Chapter 32
KAI
We were two–nil up, and I loved seeing the look on that idiot’s face every time I sent one past him into the net.
This was exactly what I needed.
Who needed therapy when you could just beat Alfie Preston over and over again and live a long, peaceful life?
It was the way he got so annoyed.
He couldn’t take losing. He was always all talk before a match - loud, cocky, acting like he owned the pitch - but when it came down to it, he didn’t have the nerve.
Not really. Not when someone actually pushed back.
He was all dick and no balls.
And watching him unravel? Yeah. That was satisfying.
Even more so when I realised Alfie was here with Alex.
Yesterday at Whip It, Alex had been on a date. I’d assumed it was some random guy.
But now?
Now I was wondering if Alfie was the one who’d left him.
I wouldn’t put it past him. His nickname was Prick Preston for a reason.
The rain was pelting down like even the sky wanted a chance to drown him.
I was in the penalty box, being marked by Cameron Wallace - Alfie’s best mate and Westley’s second defender.
Everywhere I moved, he was glued to me. I was used to it.
After getting past them so many times, this always happened.
Their coach had probably told them at half-time to stick to me like glue.
Flattering, really. Annoying as hell, but flattering.
Callum had the ball now, but no one free to pass to. He’d have to run it in himself. I tried to make space, but Wallace was on me like a shadow, and they’d even dropped a midfielder back to box me in. No wiggle room at all.
But Callum was doing it.
He was a good player - better than he gave himself credit for.
If he actually put the work in, I could see him having a shot when the scouts came around.
Not that he’d take it. He loved a party too much.
And his dad wanted him in the family business anyway - insurance or something like that.
They did well for themselves, and Callum always said he was excited to work there when he finished school.
But then again, Callum said a lot of things.
He raced through, dodging midfielders, pulling off the tricks we’d practised a hundred times.
It actually looked like he was going to do it - run the ball straight in - but then Prick Preston came sliding in with the nastiest tackle I’d seen all day.
Callum was a big guy, but from the angle Alfie hit him, he went down fast.
“What was that?!” I snapped at Alfie, not waiting for the referee.
This idiot needed to be put in his place.
“I barely touched him,” Alfie said, hands up like he was innocent.
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” I shot back, giving him a shove.
He shoved me right back.
“Touch me again, Fields,” he warned, face red, breathing hard.
“And what? What are you going to do?” I stepped closer, feeding off the anger. Everything about him irritated me - the way he strutted, the stupid patterns shaved into the sides of his hair like he thought he was some celebrity.
He was inches from me now, chest heaving. “Touch me again and find out.”
I wanted to hit him. Wanted to so badly. My fist was already pulling back when Callum came flying in out of nowhere, tackling Alfie with a speed that even surprised me. He hit the ground hard, wind knocked out of him.
The ref was blowing his whistle, but no one cared. Every eye was on the fight.
Callum was throwing hit after hit - just like he’d promised if Alfie tried anything again - and Alfie was fighting back. They slipped in the mud, momentum shifting, until Alfie managed to roll them over, ending up on top.
Before he could do anything else, I grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him off with everything I had. He stumbled, his teammates and coach grabbing him as he wiped at his mouth, furious.
I held a hand out to Callum, expecting him to be in a mood, but he just seemed riled up. He took it, popping up with a grin like he’d just won a prize.
“Wooo!” he yelled, buzzing with adrenaline. He didn’t look too hurt, though a bump was already forming under his eye. “Oh, I needed that!”
“You’re mad,” I said, shaking my head, but I couldn’t help laughing.
“Everyone off.” The ref blew his whistle. “It’s too dangerous to play.”
“What?!” I shouted.
“No, you can’t do that, Ref,” Callum said. “We were this close to burying them!”
“Count yourself lucky I didn’t give you a red,” the ref said, brushing him off.
“You should’ve given him a red for that tackle,” Callum shot back, pointing at Alfie, who was still checking his lip like he expected it to fall off.
“You didn’t give me the chance,” the ref replied in a grunt, rain slick on his brow.
Callum rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. He opened his mouth to argue again, but I cut him off.
“Come on,” I said, putting a hand on his back and steering him toward the changing rooms. “Leave it.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s on about,” Callum huffed.
And honestly? I agreed.
That should’ve been a red. Or at least a yellow. But this wasn’t the Premier League. There were no cameras, no replays, no VAR. Just a whistle and a bloke doing his best in the rain.
“I know,” I said. “But the old guy’s clearly not changing his mind. Might as well get out of the rain.”
“No wonder he couldn’t see it was a red card,” Callum muttered. “He’s probably half blind.”
I snorted. “Come on, let’s get changed.”
We walked a few steps before Callum nudged me with his elbow.
“Did you see the way I hit him?” he said, eyes bright as he bounced on his heels.
“Yeah,” I laughed, shaking my head. “You got him good.”
“It felt good.” He grinned, chest puffing a little with pride.
“I bet it did,” I said, patting him on the back as we started walking again.
Because it did for me, too. It soothed something inside of me, seeing Alfie on the floor like that. And I wasn’t a violent man.
The adrenaline still buzzed under my skin. The fight, the rain, the rivalry - all of it had me wired. And somewhere under all that noise, I knew exactly who I’d be thinking about the second I stepped out of the changing rooms.
Not Alfie.
Not the ref.
Not even the almost win.
Alex.