48. Zair
Zair
Sweaty, Victorious, Yours
Iwake up to the feel of her against me.
She’s curled into my side, one hand fisted loosely in the fabric of my shirt, her breath warm against my chest. For a moment, I don’t move. The room is dim and still. Outside, the sky’s just starting to pale with the slow approach of morning.
I’ve never felt more serene.
Thea shifts in her sleep, nuzzles closer, and exhales. It’s soft. Trusting.
In my chest, something I don’t have words for settles.
She didn’t push me away. She let herself fall asleep here. Stayed. Curled up next to me like this is normal, like I’m safe.
It feels… right.
I open my eyes and notice Benson is pushed right up against her from behind.
I’m terrified that she’ll freak out when she realizes she’s here, asleep between us.
I shake him and he wakes, eyes meeting mine for a second in a way that makes the blood flow even more uncomfortable.
Slowly, we disentangle ourselves from her.
She stirs and looks up at me with bleary eyes and gives me a soft smile that makes my day, maybe my week, probably my month.
“I should head back,” she murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep.
“Take the hoodie,” I say, gesturing to the chair. “It’s cold out.”
She hesitates for a second but doesn’t argue. Just nods, stands, and pulls on the shirt and her boots. Benson shuffles out behind her, I hear him say goodbye and then go into his room.
The memory from last night resurfaces. I’m pretty sure she killed me and this is just heaven. The moment she stepped out in that towel, I knew I was done for. Healing her took every ounce of willpower I had. Being that close was torture. And it was amazing.
I try everything to forget. But only one thing gives me even a moment’s relief.
Just touching her leg lights me up like nothing else has in months.
The sight of her squeezed between Benson and me.
I can still smell them on my bed. I force myself to think about someone else.
My stomach clenches in disgust. There goes my rhythm.
Guess I have to start over.
The day moves slowly after that. I grab two coffees and head to the library. I find her in her nook, slouched over the table, hair still damp from a shower, eyes half-lidded, buried in an ancient tome.
She doesn’t look surprised to see me. She lifts her head slightly and accepts the coffee I offer.
We don’t say much. Don’t have to.
We sit like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
Her knee pressed lightly against mine. Pages turning.
My thumb brushing absently along the spine of my book.
My eyes stray to her more than the text.
The quiet between us isn’t awkward. It never has been.
It’s just… steady. Like we’re plugged into the same current.
Sunday blooms bright and full of energy. I eat a hearty breakfast at our usual table, joined by Dylan, Benson, and Thea. Dylan is already hyped, talking strategy between bites. Benson’s trying to get into the zone.
People keep stopping by to wish us luck, more than I expected. Even a few professors nod their support. It’s the conference finals. We haven’t made it this far since I started at this school. It should feel bigger.
Thea leaves us and heads to the stands as we go in to get ready for the game. My ma wanted to fly in, but it was too far. My dad came, though. I’m not going to talk to him. We both know why. But he’s here, and maybe I can make him proud anyway.
Even if he hates what I am.
When Ma called to wish me luck she told me she hasn’t found out anything about the scream and I told her to drop it.
It’s been gone for weeks now. She found a few rituals for harvesting soulenium, though.
Just reading about them made me want to punch something.
The thought of someone doing that to Thea makes my blood boil.
I’ll burn the world down first.
“Head in the game, Brennan,” I remind myself. No distractions.
I step onto the field, and my eyes instinctively scan the crowd, searching for her.
“If you don’t marry that girl, I just might,” Dylan says, slapping me on the back as he runs past. He points to a sign in the front row. ‘Watch out! Mr. COC’s about to penetrate the defense!’
“Well shite,” I choke, barely holding it together. My laugh slips out anyway.
I notice the security guard she’s friends with and Mavrik standing beside her, looking more out of place than normal, his all-black attire contrasting sharply with the silver and gold of the crowd.
But he offers me a big smile and holds up his own sign: ‘Coming in fast and hard for the win!’ with a crude sperm drawing.
Laughter erupts beside me, and I turn to see Benson and Dylan doubled over. I try to wave her off but then she points at Benson and Dylan. Her grin’s mischievous as she flips her sign.
‘Bulldozer’s going deep to clear the way,’ complete with a crude sketch of a front loader slamming into… yeah. That’s definitely not a hill.
Before I can process it, Mavrik flips his sign over. ‘Human Sandwich: Getting in between you and victory!’ With a very suggestive sandwich.
“Looks like you two got signs too,” I say, turning back to Benson and Dylan, who are practically rolling in fits of laughter, barely able to catch their breath. I’m pretty sure they won’t recover in time for kickoff.
Coach calls us to attention, his voice sharp as he points at us. “Focus, men!”
The referee motions for me, and I step forward for the coin flip. I shake the grin off my face and roll my shoulders out. Enough messing around. Thea got me loose. Now it’s time to lock in. The tension shifts, hanging thick in the air as we line up. The whistle blows, and the game begins.
During extra time in the first half, the ball comes to me in the center circle.
My cleats dig into the turf as I take it, the noise of the crowd suddenly muffling, fading into the background.
My focus sharpens: just the ball, the defense, and me.
My body moves on instinct, weaving past their players and cutting inside, letting the game take over.
The shot is clean, a precise strike, lower left corner.
1-0, us. The roar of the crowd crashes in, a wave of noise that surges through my chest. But amidst the celebration, all I can see is her face in the stands and I can’t help it.
I brush two fingers over my heart before sending them her way with a grin.
That was for you.
The second half starts quickly. The tempo picks up, and with every pass, every sprint, I can feel us settling into a rhythm.
We’re in sync now, the defense tightening, the midfield controlling the tempo.
Dylan’s sharp tackles and quick thinking drive us forward.
We’re pushing them back, forcing them to chase us.
Then, just as it looks like the other team might break through, their striker takes a powerful shot toward goal.
Benson’s there. He dives, his body twisting in mid-air to reach it, and with a clean, calculated save, he bats the ball wide.
His agility is incredible, and the crowd reacts with a roar of admiration.
The game continues, and when it looks like the other team might have a second chance, their striker steps toward goal again, ready to tie it up.
But Dylan is there, reading the play. The attacker tries to cut inside as Dylan steps in with a perfectly timed soccer tackle, knocking the ball free and sending the opponent sprawling.
The ball flies into open space, and Dylan’s on it in a flash, already weaving through their defenders.
With a sharp, calculated shot, he puts it in the right corner of the net.
The crowd goes wild. The noise is deafening, but I’m barely aware of it as I catch up to Dylan, slapping him on the back. I can hear the faint sound of a chant starting to build in the distance.
“BULL-DOZER! BULL-DOZER!”
The energy is contagious, spreading like wildfire as the chant grows louder, echoing through the stadium.
It’s Thea, no doubt. I see her, holding her sign facing the crowd.
I glance over at Dylan, who’s grinning like a madman, his face alight with the strength of the crowd’s response.
The stands erupt into cheers minutes later when the referee calls the game.
The atmosphere is electric, a pulse of frenzied emotion that ripples through the stadium.
It feels like the entire arena is vibrating with excitement.
As soon as the game ends, I rip my shirt off, feeling the rush of adrenaline and pride coursing through me. I sprint toward the bleachers, my heart pounding with the need to see her.
There she is, standing at the front of the bleachers, her face beaming.
“Good game,” Mavrik says. His face alive in a way I’ve never noticed before.
I reach up, pulling Thea down to the field, and without thinking, I pull her into a huge hug.
The weight of everything: this moment, the game, the build-up crashes down on me, and I just want to hold her close.
It feels right, almost like a victory that only she can share with me.
“You’re all sweaty, Zair!” she yells against my chest.
“Good,” I laugh, “This COC needs lubrication!”
She laughs, her voice light. “I might have to put that on my next sign!”
I finally release her from the hug, but she doesn’t step away. She looks up at me, her smile warm, and her eyes gleaming with something close to admiration. “You played well.”
“Thanks.” My heart is racing. I want to kiss you so bad right now. I told myself I’d wait for her to make the first move. But this: her smile, the way she looks at me, it’s so hard to resist.
Her breath hitches. Her eyes widen.
Shit.
Did I think that out loud? How much?
Panic seizes me. I open my mouth to backpedal, say something, but before I can, Benson and Dylan crash into her from both sides, yelling and cheering. Dylan lifts her over his shoulder, spinning her in wild circles. Her laughter rings out as he tosses her at Benson.
I just stand there, heart pounding, not sure if I ruined everything.
“You won!” Thea calls, bright and teasing, as they finally set her down. “Ugh—I’m covered in the sweat of three guys now!”
We all exchange a look. Laughter bubbles up between us, cutting through the tension still clinging to the edges.
“Oh, shut up.” With a quick motion, she snatches my shirt from my hand and wipes it across her face, her grin wide and infectious before tossing it back at me.
Thank god. For a second, I thought I’d blown it.
“Girls pay big money for my sweat,” Dylan says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“They wouldn’t if they knew how bad you smell.” Thea tries to wriggle free, but he doesn’t let her.
“I smell like roses!” Dylan declares.
That’s when it hits — the sharp, sweet scent of a curse. A glowing mark appears on Dylan’s forearm, and a wave of wet dog that rolled in manure.
“Oh, you’re so dead,” he growls.
Thea takes off running.
Benson and I share a look, then bolt after them, laughter spilling out of us as Thea ducks into the crowd. Around us, people wrinkle their noses and turn, trying to figure out what stinks so much.
My phone dings and I look down to see a message.
Thea:
It will wash away when he showers.
I catch Dylan and damn he stinks. I drag him to the locker room and sure enough as soon as we step inside it disappears.
“I’m gonna get her back.”
Benson snorts. “You try and she’ll get you ten times worse.”
Dylan starts to argue then stops himself. “Yeah, I’ve got nothing.”
We laugh as we head into the showers. Wash away the sweat and dirt of the match, but not what followed. Benson and Dylan have been my closest friends for two and a half years now. Today, for the first time, it felt like I didn’t have to keep one foot out the door.