But for games like Friday? He shows.”
Rafael didn’t bark. He corrected, fast, sharp, and in motion.
It was the first time she’d heard the boys call him El Jefe.
No irony, just respect. They weren’t afraid of him, but they listened.
Accepted his clipped instructions like truth.
They wanted his eyes on them, and glowed at a single word of praise.
One of the younger boys flinched after a bad pass. Rafael caught it one-handed and fired it back with a snap of the wrist. “Again. Don’t shrink.”
The boy straightened his shoulders, and did it better.
A couple of hours later, Nico jogged over to where Bea sat, sweat-soaked and electric.
“You brought the snacks?” he asked, already unzipping her tote before she could answer.
“Excuse you. That’s theft.”
Ignoring her, he pulled the box out. “Legit.” He took a massive bite of one protein bar. “You made these?”
“Of course,” Bea said. “Twenty grams of protein, or so says the recipe.”
Nico turned to the court, mouth still full, hands framing his mouth like a megaphone. “Yo! Guys, El Jefe—she brought snacks.”
That got their attention.
The whole team came over in a wave. Some boys were still stretching, others dragged their gym bags, a few tossed a ball between them like they hadn’t just spent two hours grinding. They closed in fast, all height and noise.
Bea laughed, pulling out the rest of the bars. “I made enough for everyone. Calm down.”
“She bakes?”
“Nico, are you gatekeeping now?”
“Bro, why didn’t you invite your tutor earlier?” One of the seniors nudged Nico, grinning.
“Introduce us, Nico.”
He did, rattling off a dozen names.
Another chimed in, “I’d risk academic probation for you.”
One of the juniors fake-fainted. Someone said, “I’d fail math on purpose.”
Bea shook her head, amused and a little flustered. “You’re all deeply unwell.”
Nico rolled his eyes. “You’re embarrassing yourselves.”
Rafael walked over.
He didn’t speak at first. Just accepted a protein bar from one of the boys, bit into it, and stood beside her like a sentry. The boys quieted instinctively, the way you do when something bigger enters the room.
“This is Bea,” he said. “Show some respect. She made these.”
That earned a few sheepish laughs, and a fresh wave of thank-yous.
“She’s off-limits, huh?” Antonio grinned.
“To you, too, El Jefe?” Jude added.
Rafael took another bite. Chewed. Let the silence stretch until even Bea wanted to know the answer.
Then he said, calm as ever, “You already know the answer to both.”
Bea’s blush detonated. The boys broke—howling, laughing, slapping each other like someone had hit a game-winner.
She didn’t know the answer. And she wasn’t planning to think about it. Ever.
Coach called the boys in with a clipped command, and they immediately moved, leaving her alone with Rafael.
If he saw the color of her face, which, she was certain, anyone with eyes would have, he didn’t mention it.
“You came,” he said.
“You’re here. I thought you’d be at the game.”
“I don’t just come for the scoreboard.” His eyes flicked down to the queen necklace she wore. Instinctively, she reached up and held it in her hand.
“They respect you,” Bea said.
“They should.”
“They listen.”
“They’re supposed to.”
“You don’t talk down to them. You expect them to meet you.”
He polished off his protein bar. “That’s how you build men.”