31. Ella/Hunter
Thirty One
Ella/Hunter
Ella
The sound of the ball hitting the strings was sharp and clean, like gunfire echoing in my skull. I shoved it down, every nerve in my body coiled tight, and tossed the ball for my serve.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The sun was brutal overhead, burning lines into the court, but my grip was steady. This was my court, my match.
The crowd murmured, a low hum like bees behind glass. I felt every pair of eyes on me, waiting for me to crack. Not happening .
I bounced the ball up and down three times.
Toss. Snap!
The ball shot across the net with a vicious spin and smacked the baseline as if it belonged there. Ace. The scoreboard clicked up, but I didn’t allow myself to smile. One point meant nothing.
“Lucky shot,” my opponent muttered from across the net. She twirled her racket as if she were bored, as if I didn’t hear the strain in her voice.
I rolled my shoulders, letting the taunt slide off like sweat.
“Sure,” I said under my breath as I walked to my position. My heart was hammering, but my mind was clear and focused.
The next rally burned with fast exchanges and grunts slicing the air. She hit deep, and I chased after it, my feet screaming and my legs pumping until I ripped a forehand down the line, making the crowd erupt.
“Come on!” I yelled, pumping my fist.
In the next game, she tried again, digging for cracks. “Getting tired yet?”
I wiped my face with the hem of my shirt and looked at her flatly. “You?”
She could try to rattle me all day, but pressure didn’t scare me. Pressure was oxygen once I stepped on the court.
Her serve for match point was brutal, wide to my backhand, but I lunged, the strings biting the ball with precision. It kissed the sideline so perfectly that the umpire didn’t even blink.
Game. Set. Match.
Victory ignited through my veins like wildfire. The cheers around me faded into the background because this was a moment for me . For every doubt, I had overcome. For every time, I refused to let anyone else decide my worth.
Never again.
I was still catching my breath when a calm, unmistakable voice cut through the roar.
“Hell. Yes.”
I whipped my head toward the stands and spotted Sierra’s golden-blonde head right behind my bench. She had her arms crossed, but a wide smile stretched her lips.
“Oh my God! You’re here?!” I squealed, grinning from ear to ear.
Sierra smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Had to make an entrance. I wouldn’t want to miss my favorite chaos queen in action.”
“Favorite?” I laughed. “Since when?”
She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a softer, almost conspiratorial tone. “Since you kind of grew on me. Like a weed. A loud, obnoxious, stubborn weed.”
I rolled my eyes playfully. “Charming.”
Sierra shrugged. “Hey, someone’s gotta keep you grounded.”
“Right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Good luck with that. Maybe try knocking my brother down a peg first.”
Sierra shook her head with a smile, but her eyes held unmistakable affection. “Please. He’s a hopeless case.”
I met her gaze, feeling something shift inside me. “Well, I suppose I can tolerate you hanging around. Someone’s got to keep me from losing it completely.”
I couldn’t help but grin, feeling a quiet rush of gratitude. Sierra lived on the other side of the country now, chasing her professional volleyball dreams. She could spend every spare second with Dom during these rare visits.
But here she was, showing up for me and reminding me that, no matter how far we’d drifted apart, some things never change. It was more comforting than I’d expected.
***
Hunter
The sharp crack of the whistle pierced the air, and I surged forward with a sudden burst of energy, my muscles tensing with anticipation.
Sprint. Plant. Break. Backpedal.
Every movement was precise and had been honed over years, but now I was pushing past the edge, chasing goddamn perfection.
The coach’s voice boomed over the field: “Keep your hips low! Eyes on the receiver! Anticipate!”
I shifted into coverage drills, mirroring the receiver’s routes with tight, fluid steps. My body burned — calves screaming, lungs heaving — but I didn’t slow.
Every drill was a countdown to the Combine. The stakes weren’t just high; they were fucking everything.
My hands slapped the turf as I broke into a sprint, chasing down a simulated interception. Despite my fatigue, I absorbed every correction Coach shouted, knowing this would set me apart.
Next was the weight room. I powered through sets of squats and cleans, the iron clanging as I built the explosive strength I’d need to dominate on the field.
Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes and mingling with the ache in my muscles. But the pain fueled me, reminding me the Combine was just a week away.
During a quick break, my phone buzzed.
Ella: Match went well! Sierra surprised me *celebration emoji*
Ella: Gonna hang with her for a bit
I ran a hand through my damp hair, a ghost of a smile flickering. I typed back without hesitation.
Hunter: Proud of you.
Hunter: Also, I know that’s code for tacos and margaritas
Then, almost automatically, my eyes flicked to my screen again, to the confirmations, the little receipts, and the notifications pinging quietly in the background.
The boys who had messed with my girl and made her shrink into herself for months were really not having the best time lately.
Stetson, the little ringleader, had called in sick just as I engineered a minor scheduling conflict.
Mason’s email to a contractor bounced and was flagged for review, as I’d planned.
Carver’s beloved truck had just broken down, and it so happened that not a single shop in the vicinity could find the spare parts he desperately needed.
What a pity. These inconveniences were obviously not severe enough to destroy lives, but they were precise enough to sting .
A slow, satisfied grin spread across my face. Seeing the consequences ripple out, knowing each small inconvenience was a silent acknowledgment of my promise to her, made every drop of sweat on this field feel worth it.
Coach’s eyes locked on me, cutting and exacting. “Let’s go! One more round!” His tone brooked no argument.
I hit the agility ladder, my feet pounding in a blur as I steeled my mind against the exhaustion. Footwork, speed, and reaction time — the trifecta that could make or break my draft. Every rep mattered.
Finally, when my muscles trembled and sweat drenched my shirt, the drills stopped. I collapsed onto the bench, gasping for air, my heart hammering.
Eyes burning with focus, I wiped the slick from my face, my mind racing with all I still needed to prove.
Then my phone vibrated again.
S: Come see me.