12 - Wesley
Wesley
The locker room hums with post-scrimmage energy. Adrenaline crackles, and every voice sounds loud and bright, the way it only does after a win. The excitement is earned. It may have been a friendly match, but we kicked ass. It’s good to know that even though the season is over, we’re still sharp.
Sweat cools on my skin as I sit on the bench, sliding my shin guards free. My legs are heavy, and my muscles are buzzing with the satisfying ache of a night well played.
The final score was three to one, and I put up a goal and an assist. It was the kind of performance that lingers, quieting the part of my brain that always seems to race toward what's next.
Avery drops onto the bench beside me, tugging the braid from her fiery hair. Her eyes are lit with the adrenaline she thrives on. “You were on fire,” she says, nudging my shoulder. “That breakaway in the second half, straight through the center? I don’t think they even saw you until it was over.”
“It was the opening,” I say, bending to unlace my cleats. “They overcommitted.”
Becca laughs from two lockers down, a towel slung around her neck. “As if you didn’t absolutely cook their back line.”
“I did not cook anyone,” I argue, even as my mouth curves.
“You even smiled when you scored,” Haley adds from across the room, stuffing gear back into her locker. “That’s a celebration for you.”
The room erupts into overlapping voices.
I lean back against the cool metal, letting the noise wash over me, the weight of the week loosening its grip. I played well. I know I did. There’s comfort in that, especially after the last few days, which have felt anything but comfortable.
I had two training sessions with Nathan. He’d been early both times with two coffees in hand, focused in a way that made it clear he was taking this seriously. No flirting. No boundary testing. Just effort, attention, and a willingness to be corrected without ego.
I matched him step for step because I said I would, and because working out with someone stronger, faster, and as driven as I was felt electric. It pushed me to be better.
I refused to let him see me tired, even when I soaked in ice baths afterward to stop my legs from shaking. These workouts were helping me just as much, if not more than, they were helping him.
Still, no matter how hard I tried to stay focused, I couldn’t stop noticing things I shouldn't have.
Like the way he locks in when I challenge him or how he absorbs feedback as if he actually wants it.
Conditioning with him was feeling less like an obligation and more like something to look forward to.
And then there was last Sunday.
Lunch that slipped past polite and into friendly, in a way I hadn’t expected. The laughter surprised me. I didn’t check my watch once.
If Avery asked me right now, when I’d last had actual fun, I wouldn’t have to think, because the answer would be that day. Nathan might be the hockey player, but I’m the one skating on thin ice.
I shower, taking my time to rinse the sweat from my skin, my nerves buzzing with anticipation for the night ahead.
When I finally return to my locker, I catch Avery watching me from the corner of her eye, a knowing smile already forming. “Does a certain hockey player have anything to do with why you’ve brushed your hair for five minutes?” She asks.
My eyes narrow, but Haley beats me to it.
“Yeah,” she says. “When were you planning on telling us you have a boyfriend?”
My head snaps up. Tonight was supposed to be a soft launch. She shouldn’t know anything about it.
“Well, um…” My heart starts racing. “It’s early and not exactly official.”
I glance at Avery, trying to figure out how the team seems to already know, but she looks just as surprised.
Haley pulls out her phone, scrolls, then turns the screen toward me. “Seems pretty official. At least for him.”
The video is already playing.
Nathan sits beneath bright arena lights, answering questions with the calm confidence he brings to everything. The angle shifts, and I’m on the screen, mid-laugh, caught in a moment I thought belonged only to us.
Then his voice fills the room.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
The words echo far louder than the phone should allow.
My breath catches, sharp and involuntary, the post-game high shattering as anticipation gives way to spiraling anxiety.
What the fuck?
Avery’s head snaps up. “Oh my god. He didn’t.”
Becca whistles low. “Damn. Nathan Wilder claimed you on ESPN.”
Haley drops her head back. “I need a boyfriend to drop two hundred thousand dollars on a day with me. It’s so hot.”
I scan the room and catch sight of Coach standing in the corner. I can’t deny it or minimize it. I’m cornered.
Why would he say that? I asked him to help sell it, sure, but I assumed that would be discreet dating, not a national announcement. Not this.
Avery nudges me. “Panic later. They’re watching.”
I take a steadying breath and force a laugh. “He was planning to announce us next week after we met each other's friends and teams, but I guess he couldn’t wait.” I lie, smiling as if it’s charming and not my worst nightmare.
“Wait,” a rookie yells. “He’s meeting us?”
“Tonight, I’m coming out with you guys.” I nod.
My team erupts in excited chatter, highlighting how right Coach Bennett is about the way I’ve isolated myself.
Coach flashes me a smile before she exits, and I drop mine the second she’s gone.
I pull out my phone to check for a message explaining why he’d jump the gun like this, without at least talking to me.
There’s nothing new, just his good luck text from this morning.
The one I left on read when I should’ve at least said it back.
But I didn’t, my mind screaming that it would blur lines I didn’t want blurred.
I open my Instagram and watch the numbers climb. Thousands of new followers, all adding me after his announcement. My direct messages are clustered with girls either wishing to be me or saying the cruelest things they can think of.
I swallow, realizing my expectations for this entire charade have been tossed into the wind.
Avery waits until the locker room clears before gripping my shoulders. “Hey, are you okay?”
My eyes water against my will. “When I told Coach we were dating, I didn’t think it would turn into this. Now, people are watching me. Not for soccer. And this is fake, but now it has to look so real, and—”
“Wes,” she cuts in. “Breathe. You’re fine.”
“How is any of this fine?” My voice cracks.
“Because you’re Wesley fucking Miller. There is literally nothing you can’t pull off when you want to.” She takes my phone from me, shoving it into my jacket pocket. “You slide on your shoes, go to the bar, and lie flawlessly to the whole city.”
I snort, but nod furiously to everything she says. I only get thirty more seconds of panic. Then, I shove the lump of anxiety down, slip my bag over my shoulder, and force myself into action. This is just performing, nothing emotional about it. I can do that.
Except the moment I step outside, I know that everything has changed.
Lights flare, popping in rapid succession. For half a second, I think I’ve wandered out of the wrong exit or into someone else’s event. Then voices start layering over one another, and I realize, with a sickening drop in my stomach, that they’re saying my name.
“Wesley, over here.”
“Wesley, is it true?”
“Can you confirm the relationship?”
I slow, drawing my jacket tighter around myself, scanning the lot for Avery or anyone familiar, but there’s no space. They’re already closing into a semicircle that’s tightening with every step I don’t take.
“How long have you and Nathan been together?”
“How does it feel to land the most eligible bachelor in the city?”
“Did this start before or after his massive donation?”
Cameras are raised. Microphones appear in my peripheral vision. Someone’s shoulder bumps my arm, and I flinch, heart slamming so hard it feels like it might bruise.
I stop walking, and they close the gap instantly.
My breath comes in short bursts, anxiety spiraling out of control. On the field, chaos is expected. Here, it’s invasive and unpredictable, crawling under my skin.
“Are you worried about how dating Nathan could affect his focus?”
My mouth opens to answer, but then the questions collide, words blurring into noise. Their faces are indistinct behind lenses and flashes. My pulse roars in my ears.
This isn’t about me at all. It’s about him. A shiver runs up my spine as I realize that he lives this way all the time.
I take a step back, trying to get back inside, but the crowd moves with me, tightening until I smell cologne and hot camera equipment.
My hands curl into fists as I try to stop them from sweating.
I don’t know how long it lasts. Thirty seconds. A minute. Long enough for panic to sink its claws in.
Finally, cutting cleanly through the noise like a blade through ice, his voice echoes around me.
“That’s enough.”
The words are sharp, carrying with them a command that turns heads before I even see him.
“Back up,” Nathan says, louder now, already pushing into the space between me and the nearest camera. “Give her some room.”
The crowd hesitates, surprise rippling through them, but it gives him room to get to me.
His hand slides around my waist, pulling me to his side and grounding me back in the parking lot.
A tendril of wet hair is stuck to his forehead, but he somehow makes it work for him.
He’s wearing his gameday suit, but the top of the shirt is unbuttoned, making it look more casual.
“I’ve got you,” he says, low, meant only for me, before raising his voice again. “She played ninety minutes of incredible soccer. If you are going to show up at her game, maybe try asking her about that.”
He doesn’t slow, just keeps moving, guiding me through the bodies. His presence is a shield I didn’t realize I needed until it was here, solid and unyielding.
“She had a goal and an assist tonight,” he continues, eyes flashing as he glares at the nearest reporter. “Though it doesn’t seem like any of you bothered to watch the game you showed up to.”
Flashes go off again, faster now. Frantic.
“Nathan, is this serious?”
“Is she the one?”
He ignores them, getting me to his car in a few quick strides and ushering me inside with one hand at my back, blocking the cameras with his body. I slide into the seat, heart still racing and hands trembling despite my best efforts to still them.
The door shuts with a solid click.
Silence. Or at least, as close as possible with a crowd of people outside the car.
He rounds the hood, shoulders squared as he says something sharp to the nearest cameraman before getting into the driver’s seat, shutting them out.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
The world narrows to the inside of his car, the sound of my own breathing, and the warmth still lingering where his hand touched my waist.
Then he turns toward me.
“Hey,” Nathan says, voice softer now, careful.