Chapter 2
2
TORE
The late summer warmth hung like a suffocating blanket over the campus as Luke and I, clad in our dark-blue practice uniforms, walked to football practice. Strike that. Soccer practice. How long would it take me to get that right? Probably as long as it would be until my British English made way for an American twang. Which wasn’t bloody likely, seeing as how I’d spent a year in the UK for an exchange program in secondary school.
Luke was my roommate and a fellow freshman, a blond, sturdy farmer’s boy from rural Ohio. He played center-back, like Farron, but unlike our team captain, Luke was easy to like. He called his mom daily, which I thought was adorable, and he constantly wolfed down food like a man after a week’s fast. We had two classes together, though he planned to major in agricultural science, whereas I was focused on political science.
“Seriously, though,” I grumbled, adjusting the strap of my soccer bag on my shoulder. “Keller assigned War and Peace like it’s some kind of breezy beach read.”
Luke chuckled. “You think that’s bad? My philosophy assignment might as well be written in Ancient Greek. It took me an hour to read four pages yesterday.”
“Maybe we can swap,” I offered with a grin, knowing full well neither of us would fare better in the other’s shoes. “I’d rather ponder the meaning of life than try to keep track of Tolstoy’s characters.”
“Tempting, but no. Pretty sure your study load also comes with learning details about historic battles I couldn’t possibly care less about.”
We rounded the corner of the Arts building, the Gothic architecture giving way to the open expanse of the soccer fields, our sanctuary from academic tribulations. But even here, a shadow lurked: a dark-haired enigma with the build of a defensive wall and the warmth of an ice bath.
“Speaking of battles…” I lowered my voice as I watched Farron leading a few early birds in stretching exercises. “Have you ever seen him crack a smile?”
“Who? Farron?” Luke glanced over, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Nah, that guy’s got resting brood face. Why?”
“Resting brood face, that’s hilarious.” I’d never heard that expression before, but it fit Farron perfectly. “He doesn’t seem to like me, and I can’t fathom why. I haven’t crossed him, have I?”
“You?” Luke looked genuinely perplexed, as if the idea of anyone not getting along with me was beyond the realm of possibility. “Tore, you’re the friendliest guy I’ve ever met. You probably greet spiders before you escort them outside.”
“That’s called Norwegian hospitality.”
“Maybe it’s not personal.” Luke held open the door to the locker room. “Farron takes this all super seriously.”
“Perhaps.” I wasn’t convinced, though. It felt personal to me. Very personal. I suspected there was something more to it, something I was missing. Farron didn’t know my real identity, so that couldn’t be it, though it would’ve been a plausible explanation. What other reason could he have to not like me?
“Have you considered that Farron might see you as a distraction?” Luke asked. His tone was casual, but the implication was heavy enough to weigh down my next step.
“A distraction?”
“Look, from what I understand, Farron’s gunning for the pro leagues. He doesn’t have time for—no offense—charming Norwegian imports who might not bleed soccer as much as he does.”
“None taken.” I masked the sting with a grin. But truthfully, it felt like a cleat had dug into my pride. We were at the end of week two, and from day one, I’d thrown myself into every practice. Wasn’t that enough? “I’ll have to convince him I’m as serious about football as he is.”
Luke clamped a hand on my shoulder. “You may wanna start with calling it soccer.”
Crap.
“Soccer. One of these days, I’ll get it right.”
“In the meantime, let me share a little bit of wisdom with you that my high school coach always said. Focus on the ball, not the bullshit. Don’t let Farron rob you of your joy in the game.”
Wise words, and they resonated with me. Focus on the ball, not the bullshit. I liked that. “Thanks.”
We dropped our backpacks at the edge of the field, then joined the rest of the team in running warm-up laps, Farron leading the way, of course. What could I do to make him see I wasn’t a distraction, that I wanted this team to succeed as much as he did?
Having to prove how much this sport meant to me wasn’t new. I’d gone a hundred rounds with my parents over the years, especially once it became clear that I had real talent—and the discipline and dedication to go far. But in the end, my heritage had won, like it always had and always would. Princes did not become professional football players, no matter how good they were.
Seeing my dream crushed like that had been a blow, but I’d gotten over it. Maybe that was why it hurt that Farron didn’t take me seriously? Hmm, I might have to consider taking a psychology course if I wanted to figure that one out.
“All right, Hawks, let’s get moving!” Coach Gold’s voice boomed across the pitch, and I fell in line with my teammates. The group’s energy was palpable, a collective pulse that quickened with every pass and shot. I focused on the rhythm of the ball at my feet, the feel of the grass beneath my cleats, the scent of freshly churned earth rising with each stride. This—this was where I belonged, where titles and heritage faded into nothingness, and only the game mattered.
I chased down balls, intercepted plays, and sent passes slicing through the defense like a hot knife through butter. Sweat beaded on my brow, my breath coming in short bursts, but I welcomed the fatigue.
It didn’t matter that Farron glared daggers at me every time I outmaneuvered him. I wouldn’t let his disdain slow me down. I played harder, faster, letting my performance speak for itself.
“Nice work, Tore!” Coach Gold bellowed from the sidelines, his praise ringing in my ears like a victory chant. He used last names for everyone but had apparently decided my first name was easier to pronounce than Haakon. I couldn’t blame him.
The practice wore on and I didn’t let up, not even when my lungs screamed for mercy and my muscles trembled with exertion. I tackled each scrimmage as though it was a championship game, pushing myself to be faster, stronger, better. Some of my teammates threw admiring glances my way, and a few of the other newbies studied me closely, trying to emulate my movements. Yet my eyes kept seeking out Farron, looking for any sign of approval.
By the time Coach Gold blew the final whistle, signaling the end of practice, my muscles cramped and my chest heaved. But underneath the exhaustion was a sense of satisfaction so profound, it bordered on euphoria.
“Good work, team. Hit the showers,” Coach Gold commanded, and we dispersed, a flock of spent Hawks grateful for the reprieve. I lingered on the field for a moment longer, taking in deep gulps of air, and allowed myself a small smile of pride. I’d given everything out there. Whether it was enough to win over my toughest critic was yet to be seen, but for now, I had the respect of my team, and that was victory enough.
Despite Farron’s coldness, a sense of accomplishment thrummed through me. Sweat dripped from my brow as I jogged over to where Farron was packing up his gear, his back turned to me, the sharp angles of his shoulders tense beneath the fabric of his jersey. He’d been like a wall on the field, immovable and imposing, but I was determined not to let his gruff exterior deter me.
“Hey, Farron.” I mustered the cheeriest tone I could despite being exhausted. “That was some solid defending today.”
He glanced over his shoulder, dark eyes flicking to meet mine for an instant before returning to his task. “Thanks.”
“It’s impressive how you anticipate the play.”
“Part of the job.” He shoved his cleats into his bag with more force than necessary.
This conversation was like dribbling a ball through an obstacle course. Each response from him was a hurdle I had to navigate. But I wasn’t one to forfeit the game so easily. “It’s a skill, though. One I hope to learn from watching you.”
“Watch all you want.” His tone bordered on dismissive, but I didn’t miss the briefest hitch in his movements—a pause that suggested my words might have landed somewhere soft inside him.
“Will do.” I smiled, undeterred by the walls he put up. My mother always said kindness was a language anyone could understand, and I intended to be fluent in it.
I caught his eye again as we walked out of the locker room at the same time, offering him a smile that I hoped conveyed more than words could—my respect, my earnest desire to be part of the team, to be seen as an equal.
For a heartbeat, I thought I saw a crack in his armor, a softening around the edges of his hardened gaze. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by an icy veneer that felt like a gust of winter wind. His expression hardened into something unreadable, and he looked away, leaving me with a hollow feeling in my chest. I must’ve imagined it.
“See you tomorrow, Farron,” I called after him, my voice buoyant even as doubt crept into the corners of my mind.
“Sure,” he threw over his shoulder, the word devoid of warmth.
I watched him go, his figure retreating until it merged with the shadows, and I was left standing there alone.
“Thanks for waiting,” Luke said, finally done showering and changing. He wasn’t the fastest when it came to personal hygiene, I’d already discovered. But it would be rude not to wait for him, considering we were both heading back to our dorm.
“No problem.”
“Man, you were on fire today.” Luke bumped shoulders with me in a friendly nudge. “If you keep playing like that, Farron’s gotta come around.”
“Thanks.” The compliment warmed me, but my mind was still churning over Farron’s cold dismissal. “I don’t get it. It’s like he’s determined not to like me.”
“Give it time. I doubt that guy warms up quickly to anyone. You’ve got talent and drive. Plus, you have that whole Viking thing going on,” Luke teased, nudging me again, but softer this time.
“Well, I won’t be raiding any shores or pillaging villages any time soon. All I want is to play football and…”
“Win over the grumpy captain?” Luke finished for me, a knowing look in his eye.
“Exactly.” I sighed, feeling the weight of my task settle on my shoulders. “No matter what it takes. He’s important to the team, and I need him to see that I am too.”
Luke stopped and turned to face me, sincerity etched into his features. “You don’t have to prove anything. You belong here. Farron will see it eventually.”
“Maybe, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to take more than scoring goals to win him over.”
“He can’t overlook genuine effort forever. And hey, if it doesn’t work out, you’ve still got the rest of the team on board. I think everyone’s already convinced you’re one hell of a midfielder.”
“Thanks, Luke,” I said, grateful for his unwavering support.
I wasn’t giving up this easily, but dammit, breaking through Farron’s defenses might be the toughest challenge I’d ever faced on or off the field.