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OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE.
“Right, listen up,” Coach Castro calls out, clapping his hands together as we huddle in the locker room. Sweat drips down my forehead, my chest rising and falling as I catch my breath. It’s halftime, and the score is 1-1. Not good enough.
“You’ve got forty-five minutes left to prove that this is our game,” Coach continues, eyes locked on each of us. “This isn’t just any match. This is the semi-finals. And for some of you-” his gaze flickers to me, “-this game is personal. But I don’t want personal. I want discipline. I want precision. I want fucking winners out there.”
The boys let out a collective “yes, Coach,” nodding in unison. Felix is next to me, stretching out his legs, jaw clenched. He wants this win as much as I do. Probably more, given that he’s the captain and the pressure is on him.
“We’ve got the skill. We’ve got the stamina. What we need now is the finish. No stupid fouls. No hesitation. Go out there and make it count.”
The whistle blows from outside. Second half is starting.
As I stand to leave, Coach Castro grabs my arm, holding me back while the others jog onto the pitch. His face is unreadable.
“You in your right head, O’Connor?” he asks, voice lower now, just for me.
“Always,” I say, because it’s true. My head doesn’t get rattled over stuff like this. I’ve been on too many pitches, played in too many high-pressure matches to let an old school rivalry mess with me.
He studies me for a second, then nods. “Then get out there and show them why we took you in.”
I nod my head, shaking out my shoulders. “I will.”
I step onto the pitch, rolling my shoulders back as the cold night air bites at my skin. The stadium lights are blinding, casting long shadows across the grass.
My heart beats steady, my focus razor-sharp. TSS is lined up on the other side, their dark jerseys stretching across the field, and my eyes immediately lock onto him.
Luca.
He stands near the halfway line, stretching out his legs, chatting with Cal. He looks the same as he always has-like he owns the place. Like he’s untouchable
That kid just seriously pisses me off.
I make my way to my position, my muscles burning with adrenaline. Felix lines up beside me, cracking his neck.
The ref blows the whistle, and the game kicks off.
TSS plays hard. They always do. Quick passes, tight formations, forcing us to work for every inch of the pitch. But we give it right back to them. Jack wins a challenge in midfield, sending the ball straight to me. I take a touch, scanning the field. Luca is already on me, breathing down my neck.
“Miss us, O’Connor?” he taunts as I move the ball away from him, keeping my body between him and the play.
“You? Fuck no,” I reply, flicking the ball to Felix before Luca can close in.
The game turns aggressive fast. Challenges are harder, the ref’s whistle barely keeping things in check. I can feel Luca’s eyes on me every time I touch the ball, waiting for a moment to pounce.
And then it happens.
I intercept a pass from Cal, pushing forward, but before I can make my next move, Luca shoves into me hard, shoulder slamming against my chest. The ball rolls loose.
“Watch yourself, lad,” he mutters as we go for it.
I don’t hesitate. I go in strong, my foot connecting with the ball cleanly, but Luca follows through with more than just his foot-his knee clips my thigh, his shoulder digging into my side.
Fucking bastard.
I turn, chest-to-chest with him in seconds, our breathing heavy, eyes locked. The stadium noise fades into the background, the whistle blaring somewhere distant.
“The fuck is your problem?” I scoff, pushing him off me.
“You, dick,” he shoots back.
Before I can move, hands grab my shoulders, pulling me back.”Not worth it,” Carson mutters, dragging me a step away. Cal does the same with Luca, keeping him at bay.
The ref steps between us, warning us both, but I barely hear it. My blood is pumping too hard.
“Focus, mate,” Carson tells me, clapping a hand on my back before jogging back into position.
I shake off the frustration, exhaling sharply. Not worth it.
The game restarts, and we push harder. Every pass, every run, every tackle-it’s all leading up to something. I can feel it.
And then, just as the clock winds down, my moment comes.
I see Felix making a run into the box, perfectly timed, perfectly placed. I don’t hesitate. I send a long, flying pass across the field, watching as it soars over defenders, dipping just in time.
Felix jumps.
His head connects with the ball, redirecting it straight into the net.
The stadium erupts.
The whistle blows.
Goal.
And that’s the end of the match.
The team loses it. Felix is swarmed by teammates, arms slapping his back, shouts of victory filling the air. I jog over, breathing hard, and Felix turns to me.
“Nice pass,” he says, his voice gruff but honest.
I smirk. “Nice header.”
He studies me for a second, then nods. “You did good tonight, O’Connor.”
“Finally acknowledging my skill, huh?” I raise my brows. He rolls his eyes before nudging my shoulder, walking off to find his dad.
I exhale, running a hand through my hair, the adrenaline still buzzing in my veins. My eyes scan the edge of the pitch, and then I see her.
Carmen.
She’s standing with Aly and Valeria, her hands buried in the pockets of her coat, watching me.I don’t even think. I just go to her. Her friends share a look before walking off, leaving us alone. Carmen tilts her head at me, expression unreadable.
“Hey, Blondie,” I start, my lips already tilting into a smile.
“Hi, Aaron,” she replies softly, looking up to meet my eyes.
She looks good. Her cheeks and nose are bright red due to the cold. It’s cute.
“So, how did I play?” I ask her, my arms crossing over my chest.
She hums, pretending to think. “Hmm… satisfactory.”
I scoff. “Yeah?”
“Yep.” Her lips purse.
I shake my head, chuckling. “I’ll make sure I play better next time then. I’ll score just for you, but you have to be there.”
She raises a brow. “The next game is the playoffs. Of course I’m going to be there.”
“Let’s just say you’re coming to see me play, yeah?”
“You wish, O’Connor,” she laughs.
Maybe I do.
Before I can reply, Hassan appears, clapping me on the back. “We’re going to say hi to Coach McCall. You coming?”
I glance at Carmen, who just nods with a small smile. Oh, for fucks sake. I’d rather stand here and talk to her while freezing my ass off.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I say, following Hassan off the pitch despite my thoughts.
Before we reach Coach McCall, I hear someone call my name. “Connie!”
I turn to see Cal jogging over. “I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?” I tell Hassan. He doesn’t ask any questions and just walks off. That’s what I like about him the most. He minds his business. Proper lad, he is.
“My dad’s got the car ready for you,” Cal tells me.
I blink. “You serious?”
“Yeah. It’s yours if you want it,” he says with a shrug.
“Of course I want it,” I reply, shaking my head in shock. “Bless. Thanks, mate.”
Cal nods, then his eyes drift over my shoulder. “So, is that blonde your girl?”
I frown, following his gaze to where Carmen is talking to Felix.
“Why?” I ask, tension creeping into my voice.
“I’ve seen her around Trinity.”
I freeze. Trinity? A sick feeling settles in my stomach. Trinity is my area. Where I live. My old school.
The memory clicks—Jude. That party. The way they talked like they knew each other.
Did she go there for him? My jaw clenches. Does she like him?
“Give me a call next time she’s there, yeah?” I say, keeping my voice even.
“I got you,” Cal replies with a nod.
I force a smirk, clapping him on the shoulder before walking away. But my mind is already spiraling. I push the thoughts away as I spot Coach McCall, standing on the edge of the pitch. He hasn’t changed a bit.
“You played well, O’Connor,” he says as I approach.
I smirk. “Thanks, Coach. Learned from the best.”
He chuckles in response. “I’m glad you’re doing well over here.”
“I am,” I admit. “But you know… it’s not the same as back in Trinity.”
“You’re welcome back anytime.”
Something tightens in my chest. He was always more of a father to me than- I shake the thought away.
“You’re the best,” I say instead.
“I get that a lot,” he smirks, nodding his head smugly.
I laugh. He’s still the same Coach I remember.
“I’ve got to go,” he says, clapping my shoulder. “But celebrate. You deserve it.”
He walks away, leaving me standing in the middle of the pitch, surrounded by the many students and players.
Somehow, my eyes find Carmen’s again.
I know I shouldn’t care this much about where she is or who she’s with.
But I do.
I care.
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