Chapter 17
Sam
Itell myself this is for Lola, because she made me pinky promise yesterday in chemistry that I’d show up. Well, that’s the story I’m sticking to.
Not because Reece Wilson’s name has been ringing through these halls all week. And not because the coach made him a starter for tonight’s game and the whole damn school has been buzzing about it.
And most definitely not because I spent yesterday afternoon sitting in the library, staring out the window, pretending to do my work, while watching him run laps as if he was training for war. Earphones in. Shirt off. Sweat gleaming across his chest.
I didn’t even open my laptop. I just sat there with my mouth half open and my thighs clenched, watching a boy I swore I’d hate forever make discipline look fucking sexy.
He was focused. Determined. Everything I pretend not to care about.
And don’t even get me started on Dad. The way he spoke to Reece last week…
I’ve never been more embarrassed or more furious.
I called him out right there in the hallway after Reece left, telling my dad he was out of line and that Reece didn’t deserve that shit.
Maybe if he got his head out of his own judgmental ass, he’d see Reece is trying.
My dad hasn’t talked to me since he went into full dictator mode. Honestly, I haven’t spoken to him either.
Mom’s been trying, asking about school and how my project on post-war economic decline is going. I ignore her too, which makes me feel like shit, but as soon as I open my mouth, I know I’ll start yelling and never stop.
My little brother keeps glancing between us like he’s watching a silent movie turn into a horror film. He asked the other night if we were fighting because Dad had forgotten my birthday. My birthday was four months ago. That’s how tense it is; he’s clutching at whatever explanation makes sense.
And me… I sit there, silent and boiling, pushing my food around as if it’s responsible for everything wrong in the world. Because if I stop, if I let myself sit still, I’ll remember how Reece looked when he turned away. How he stood there and took it all.
The moment I pull into the school parking lot, I regret everything.
It’s chaos. Horns blaring. Kids hanging out of windows.
Guys shirtless, girls in crop tops and glitter.
Everyone’s high on pre-game adrenaline, energy drinks, and probably a ton of weed.
It’s like the whole school has lost its mind.
There’s nowhere to park without some drunk sophomore ready to smash my side mirror with a foam finger.
I snake my way past some asshole doing donuts in a crappy sedan and squeeze into a spot between two trucks blasting bass-heavy rap that rattles my windows.
This is typical high school behavior, apparently. I mutter something about testosterone poisoning under my breath and push the gear shift into park.
I sit there for a moment, hands gripping the wheel, watching the crowd move in waves.
Aubrey and Noah are out of town; Aubrey has one of her volleyball tournaments. The two of them doing the whole lovers getaway thing. Hotel room. Zero parents. Zero curfew. Probably a “do not disturb” sign dangling off the handle while they make heart eyes over overpriced room service.
She told me Noah’s proud as hell of her. Says he sits in the bleachers and cheers louder than anyone else. Can’t shut up about her blocks or serves or whatever it is volleyball people get excited about.
It’s kind of adorable how Aubrey’s his whole damn world now—especially considering he used to be the runner-up in the school’s biggest fuckboy competition, right behind Jace.
I grab my phone and send a quick message to Lola.
Sam: Where are you? This place is a fuckshow.
Three seconds later, I receive a reply.
Lola: East gate side. Saved you a seat. Liz is already here. Hurry. You’ll die when you see Tia.
That can’t be good.
I slam the door, lock the car, and plunge into the chaos, elbows up as if I’m entering a war zone.
There’s a kid running in a full cougar mascot suit, some freshman twirling a glow stick in my face, and two seniors hot boxing in their car by the front gates.
A cheerleader shrieks behind me—either from joy or a twisted ankle, I don’t stop to check.
And underneath all of that?
My pulse is racing like crazy.
It’s just us girls tonight—me, Lola, and Liz. The original trio. Probably the last time we’ll get to cause chaos together before Liz leaves next weekend, and everything shifts into “remember when” territory.
Liz has no idea that Lola’s planned a “surprise” sleepover sendoff next week. But knowing Lola, I’m not sure how the hell she’s kept it quiet this long. Subtle isn’t exactly her strong suit.
Noise pulses through the air. Every shout, every chant, every drumbeat from the band hits my chest.
I take a breath, push my way through the chaos, and try not to trip over a flattened soda cup or some kid’s abandoned backpack.
The entire field is illuminated, with stadium lights piercing through the night.
I see Lola first, waving wildly from halfway up the stands, two hot pink scrunchies in her hair and a slushie that looks like nuclear waste in her hand. Liz is next to her, already mid-eye roll, but she’s laughing anyway. God, I’m going to miss her.
I drag myself up the stairs, shoulder past a couple making out like it’s foreplay for the halftime show, and drop into the space Lola saved between her and Liz.
Drums pound behind the cheerleaders, brass screaming from the band section, and every third kid yells something that makes zero sense.
I look over at the field.
The team’s on the sidelines, jerseys clinging, all of them buzzing with that pre-game fire.
Reece Wilson.
Number twenty-seven.
Helmet in hand. That dark, messy hair is matted down from warm-up drills. Pacing the edge of the field like a caged animal. And suddenly, I’m not sure I remember how to breathe.
The announcer shouts the team name, and the guys rush out onto the field. The crowd’s noise is loud enough to shake the metal bleachers beneath my feet. My chest pounds in sync with the racket, adrenaline rushing straight up my spine.
I briefly look away from the chaos when something catches my attention.
Nicole.
Tia’s right next to her, both of them squeezed into cheer skirts that barely count as clothing, with smiles that are too tight and eyes full of tension. They’re standing so close I’m surprised no one’s drawn blood yet.
Tia throws a high kick that narrowly misses Nicole’s face. On purpose. Of course.
Nicole yanks Tia’s ponytail, fingers clenched. “Do that again and I’ll break your ankle.”
Tia laughs. “Please. You couldn’t even break your calorie count.”
Behind me, Lola snorts so loudly I feel it vibrate through the row. “Tell me you saw that.”
“Tia’s gonna choke her out before halftime,” says Liz, already losing it, shoulders shaking, laughter spilling out.
I shake my head, eyes flicking back to the field where the boys are lining up, hearts pounding, bodies ready. Between the football, the cheerleader showdown, and the way my pulse keeps spiking for one cocky asshole in pads, this night is already a fucking lot.
Lola leans forward and digs into her bag, pulling out a sleeve of Sour Patch Kids. That girl could survive an apocalypse on snacks alone. She opens it and holds it out between us. I grab a handful. Liz does, too, sugar already dusting her fingers as the whistle screams and the game begins.
My eyes lock onto number twenty-seven.
Reece is crouched low, muscles tense, helmet tilted forward, every inch of him coiled and ready. Defense. His stance. His territory. As soon as the ball snaps, he erupts off the line and crashes into the guy opposite him so forcefully that the impact echoes through the crowd.
Fuck.
“Damn,” Liz mutters. “He’s out for blood.”
Play after play, he’s relentless. He tears through their line, shoulders leading, knocking back bodies with a brutal precision that feels personal.
He gets to the quarterback once. Then again.
The poor guy barely has time to breathe before Reece is there, full of force and fury, dragging him down onto the turf.
He’s quick, angry, and in control.
And he’s fucking beautiful.
My heart stutters every time he collides with someone and immediately gets back up. Every time he rolls his shoulders, resets, and lines up again as if pain is just a suggestion. Sweat darkens his jersey, clings, and outlines everything I shouldn’t be staring at in public.
And then he looks toward the stands.
Searching.
I wonder if he’s looking for me.
Halfway through the second quarter, Jace materializes out of the chaos and plants a hand on the back of a freshman’s seat. The seat next to Lola.
“Move.”
The kid scrambles so fast he nearly trips over his own feet.
“Charming,” Lola mutters as Jace drops into the empty spot next to her.
He flashes that grin that has never once apologized for anything. “You love it.”
“I really don’t,” she says, rolling her eyes so much it could count as cardio. “You’re mean to literally everyone.”
Jace leans back, stretches his arm along the bleacher behind her, claiming the space without touching her. “You’re not everyone.”
“Still mean,” she replies, holding out the packet of Sour Patch Kids.
He glances at it, then at her. His smile slows, and he leans in close, voice dropping just enough to feel deliberate. “You’re saying you don’t want me to be?”
Lola snorts. “I’m saying you’d implode if you tried being nice for more than five minutes.”
He plucks a candy from the packet anyway before saying, “Guess it’s a good thing I’ve got you to keep me honest.”
Liz nearly chokes on her drink. She leans in, eyes wide, and speaks softly so only I can hear. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on between those two, but if they flirt any harder, I’m calling a medic.”
Jace doesn’t blink; he simply chews slowly. “You’re always feeding me, Bells.”