Page 38 of Man On

Realizing I haven't said a word yet, I shake myself out of it.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I just have a headache, and it got too loud in there."

Danny nods understandingly, but his frown stays in place.

"Your brother seems like a piece of work," he says in a low voice.

I chuckle, attempting to cover up my discomfort. "Yeah, that's just Noah being himself. He’s always got jokes."

Danny hums noncommittally and shuffles his feet.

"You're going to get wet," I tell Danny as it starts to sprinkle more steadily.

"So are you," he says, nudging my shoulder with his. My eyes dart around us, noticing we're the only ones left outside, except for a few stragglers here and there that are holding umbrellas or running to their next destinations. None of them are so much as looking our way. When I cut my eyes to Danny, I see him watching me assess our surroundings.

"You'd be surprised how little people care about things happening outside their own bubble," he says.

My brow furrows. I think I know what he's alluding to, but I don't want him to get any ideas. It's bad enough that Noah thinks he knows things about me. I certainly don't need anyone else trying to prescribe me unnecessary advice.

When I don't answer him, he shuffles his feet some more and clears his throat. I look up, not wanting to be rude, but then wish I hadn't. He's smiling softly, almost knowingly, and I don't like it.

His hand touches mine, and I flinch so hard you'd think I was expecting to be hit. But Danny just holds out a folded piece of paper that looks like it was ripped off the bottom of a flyer. I don't have to look at it to know what it is. I'd rather pretend to be ignorant. But Danny's eyes are kind when he leans in, touching his shoulder to mine again.

"If you ever need someone to talk to—about anything. I can be discreet."

The word discreet echoes in my brain over and over, until the sky opens up, and I realize that I'm standing alone in the rain, my fist clenched tightly around the crumpled-up piece of paper.

The field is a mess, and so is every player on the field. We're all soaking wet and splattered with mud, slipping and sliding through the muck as we fight to either score or defend. Three days of rain has made the field almost unusable, but there is too much to be done to get ready for the match coming up. This scrimmage has been intense, neither side giving any leeway or letting up. It's a good sign that we're playing well. We need to be on our A-game this weekend.

The whistle blows, and Coach Carr pulls one of our ace players to the bench to rest. He's just recently healed from a pulled muscle, and we desperately need him in the starting lineup for Saturday's match. Coach puts Noah in to cover his position. He takes the center forward position, which puts him in my direct eye-line from my place on the defensive back line. There's a challenge in his eyes that I recognize, and it sends a little shiver of thrill up my spine.

We've barely spoken since the bullshit he pulled at the student union. He tried to apologize about it, sending me texts and trying to talk to me through my door at home, but I'm not in the mood to listen to his excuses. I don't care how funny he thinks he is, or how harmless his jokes are, or whether he meant to embarrass me. I'm tired of being the butt of his jokes in public.

Not only that, but this might be a good opportunity to put some space between us. I got too comfortable, too quickly, and put myself at a disadvantage. I've given him the impression that he has power over me, allowing myself to be lulled into the idea that he could be my friend. I can't trust him, and allowing him to use me for his sick games is stupid. Sitting around waiting for him to humiliate me is even worse.

I don't need him. I don't need him.

It's the mantra I've been repeating in the days since pulling away from Noah. But it's gotten to where the mantra itself has become part of the noise overwhelming my brain, another layer of pressure threatening to break me.

Strangely, looking into his eyes from across the field, the noise quiets some. How is it that one person can drive me to insanity and be one of the few things that calms me?

Thunder rolls, threatening the beginning of another storm, but no one on the field reacts. We're determined to get through this scrimmage, none more so than me and my stepbrother. Part of me wonders if that's why Coach Carr put him on the field this late in the game. The matchup has been a draw so far, and no one can compete with the competitiveness that sparks between me and Noah. We might as well make it interesting.

The ball is in play well before I move so much as a muscle. It's only when Noah moves, sprinting up the field almost directly towards me, that my brain catches up to everything happening on the field. My eyes stay zeroed in on Noah, knowing that there's no way they won't pass him the ball. He's fast and has all that fancy footwork that he loves to show off. If he’d pass more, he’d probably get more field time.

The moment Noah has the ball, running it swiftly down the field, skirting around every player in his path, I brace myself for the inevitable clash. Everyone else on the field disappears, and I circle the box, anticipating where Noah is most likely to make his shot. He knows our goalkeeper's weaknesses and exactly what angle to shoot to take advantage of them, but I've been watching Noah play long enough to know all his tricks. I know he probably thinks he can move up to the starting eleven by showing off all his fancy moves. Too bad he made the mistake of pissing me off. It's time for me to get a little payback.

The rain starts again, but I pay it no mind, closing in on my target like a homing missile. He senses me coming, his eyes burning with determination and challenge, running at me head on. He flinches left, but I don't fall for it. I launch myself forward, diving and stretching out my leg to intercept the ball just as he tries to redirect. I slide in the mud, spraying it in a wide arc, and my foot makes contact with the ball. Noah falls forward, diving headfirst towards the ground. I quickly gain my balance, using the momentum of my slide and one of Noah's own tricks to get around another player. Mud and rain drip over my face as I take the ball well past midfield, setting it up for Danny Hastings to launch the ball cleanly into the net.

The field erupts, and Danny runs straight to me. I raise both my hands above my head for a double high-five, but he grabs both of my hands, holding them above my head and yelling in my face.

"Yassss!!!!"

I don't know what else he or anyone else is saying. I'm yelling back. You'd think we'd just scored the winning goal in a high priority match, not a practice scrimmage.

"Did you see his face!?" Danny yells, squeezing my arm.

"Who?" I ask, out of breath and still smiling.

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