Page 7 of Siren's Heart

"Maybe he's getting you a Smart." He grins at me. “Or maybe, this is actually my car and all the rentals were rented out already.” Now, there’s a sliver of truth in there. Knowing him and his parents, I wouldn’t be surprised if they keep a car in Philly, just for him to use.

"Oh, you're so full of shit. But it's fine,” I say with a grin. He looks at me from the corner of his eyes, probably surprised I’m giving in that easily. “If you're that much more responsible, and it’s that hard to get another rental, I'll play passenger princess. Seems like you get to drive me everywhere I need to go then." I smirk when I notice the slightly panicked expression on his face, which quickly disappears to make room for feigning indifference as he turns into the stadium’s parking lot.

The attendant saves him from answering as Asher pulls down his window and listens to him telling us where to park. Driving along the narrow space between parking cars, I can see him struggle to keep from bumping into them.

I bite the inside of my lips to keep myself from laughing when he takes forever to park this giant thing, but my whole body shaking might be a tell.

"I hate you," he grumbles when he finally deems the car's position to be straight enough, and to my surprise, he’s even parked within the lines.

"Love you too, bro." I chuckle and jump out of the car, grabbing my bag from the backseat. He grumbles under his breath as we make our way to the parking lot exit, where Van is already waiting for us.

"About time you two came." He eyes us over the rim of his thick sunglasses. They make him look like some kind of secret agent with his curly hair slicked back, black blazer over a black shirt, and black jeans and shoes to top it off.

"Well, you can thank Asher for driving like a snail," I snicker and shake his hand.

"And Luca for taking too long on his nails." I roll my eyes and try to elbow him, but he swerves it.

"God, can't the two of you act like adults for once?" Van mutters under his breath, and Asher and I glance at each other.

“Please,” he scoffs while I shake my head.

"You got the two of us to join this charity thing, didn't you? I'd have been more than happy to send a donation and watch it on TV at home." I shrug, kind of hoping that option isn’t completely off the table yet.

"Anyway,” Van says, crushing my hope. “Follow me. Good thing you're in your sports clothes already, training is starting in twenty minutes. I’ll give you a quick tour."

Without waiting for an answer, he strolls off, knowing Asher and I will trail behind him like lost kids in a mall. He leads us through tunnels and bare hallways until he pushes a plain door open, revealing a locker room. I whistle. For a room only used for changing clothes, this one is really big and luxurious, with wide lockers and flags all over the walls.

"Looks like you're the first ones. Who would have thought?" Van mumbles under his breath and gestures around. "I hope you've memorized the way here."

Well, he's going to be disappointed. All the hallways looked the same, and I wouldn't even know which direction to go back. And judging from Asher’s feeble attempt at suppressing a grin, I’d assume he’s just as clueless. Maybe they'll put up some signs. I can't imagine we're the only ones who would get lost in this backstage labyrinth.

"This is where you'll meet up with the others on all training days. Which are every weekday from now until the match." My eyes grow wide. I thought we'd train two or maybe three times a week.

"I didn’t think they were taking it this seriously," I admit with wide eyes, and Van burst into laughter.

"Luca. This match is sponsored by very big companies, and even bigger companies and institutions are donating to, in some ways, save their public image. Did you really think they'd be okay with televising an amateur match?"

I gulp. He's got a point. Fuck. I really should have just said no.

"You're obviously the first ones here, so feel free to pick your lockers. The others should arrive any moment now. Get to know them, do some networking, no fistfights or brawls. Please. It’s bad enough they’re putting all the Walker brothers together."

"No promises," the two of us answer in unison, and I hold up my hand for a high five he gives me without even looking.

Van leaves the room, grumbling something about retraining to become a kindergarten teacher under his breath. Asher and I glance at each other, then run for the same locker, trying to push our bag in first.

"I never thought I'd say it, but it is kind of fun," I admit, before throwing the ball to Asher. The movement is a bit awkward, but I’m slowly starting to get the hang of it. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

Today and for the next week, they're having us go through several exercises to determine which position we could play and then train toward it. We've already done warm-up and some timed sprints. I'm not looking forward to the tackling exercise, but hey, if I'm injured, I won't have to continue with training... glass half full and all that jazz. And since I got through the shower yesterday without any injury, at least Asher’s not winning any bets.

At least, that's what I'm telling myself to tone down the nervousness.

"Oh, I'm going to shout it from the rooftops," Asher promises with a grin and throws back the ball. I'm still not great at catching the weird egg shape, but I'd say I make it about three out of ten times by now, and that's actually great progress for me.

This is not one of the times, though. The ball slips through my fingers and flies down into the grass, rolling about five feet away from me.

As I turn around, I see three figures approaching the training from a distance.

"Hey, who's that?" Tanner, one of the Walker brothers, asks me. He’s twenty-four, the youngest of the bunch, but he's hiding his young looks behind a beard and sunglasses.

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