Chapter 15 #2
“Temporary!” The crowd responds in unison, their voices thunderously echoing the team. The thrill is palpable on Anders’ face. He’s clearly alive in his element and loving every second of this.
“And what are we here for?” he shouts again. His rallying cry sparks something within the crowd and, surprisingly, even within me. The arena’s noise levels become deafening as feet stomp, creating a resonating pulse in the stadium.
I can’t help but laugh and join in when Aolyn quickly tells me the response. “The W! We are Drithm!” we all shout back.
Anders smiles as the team erupts, jumping up and down, energy radiating off them as they feed off the crowd.
The beautiful man in the center genuinely smiles, his lips pulled up high, and his dimple fully on display, every feature soft as he looks around.
Trysten moves to stand beside Anders, giving him a slap on the shoulder as they exchange a wild grin.
I feel like I should look away, like I’m an unwelcome spectator in their private moment.
Moments later, an iron bridge swings open from both sides of the arena, meeting at the center and connecting to the skywalk over the island, forming a cross over the field. Anders, Trysten, and our coach, Coach Beck, walk out to meet the opposing team, exchanging handshakes and words.
After the greetings are through, Anders turns toward our section of the stands, now eye level with our row, raising his arms high above his head.
The crowd erupts in another thunderous roar.
Witnessing this side of Anders—with his charisma and ability to rally his teammates and the audience—fills me with an unexpected joy that I can hardly contain.
The energy building within me makes me feel like I’m going to burst, my body too small to contain it.
I bite my lip to suppress an involuntary grin.
Alright, I’ll admit that perhaps I’ve developed a small crush. Just a smidge. It’s enough to explain away the ridiculous flutter in my chest, yet not enough to overlook his attitude that drives me crazy most days.
In the section beside us, one row up, six young women I don’t recognize are decked out in cropped blue shirts that expose bare stomachs, with "RYKER7" spelled across them in bold blue ink. They wave dumb signs proclaiming things like BOND WITH ME, MARRY ME, CHOOSE ME, I LOVE YOU, NUMBER 7 IS MINE, and the most ridiculous of them all, BE MY BABY DADDY. I can’t help but feel a flare of annoyance, at least until I catch Anders rolling his eyes when Trysten points out the signs, teasing him.
Before I can react, Ciara shouts, “Go Seven!”
I slap my hand over her mouth while my friends double over, laughter bubbling up from the four of them.
Both Anders and Trysten fix their attention on our group, their expressions shifting from surprise to amusement.
But when Anders’ gaze locks onto mine, for a split second, it feels like time stands still.
The crowd falls away, the arena with it, and there’s only him.
His sapphire eyes deepen with something like hope, taking me off guard and leaving me breathless, before his gaze snaps away to Coach Beck, who’s passing off some instructions.
“Why would you do that?” I ask incredulously, dropping to my seat with a groan and burying my face in my hands.
Ciara cackles and wraps a hand around me. “C’mon, you can’t hide from me. I see the way you two keep sharing heated glances.” I want to protest vehemently, to deny her accusation, but deep down, I know it’s a futile endeavor. She’s right. And those glances are becoming more and more frequent.
With a sigh, I redirect my attention back to the field, my mind desperately attempting to push away the acknowledgment I just made.
She must be able to read my emotions, because she pulls me to stand with her.
“It’s not life or death, Raea. Enjoy the ride.
” She winks, hollering as our team moves into position.
Eight of our team members position themselves on the various rings around the arena.
Anders and one of the females move to the island at the center.
Anders catches my eye, winking as a playful smirk crosses his features when my cheeks heat.
I roll my eyes, feigning annoyance, but can’t resist the grin growing on my face.
“Kill me?” I teasingly beg Ciara, but instead of responding, she plants a loud, smacking kiss on my cheek, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Can I be in your wedding?” she finally answers, dodging my elbow as she backs into Tate. The horn blares, and the game begins.
Just ten minutes in, and I’m addicted to the high of the game, or maybe it’s watching Anders seamlessly dominate the game as he moves through the rings with ease.
Our team moves like they’ve had years to practice together. Cole and another player, Kamden, called Orion, are focused on driving the groundball, maneuvering through the maze of obstacles. Meanwhile, Anders and the spy, whose name I now know is Savenne, maintain their attention on the AerBall.
As Anders scales one of the larger boulders, there’s a resounding gasp as an opposing attacker sneaks in from the other side and tackles him.
The opposing attacker should be on the opposite side of the arena, not hiding among the obstacles, right?
“Is that allowed?” I ask.
Ciara breathes, her grip on my hand tightening.
I hold my breath as both men plunge into the icy water below.
Moments later, they both resurface, and with a swing, Anders lands a powerful blow directly on the attacker’s nose.
I don’t have to hear the crunch to know it’s broken.
Rivulets of crimson splash into the water.
Anders doesn’t waste a moment, already evading another attack as he pulls himself to shore.
“Yep,” Kamden says. “Totally legal.”
Anders makes quick work of navigating the boulder and a series of obstacles before diving straight into the water ring filled with bladefish. I wince, watching the fish surround him, but he doesn’t slow.
Meanwhile, Cole and Orion keep their defenders occupied, each move calculated as they maneuver closer to the groundball goal. The opposing team’s goalie stands oblivious to Anders’ approach.
Anders slips quietly from the water while the goalie’s back is turned and sprints toward the goal. He’s nowhere near close enough when he winds back his arm and, with a release, sends the AerBall slingshotting through the air.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I’m squeezing Ciara’s hand so tightly my knuckles are most likely white, but she doesn’t flinch or complain.
The next heartbeat propels me to my feet as I leap up and down in unadulterated joy, squealing like a silly schoolgirl as the AerBall hits the back of the net.
“Oh my gods,” I laugh, brushing my hands through my wild hair. “This is incredible!”
Aolyn raises an eyebrow at me, a knowing smile crossing her lips as if she knows who, not what, has my heartbeat thumping erratically.
Come the third period, our team looks so exhausted; I fear all it would take is a single gust of wind to bring them down.
This game was supposed to be an easy win, or so I’ve been told.
Unfortunately, Wildwood Academy appears to have traded its players for larger opponents.
Our team has been pushed to their limits, both physically and mentally, and I’m not sure they have another twenty minutes in them.
As I scan the player’s box, every team member is sprawled out across benches or the floor in various states of recovery—a few with lesser injuries are leaning heavily on the railings.
Others use equipment bags as pillows while nursing a type of energizing drink.
Coach Beck stands by, trying his best to revitalize the team and rally them back into the rings, but even his motivational words can’t rouse them.
I nibble anxiously on my lip, my leg bouncing wildly as I watch Anders wrap his bleeding arm. I just learned that the healers aren’t allowed to touch the players until the end of the game or unless they’re being pulled from the game due to an injury.
“Who’s on defense this period?” Kamden asks Aolyn, studying our team just as intensely. The music echoing through the arena keeps a positive energy flowing, but I can’t help but feel exhausted for them.
With only two minutes until they’re back out in the arena, eight players begin to rise, their movements sluggish.
“Mac was injured last period, but they wrapped his ankle. He should be good to go,” Aolyn responds. Ciara and Tate return to our row with refreshments and snacks. My mouth waters at the scent of honey rolls.
“No, I have a feeling they’ll put him as a guardian. My guess is Brecken and Trysten will remain on defense, Morris in goal. They’re our best hope,” Kamden volleys back.
Tate leans forward, looking past Ciara and me. “What about the guy with the birthmark on his cheek?” he asks. “He looks like he could even take down Ryker.”
All of our heads swivel his way, Aolyn and Kamden nodding their agreement, but I have to swallow down my words, for some reason feeling the need to defend Anders.
“That’s Elis,” Kamden responds with a grin. “He’s got great potential, but he’s new talent. Morris and Brecken have the experience we need right now.”
The loud buzz of the horn cuts through the air, charging the atmosphere once again as enthusiastic fans erupt in cheers. Anders’ little fangirl group even has a stupid chant of their own, grating on every nerve ending I have.
"Ryker, Ryker, he's our guy. He’s the one who makes you cry.”
Standing on the island, Anders exchanges a brief glance with Kalli, the spy for this period, before his gaze moves to mine.