Page 123 of Close Knit

I nod, and my words stick in my throat like they always do when the spotlight burns too brightly. “Yeah,” I assure him.

“Spoke to Coach today. Glad you’re starting tomorrow.”

“Not mad that you’re sitting out?” I scan Ivan’s face, and a whisper of panic brushes down my neck.

“No, my knee’s been giving me hell.” He waves his hand at me, looking genuinely relieved. “I’m glad to see you’re fitting in with the team. Knew you’d come around.”

For once, it doesn’t sound patronizing. It’s nice to know someone had faith in me. “Had to sort out my priorities.”

“Good,” he says. Then he pauses as if he’s holding back something important.

I scan the arcade, spotting Omar over atMortal Kombatalready. “Are we good?” I ask.

“Have you thought more about reporting Rossi to the Football Federation?” Ivan prods. “If not him, you’ve got solid evidence against Charlie.”

I grit my teeth, recoiling. Going public with the livestream business is a nonstarter. One accusation leads to another. If there’s a case against Charlie, the media will be all over me even more.

“Not worth it.”

“I get that coming forward isn’t easy,” he says, his tone serious. “But it’s important to make sure that kind of misconduct doesn’t happen again.”

Maybe he’s right, but I don’t want to be a martyr. The claims will be dismissed as exaggerated, and I’ll be left alone to deal with the fallout. I can’t handle the possibility of reliving that nightmare.

“I hear you,” I mutter, shrugging like I couldn’t care less, even though my insides are twisting. “But I’m not gonna be the poster boy for this. The game’s brutal, and the media’s worse. I have other people to think about.” Daphne’s been out there,making waves about cyberbullying and gaining traction for her retreat. The last thing she needs is to be dragged back into my mess.

Ivan looks unimpressed. “Whatever happens, we’ve got your back.”

“Hastings, let’s go!” Omar shouts, shaking a cup full of coins at me, offering me an escape from this conversation.

“Thanks, Ivan. Appreciate it,” I say, walking off.

Life is finally improving. My team and I are getting along, things with Daphne are amazing, and I have a shot at winning the trophy again. I don’t want to jeopardize all of that. Let the midfielders and strikers chase the glory. As the goalkeeper, my job is to keep the ball out of the net and focus. That’s where I’ll stay, right where things make sense.

“Ready to lose some money?” I sidle up next to Omar, who’s already loadingMortal Kombat IIwith coins, his grin radiating an overconfidence that’s disgustingly infectious.

“You wish.” He nudges my shoulder.

At least for the length of this tournament against Omar, my brain will be quiet.

The game starts with its nostalgic intro, the music blasting louder than a heavy metal concert. The roster of fighters appears in all their pixelated glory: Sub-Zero, Scorpion, Raiden, and more. I pick Johnny Cage with his signature sunglasses, and the battle begins.

Thirty minutes later, I’m ahead by two wins. Omar’s not one to give up easily, though. He picks Liu Kang, determined to make a comeback. The arcade around us is a cacophony of flashing lights and electronic beeps, the smell of popcorn and soda filling the air, reminding me of her.

“Come on, Johnny, don’t fail me now,” I mutter, fingers flying over the buttons.

Omar grunts, his eyes never leaving the screen. “I’m going to beat you this time.”

Our characters clash, trading blows and special moves. The tension rises as our health bars dwindle.

Finally, with a well-timed shadow kick, I land the final blow. “Yes!” I shout, throwing my hands up in victory.

Omar laughs, shaking his head. “Go again!”

“You enjoy losing, don’t you?”

“I’m Scorpion this time.” He feeds more coins into the machine. As the game loads, I sip my seltzer, but an unexpected, sickly sweetness floods my mouth. Instead of swallowing, I perform an involuntary, over-the-top spit take, sending the liquid cascading down my black tee.

“What the hell?” I mutter, glaring daggers at Omar.

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