Chapter Twenty Five #2
Whistling sharply, I tell them all to hit the showers whilst hanging back.
A few of the girls slow their jog as they pass me, offering small, respectful nods.
My chest tightens at first, expecting mockery to follow, but it doesn’t.
There’s no pity, just a thread of respect.
Could it be that the place I expected to find the most anger about Laura’s disappearance is the one where I actually find solace, or is that just another one of Everest’s commands?
Either way, I nod back, waiting for everyone to peel away before I wander toward the equipment crate and fish out a crosse of my own.
The stadium lights buzz faintly overhead, the sky already deepening into that hazy blue that comes just before night settles in.
One thing that’s painfully missing is the ache in my muscles.
“Come on Coach, for old times’ sake,” I toss him one. The plastic clatters against his chest before he catches it with a surprised expression. I’d planned on not leaving the stadium until I’d tired myself to the point of exhaustion. It’s likely the only way I’ll be able to sleep tonight.
Just like we did when I was a freshman, Coach and I run drills long after the sun disappears behind the bleachers.
It’s just the two of us tossing the ball back and forth, the familiar thwack of pocket against rubber echoing across the empty field.
Vaguely, it occurs to me that this field should be the last place I feel safe.
It’s the backdrop of the worst moment of my life, but I refuse to let Harrison take anymore from me.
He can have my reputation, my social standing, my career prospects, but he can’t have this.
He can’t stop me from drowning my thoughts in the burn of muscles and the sting of sweat in my eyes.
By the time Coach and I finally collapse on the turf, both of us breathing like dying animals, the stadium lights are the only thing illuminating the field.
I ache, my lungs are raw, my throat dry, yet I’m finally finding a sense of calm within.
If I’m lucky, by the time I crawl back to my dorm tonight, I’ll be too numb to remember Laura’s face or the way the interrogation room smelled faintly of stale coffee and suspicion.
“Looks like our captain is back,” Coach mutters between gulps of air, offering me a crooked grin. I look around, expecting to see Everest walking onto the field before realizing he's talking to me. I snort, staring up at the sky.
“Don’t get used to it.” Once my breathing is regulated, I push upright and offer Coach my hand. He’s a heavy lump and I let him know it, heaving him upright before hitting the showers myself. Amongst the heated spray and provided bodywash, I sense something inside me has loosened.
For a few hours, I wasn’t the girl who got kidnapped.
I wasn’t the girl whose friend vanished.
I wasn’t the subject of headlines or interrogations or whispered speculation in hallways.
I was just Meg, captain of a team that might actually start listening to me.
That feeling is enough to carry me through the walk home, even after I’ve seen there’s still no response from Thiago.
By the time I reach my dorm block, the campus has quieted into that strange evening lull where everyone is either buried in homework or getting ready to go out again.
My legs feel like rubber as I climb the stairs, every step reminding me how thoroughly I abused my body tonight.
I’m halfway down the corridor toward my room when a tall shape detaches itself from the shadows near the far wall. I stop short.
Everest leans against the hallway radiator, his arms folded across his chest, one ankle crossed lazily over the other. There’s a rigid set to his shoulders. My brows pull together.
“Well, that’s unexpected,” I slow to a halt a few feet away. “I thought you had a family commitment, or was that just a ruse? I handled the practice well before anyone tells you otherwise.”
“I heard.” Everest’s mouth tilts faintly, though there’s no humor behind it. “I had every faith that you’d manage, and yes, I did have a family commitment.”
“Hmmm,” I drop my gym bag from my shoulder so it thuds against the carpet.
“So why are you hanging around my hallway? Waiting to give me feedback on my performance?” Everest exhales through his nose, pushing himself upright.
Up close, I notice he looks more tired than usual, and not the kind of tired you fix with sleep, either.
“What’s happened?” I tense, dropping the facade that we’re old chums.
“I’m giving you a heads up,” Everest states and I groan.
“Oh good. I love those. You’d better come in.” Grabbing my bag, I unlock my door and enter first, leaving it open for Everest to do whatever he chooses. The door clicks shut behind me and the squeak of my desk chair follows.
“Why do you have such a nice set-up?” he questions. I follow Everest’s gaze, looking over my computer.
“Can’t I have nice things?” I reply dryly. Everest ignores me, lifting my wireless keyboard and flipping it over.
“No seriously, this is a FluxCore K-9 carbon board,” he mutters, his brows drawing together as he studies the serial plate embedded into the underside.
His thumb rubs across the etched lettering like he’s checking it’s real.
“They only manufactured a thousand of these for the private developer circuit. Aircraft-grade carbon chassis, optical switches, zero-latency wireless pairing.” Then his attention turns to the tower.
“And that’s an X9 tower, liquid-cooled,” he adds, disbelief threading through his voice.
His fingers hover near the glass panel but don’t touch it.
Inside the case, a soft glow pulses through braided tubes like some kind of mechanical bloodstream.
“Quantum-tier GPU stack, dual processors. This whole rig probably costs more than my first car.”