Chapter 8
8
TORE
I’d never been much of a party animal. Being a prince meant getting invited to lots of events, some formal and some firmly falling into the wild and unhinged category. The first were an obligation, one I dutifully executed to various degrees of actual fun, depending on who else was there. Anything Floris, Greg, or Nils were invited to as well was guaranteed a good time.
But the second category was the kind that landed you in the tabloids with fabricated stories and manipulated pictures. And for obvious reasons, no royal family wanted that kind of publicity. It was the worst for Greg, purely because the British press were bloodhounds with the morals of rats. But they didn’t limit themselves to the British royal family alone, so we had learned to steer clear of them.
I rarely accepted invitations to parties I suspected could get out of hand. My presence at the frat party where I’d run into Farron had been a careful exploration of American frat life, but I’d stayed away from alcohol and left as soon as things got too rowdy for me. Sure, those present might not know I was a prince, but at some point, they would, and I didn’t want any embarrassing stories or footage out there.
So when I’d heard that the Alphas—the biggest fraternity on the campus and the name itself too cringey to be appealing to me—were throwing their famous Fall Fest, a yearly party that apparently was notorious, it had been the easiest decision ever not to go. Luke had shown me the flyer and a quick Google search had resulted in pictures that would give my uncle a heart attack, so nope, I’d stayed home.
Luke had still gone, and around four, he’d stumbled into our dorm, knocking over a chair before falling headfirst onto his bed. I’d done a quick check to ensure he was breathing, had tilted his head to the side in case he vomited, and then gone back to sleep.
When our alarms went off for training, he’d fallen right back asleep. If he wanted to piss off Coach, that was his prerogative, so I’d left him by himself.
I stepped onto the soccer field, the early-morning dew soaking through my cleats. The familiar scent of freshly cut grass filled my nostrils, and I took a deep breath. I’d always been a morning person. What was more inspiring than a new day?
But then I noticed my teammates staggering out onto the grass, their movements slow and uncoordinated, shadows of the disciplined players I knew them to be. Oh, bollocks. Apparently, they’d all partied hard and were now paying the price for it. Only a few of them looked normal. What would Coach say when he saw them?
I felt a presence beside me and turned to see Farron, his dark eyes narrowed as he surveyed the pitiful scene before us. Our gazes met, and his expression mirrored my own frustration.
“Look at this mess,” he said, his eyes sweeping across the hungover bunch with undisguised disgust.
“They look like zombies.”
“Looks like there’s only a handful of guys, including us, who didn’t attend last night’s rager.”
Something unspoken passed between us—a mutual understanding of what dedication should look like. It was an odd moment of solidarity, given our history. “Indeed. It appears our teammates have confused hydration with inebriation.”
Farron snorted, a hint of amusement breaking through his scowl. “Big words this early in the morning. But yeah, these idiots are gonna regret it when Coach sees them.”
“I’m well-versed in the art of the hangover, but I prefer to save such indulgences for after we’ve secured victory.”
“You and me both,” Farron agreed, his muscular arms crossed over his chest.
Jake, our usually energetic striker, tripped over his own feet and face-planted into the grass. He didn’t even bother getting up, instead choosing to roll onto his back with a groan.
My jaw clenched. This was unacceptable. We had a championship to win, and here they were, barely able to walk, let alone play soccer.
Farron blew a furious come-here whistle on his fingers, and the team gathered around us. Most sported guilty expressions.
“Seriously, guys?” Farron’s voice sliced through the morning haze. He stood at the center of the field, his broad shoulders squared and his hands planted firmly on his hips. His face was contorted with anger, his jaw clenched tight. I stood beside him, my arms crossed, silently backing his words.
“Look at yourselves…” His eyes, dark with reproach, locked onto each of our hungover teammates in turn. “Is this what we’re about? Showing up half-dead to training? What the hell were you thinking last night? We’ve got a real chance at winning the conference and maybe even nationals, and you idiots decide to get wasted? We’re supposed to be a team, but right now, you’re letting everyone down. Yourselves, Coach, the college, and every damn person who believes in the Hawley Hawks.”
I nodded in agreement, my own frustration building. These were my teammates, and some of them had become my friends, but their lack of commitment was infuriating.
“I hope your one night of fun was worth it. If you think I’m mad, wait till Coach gets here. We’re starting warm-up now, and you’d better keep up.”
Farron broke into a jog, and I was on his heels as we began our first lap around the field. The rest of the team fell in line. The ones who hadn’t partied were right behind us and the rest followed at a much slower pace.
As we ran laps, I studied Farron from the corner of my eye. Despite our differences, we seemed to be on the same page when it came to our dedication to the sport. Hopefully, he’d see that too.
I caught sight of Coach approaching, his face like a thundercloud ready to burst. Apparently, he’d already found out about the unfortunate turn of events. I braced myself for the storm to come, ready to prove that not everyone on this team had forgotten what it meant to strive for victory. Farron had spotted him too, and he led the team back to the middle of the field.
“What in the name of all that is holy is going on here?” Coach bellowed, his eyes scanning the disheveled group before settling on Farron and me. Farron opened his mouth to respond, but Coach held up a hand, silencing him. “On second thought, I don’t want to hear it. I can smell the poor decisions from here.” His eyes narrowed as he took each of us in. “And I can also see who had their priorities straight.”
Coach paced back and forth, his anger palpable. When he spoke again, his voice was low and dangerous. “Every time you choose to party instead of prepare, every time you pick a hangover over hard work, you’re spitting in the face of everything this team stands for. You’re not just letting yourselves, your teammates, and your coaches and staff down. You’re disappointing every player who’s ever worn the Hawley Hawks jersey.”
Coach’s words hung heavy in the air, and my teammates’ shoulders slumped. The gravity of their actions seemed to hit them all at once. Jake, our usually cocky striker, looked like he might actually cry.
As Coach’s tirade continued, I glanced at Farron. His face was set in grim determination. Who would have thought that a bunch of hungover teammates would be the thing to bridge the gap between us?
Coach’s face was still flushed with anger as he barked, “All right, boys! Since you all seem to think you’re invincible, let’s put that to the test. Hope you’re ready for the workout of your lives. Line up!”
A collective groan rippled through the team, but nobody dared to protest. As we shuffled into position, I caught Farron’s eye. There was a fire there that matched my own feelings. Whatever hell Coach was about to put us through, hopefully, it would help everyone else get their priorities straight.
He blew his whistle, and we were off, sprinting across the field. The hungover guys were already panting, their faces a sickly shade of green. I pushed myself harder, feeling the burn in my legs.
“Faster!” Coach yelled. “My grandmother could outrun you lot, and she’s been dead for ten years!”
As we transitioned into burpees, I heard retching sounds behind me, but I had no compassion. Instead, I sped up, pushing myself to my limits. Next to me, Farron did the same.
“Great work, Tore!” Coach called out, and pride surged inside me. “That’s the kind of dedication I want to see!”
I lost track of time as we moved from one punishing exercise to the next. Suicides, mountain climbers, squat jumps—Coach threw everything at us. My muscles screamed in protest, but I refused to give in.
“This… is… bullshit,” Jake gasped between push-ups.
I gritted my teeth, pushing through the pain. “Should’ve thought of that before you decided to get wasted.”
“Water break!” Coach Gold bellowed. “Two minutes, then we’re back at it!”
I groaned internally but forced myself to my feet and trudged toward the water cooler. When I grabbed a paper cup and filled it with cool water, my hands were shaking slightly, proof of how hard I’d been pushing myself. As exhausted as I was—and we weren’t even done yet—it felt amazing.
“Break’s over!” Coach’s voice cut through the air. “We’re doing suicide sprints until I see some real effort!”
I tossed my empty cup aside and jogged back to the starting line, ignoring the burning in my legs. Farron fell into place beside me.
As Coach’s whistle blew, we exploded into action. My legs felt like lead, but I pushed through the pain, focusing on the rhythm of my breathing and the pounding of my heart. One sprint, then another, and another. I lost count of how many times we raced back and forth across the field.
Around us, our teammates were dropping like flies. Some collapsed mid-sprint, while others staggered to the sidelines, faces pale and sweaty. But Farron and I kept going, matching each other stride for stride.
I don’t know how long we continued like that, existing in a world of discipline and determination over pain and protesting bodies. All I knew was that I refused to let Farron outpace me, and he seemed equally unwilling to fall behind.
Finally, mercifully, Coach’s whistle pierced the air. I stumbled to a stop, hands on my knees as I gasped for air. Farron stood nearby, equally winded but still upright.
Coach surveyed the massacre. “All right, that’s enough! Hit the showers.”
I collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving, every muscle in my body screaming. Pushing myself up onto my elbows, I surveyed the carnage around me. Half the team was still sprawled on the ground, while others were hunched over, dry heaving.
But something had changed. The team looked broken, but there was a newfound respect in their eyes as they glanced between Farron and me. The air felt charged with possibility, tinged with hope.
I caught snippets of awed whispers from our teammates.
“Did you see that?” Jayden whispered. “Tore and Farron, working together like they don’t hate each other’s guts?”
Ethan chuckled. “Man, I never thought I’d see the day. It’s like… What do they call it? A sign of the apocalypse?”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t completely suppress a smile. Farron and I had never seen eye to eye, but today had felt different. For once, Farron and I were united in something other than our mutual dislike. Something had shifted between us. It wasn’t friendship—I wasn’t that na?ve—but it was… something.
And as I glanced at him, I felt a strange flutter in my chest that had nothing to do with exertion. I quickly looked away, chalking it up to oxygen deprivation and Floris getting into my head with his crazy suggestion of foreplay. Running suicide sprints was not foreplay. And anyone who said it was, was seriously fucked up.
We stumbled to the locker room, where I lowered myself onto a bench with a groan. Farron pulled off his sweat-soaked jersey, revealing toned muscles and sun-kissed skin. I quickly averted my gaze from his muscular form, focusing instead on unlacing my cleats. My heart was racing, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the intense workout or something else entirely.
I wiped the sweat from my brow, stealing another glance at Farron. Our eyes met, and for a moment, something beyond the usual disdain showed—a flicker of respect, perhaps even admiration. My cheeks heated.
Coach’s booming voice interrupted my confused thoughts. “All right, listen up. Today sucked, but it will be nothing compared to what will happen if you show up for practice like this again. That’s a promise, not a threat.” His gaze swept across the locker room before settling on Farron and me. “The one good thing was to see you two give it your all and go all out. Good work, boys.”
A rush of warmth filled me at his words, coupled with an unexpected surge of something else I couldn’t pinpoint—this warm feeling inside me, mixed with anticipation and adrenaline. Almost like… butterflies? I risked a glance at Farron, who stood there, shirtless and glistening with sweat, a look of quiet satisfaction on his face.
“Thanks, Coach,” Farron said.
I nodded in agreement, not trusting myself to speak.
“The rest of you could learn a thing or two from these guys,” Coach said to the team. “This is the kind of dedication that wins championships. Remember that.”
As Coach left, a buzz of conversation filled the locker room. I caught snippets of surprised comments and speculation about Farron and me.
“Did you see them out there?”
“Never thought I’d see those two working together.”
“Think this means they’ve buried the hatchet?”
I wondered the same thing. Had we? Had this training finally broken whatever grudge he held against me? I glanced at Farron again, catching his eye. He gave me a small nod, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. My stomach did a little flip, and I quickly looked away, confused by my body’s reactions.
Walking out of the locker room, I overheard two of my teammates talking in hushed tones.
“You think this changes anything?” one asked.
“I don’t know, man,” the other replied. “But if those two can work together like that… maybe we’ve got a real shot at the championship after all.”
I smiled to myself, a mix of pride and uncertainty swirling in my chest. As I pushed open the door to leave, I nearly collided with Farron.
“Watch where you’re going,” he grunted, but there was no real heat behind his words.
“My apologies,” I replied, my voice coming out huskier than I had intended. “I’ll be more careful next time.”
Our eyes met, and for a moment, neither of us moved. The air between us crackled with energy. Then Farron cleared his throat and stepped aside, allowing me to pass.
As I walked away, I could feel his gaze on my back. Was he as affected by our newfound dynamic as I was? One thing was certain: things were never going to be the same again.