Page 21 of Major Penalty

~ARES~

She won’t get out of my head.

I’ve tried. I worked out, pushing my body to the limit. I sparred. Abused the hell out of my hip. Celebrated the victory with the team. Nothing worked. Every time I close my eyes, every time I let my mind slip for even a second, she’s there. Soft, bright, bubbly, and clueless of the thoughts running through my mind. And yet, brave. Too fucking brave.

She’s been acting innocent around me since day one, stammering, blushing, avoiding eye contact like I’m too much for her. I’ve always been too much for people. Too intense, too scary, too broken, too fucked up. And I've been told enough times. It’s not news to me. I know what I am and what I bring with me wherever I go. And it’s never been enough for anyone. Too much to handle, too much to fix, too much to take.

I learned to tone it down, to dull the edges. To make myself easier for people to stomach. You get used to it after a while. You learn to make others more comfortable with your existence. You stop being the person you used to be—stop being too much—so they don’t run the other way. But every time I try, it feels like I’m suffocating.

And then Sunday happened. She stepped in front of me, blocked my path, grabbed me, and threatened me, all in under five minutes.

The concern in her eyes. The genuine worry. The way she looked at me like she wasn’t letting me go until I listened to her.

And fuck if it wasn’t attractive.

I should be annoyed. But instead, I’m intrigued. And now, true to my word, I’m on my way to her office.

It’s early Tuesday morning, and the facility is already buzzing with activity. Rowan walks beside me, glancing my way like he knows something is off. “You’re on edge,” he mutters. “Are you worried about the physical?”

“Why should I be?” I shrug.

Rowan stops walking, turning to face me. “You’re fucking hurt, aren’t you?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

I don’t answer. He doesn’t need me to. I walk past him instead.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, frustrated. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he adds, catching up to me.

“It’s not that bad,” I assure him, knowing he won’t buy it.

“Ares.” He steps in front of me.

What’s with people stepping in front of me lately?

“What?” I grit out.

“If you’re injured, I don’t want you playing. I’ve noticed you haven’t been stretching with the rest of us. You do it by yourself. And that’s odd, even for you. Get in there, behave, and do whatever they tell you.”

“I’m not taking a break.” I meet him dead-on.

“You stubborn prick.” He shakes his head. “If I find out you’re playing with an injury, I’ll tie you to the bench.”

“Are you done with the threats, Captain?” I raise a brow at him. “Cause I have an appointment.”

He’s silent for a moment before stepping aside.

“Let me know how it goes.”

“I will, Dad,” I throw over my shoulder, earning me a light push forward.

I hear her as soon as I reach her office. The door is slightly open, her voice spilling out—happy, vibrant, and so fucking sweet.

“Yeah, I have one more exam this morning, then I’ll check on Davidson’s shoulder again before lunch. He took a nasty hit on Sunday,” she says. “I’ll evaluate his range again—if it’s still stiff by tomorrow, we might need to consider ultrasound therapy.”

“Alright, kid. You’re doing good. Keep me posted,” Dr. Mathews responds.

A chair scrapes back, and I hear footsteps. I knock on the door before pushing it open all the way.

She looks up and freezes. For half a second, her body locks up like she wasn’t expecting me actually to show up.

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