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Months away from the field and her body still remembers what it was built to do. She pivots cleanly, cradling the ball with the kind of instinct people spend years trying to fake. My mouth goes dry, my own play falling aside as I simply stare at her. She’s as magnificent as she always was. This is exactly how I saw her the first time, so full of vitality and strength. Anyone who was watching for the first time would have no idea of all the ways that the world has hurt her.

She blows past me toward the goal, and I let myself take chase half a second too late. As she shoots, the net ripples and a round of boos works its way through the bleachers. Claire freezes with the whistle near her lips, eyes darting to me, and I can feel Meg’s fury flare before she even speaks.

“That was a clean goal, call it!” she shouts. I could make Claire ignore it. That’s what everyone here expects me to do, but Meg’s eyes are on me, daring me to be the asshole she thinks I am, and something in me refuses to give her that satisfaction this early. I nod once, and Claire blows the whistle, pointing towards Meg.

Rolling her neck, Meg is breathing hard but is otherwise in good shape, frustration aside. I shouldn’t take all the blame for what’s clearly coming. Meg knew what she was walking into, yet her stubbornness wouldn’t let her stay home. I’ll cheat, I’ll showboat, I’ll humiliate her.

What she doesn’t know is that every second she stays on this field, every time she shows defiance instead of breaking, something inside me is being dragged to the surface. Something I don’t need to hide or lie about. I can appreciate her out in the open, whilst still making sure she earns her stripes in the eyes of the crowd. She’ll thank me one day. Maybe.

On the next play, I stop watching and start playing. There’s only so long I can hold off, waiting for Cody to show up for me. If he even does, but that’s another problem for another time. Taking control of the ball, my shoulder slams into hers harder than intended, as I stupidly hadn’t expected her to shove me back with the same vigor. Our sticks are tangled as we jostle, bodies colliding with a force that makes the crowd roar. The ball pops loose, and I snatch it, charging downfield with the sun on my back and her footsteps behind me.

She matches me better than she should, closer than I expect, and I grin as the background noise fades away. It’s just me and her, a battle of wills and secrets cracking wide open. Shooting into the net, the whistle shrieks instantly this time. I take a victory lap because I am nothing if not committed to making her want to kill me. The crowd eats it up. Fists pump, girls scream. For the sake of the cameras that my father’s assistant will be checking in on, I lift my stick, soaking in the attention if only to keep it off her. Meg stands panting, sweat beading at her hairline, her jaw clenched and her eyes murderous.

We go again, and this time I score with less effort. Meg is tiring. I’m going to have to slow down if I don’t want to crush her entire reputation in one afternoon. Fuck’s sake, Code, where the hell are you? In my momentary lapse of focus, searching the bleachers once again, Meg swings her stick like she wants to take my hip clean off. Pain explodes in my side and I stumble, much to her satisfaction. I match her grin, the pain twisting into something far too pleasurable to be considered normal. This is exactly the validation I needed.

If I’m cruel, Meg looks at me. If I push, she pushes back. If I become the villain, she remembers how to fight. How to survive. That’s what spurs me to sneak back control and score yet another goal. Claire throws three fingers up and blows the whistle.

Bending over with her hands on her thighs, Meg drags air into her lungs, and guilt crawls up the back of my neck. She’s exhausted. Not just in her body, but her pride is wavering, and with it goes the strength that carries her through each day. She’s still recovering, still bleeding from the inside out, and if I don’t find a way to get her off this pitch whilst making her think she’s won, I might actually break her. I might just lose her for good.

“This is getting kinda sad, Meg,” I get close enough to murmur in a voice only she can hear. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s call it quits now, and maybe I can find you a role filling water bottles or scrubbing shoes?” The second the words leave my mouth, I know they land too deep. Meg’s spine snaps straight and the air around her changes. It’s as divine as it is concerning. She’s not going to back down, not even for her own preservation.

I walk on, reminding myself that I’m Everest Calloway, and men like me do not apologize on battlefields they created. But they do cheat to get their own way. With her back turned, I scoop the ball, sprint, and sink it into the net before she realizes we’re even playing. Claire calls it, announcing we’re now four-one, and my stomach twists. This whole empathy thing is going to ruin everything I’ve spent years building, but I can’t take much longer of Meg suffering on this field for everyone to witness.

For the infinite time since meeting Meg, I ask myself the question Cody has always wanted the answer to. Why does she matter so much? Why can’t I end this, crown myself the captain, and walk away with my reputation intact? Why do I care that she needs to win or lose on her own terms? Why can’t I let her walk away from lacrosse, or from me?

None of that receives an answer as Claire guides us back to center field for the final round. The ball is thrown into the air, and Meg reacts faster than I thought she’d be able. Her stick catches the ball with a clean thwack before she storms past me. I delay for a millisecond, allowing all that motion and fury to gain some ground before I take chase. My legs power me towards her in an instant, and once I’m close enough, I jut my foot out.

Meg stumbles sideways as intended. The only card I have left to play is to let the rumors circulate that I had to cheat to win. That’s my last effort to save her some face. What I hadn’t anticipated was Meg regaining her balance almost instantly to jerk her stick upwards toward my dick. It catches my inner thigh, close enough to send a shock of panic through every future generation of Calloways, and I fall back with a strangled curse. Not bothering to check if my balls are still attached, Meg surges forward, her mind solely on the game.

All around, the crowd jeers and gasps, yet a laugh punches out of me. I lie on my back, cradling my inner thigh in my hands and laughing like a maniac. This is what I wanted. I wanted her to be present with me, for every inch of her to be blazing with a hatred so pure, the burn of it licks my skin. I already know there is something fundamentally wrong with finding relief within her rage, but God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed her.

Another whistle sounds, which I presume is Meg scoring another goal, until her voice cuts through the crowd’s white noise.

“Are you shitting me right now, Claire?! I’ll show you aggression!” Meg tosses her stick aside and tears off her gloves, storming toward Claire, who is holding out a red card. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in my thigh as I put myself between Claire and the murder blazing in Meg’s eyes.

“Now, now, Faker. No one likes a sore loser.” I grin, taking the brunt of her fury before she does something to get herself expelled. What a waste that would be. “That whole rage thing was super cute, though. You can bring it to my dorm room anytime.”

I raise my arms in mock pity because the crowd is watching, and I have a role to play. Jeers and roars beat down upon us, but I can’t take my eyes off her face. Heat rushes to her cheeks, her throat working as her shoulders tighten. An uncomfortable feeling churns in my gut. Contrary to popular belief, this is the rare part of our interactions that I despise. Angry Meg is magnificent. Humiliated Meg is devastating.

Claire announces me as captain, the champion, or whatever the hell title the crowd prefers, while I grapple for every last shred of arrogance I have left. Inhaling, I plaster a fake smile onto my face until it aches, and drag myself away from Meg’s misery to do a victory lap around the field. My eyes cut back to her multiple times, noting how she’s still standing there, bathed in sunlight and shame. Guilt tarnishes the blood in my veins, the win tasting like ash coating the back of my throat. Why did she have to set this challenge? Why did she have to turn up today and put me in this position?

Those questions and more are rattling around my mind when the fire alarm screeches through the air. It tears across the stadium, slicing through cheers and causing everyone to freeze for a stilted moment. Then, panic bursts to life. Screams shred my eardrums, bodies surging for the exit. I’m about to make a beeline for Meg to drag her out of here too, when I catch the first plume of smoke escaping the domed exit. The one where the women’s locker rooms are held.

At our backs, the bleachers have descended into chaos. There’s no staff present, given that I vouched for my jocks being able to manage the bleachers, but I hadn’t prepped them for a fire. A fucking fire. Goddamnit, Code.

Nearing Meg, I note the rigidity of her jaw, the panic in her wide eyes. She’s yet to drag her gaze away from the smoke, and that unsettled sensation in my gut worsens. I know what’s about to happen, yet my heart still seizes up when she jolts forward, her legs carrying her with powerful strides.

“Meg!” I shout after her. She doesn’t stop. She races across the field with more speed than she’s demonstrated all afternoon. The noise splitting through my ears dulls, the alarm fading into a thin, distant shriek. All I see is Meg sprinting directly into danger.

I don’t think. Thinking would slow me down. Thinking would give me time to remember the act I’m supposed to be upholding. That I’m the heartless jock with a bruise on my throat, and a cruel snide at the ready. The one everyone secretly hates and openly fears.

I’m not a hero, yet here I am, covering my mouth with my jersey as I skid into a hallway shrouded in smoke. Meg’s silhouette has been swallowed, disappearing whilst I use the wall to feel my way forward. Trying to call out again, my lungs fill with smoke, a cough burning through my chest.

I’ve felt fear before. Fear of my father. Fear of scandal. Fear of losing control. Fear of losing Cody because I was a fucking coward who didn’t try hard enough to hold onto what he loved, but this is different. This is a primal, immediate terror tearing through all the polished caverns inside me and leaving nothing I can rely upon.

Meg is nowhere to be seen or heard, and suddenly, I’m not Everest Calloway anymore. I’m not a captain. I’m not an heir. I’m just a guy who’s lost his girl again, but this time, it’s all my fault. I told Cody to cause a distraction so I could save her from humiliation, not so I could save her from a burning building.

Chapter Four