Page 120 of Winning Brynn

Against my control, my gaze finds itself drawn to the family stand. Brynn’s slender fingers are wrapped around a cup of something hot, steam drifting up from it to wind in her braided hair.

Even from here, I can see the pink staining her cheeks and the lines of tension by her eyes, almost hidden underneath the visor of the ball cap she stole from me this morning. Her jacket hides her jersey, pulled tight around her body as she shivers from the cold.

At her right, Isabella holds Salem on her hip. I watch as she twists, my eyes widening in shock as I realize what she’s wearing.

Rage is a red, violent mist as it tears through me. The number eleven on Isabella’s back taunts me every time she moves enough for me to catch it.

She stole one of my jerseys—the ones I’d given Brynn to wear when she watches me play. Even if she does have to hide my number under a sweater so her brother doesn’t notice, it was supposed to be a secret we shared to help me through every game. A reminder that she belongs to me, that she’s cheering me on, that she isminejust as I am hers. Isabella has no right to wear something with such significance.

I don’t even hear the whistle blow.

I’m only snapped into action when Roman comes steaming up beside me with a “what the fuck” expression on his face. He snaps me the ball with ease then thunders ahead into a clear space to allow me to pass it back.

“What’s your fucking problem today?” he growls before dribbling the ball past two offensive players and crossing it over to Alex.

“Nothing,” I grumble.

“Better not be, or you’re gonna lose this game for everyone.”

Minutes tick by as the team tries to equal the score. I watch my friends with regret as they bust their asses, picking up the slack for me every time I squander the ball or misread a signal.

In the eightieth minute, I find myself with a clear line to the goal. The other team’s keeper has come too far out in the penalty box, leaving the net wide open. I know what to do. I’ve done it hundreds of times before. I know how to score a scream-worthy goal like I’ve been doing it my whole life, because I have.

The crowd holds their breath as I boot the ball hard with my right foot. They know what’s coming. They’re readying themselves to jump up and chant in celebration.

The ball curves in the air in a near-perfect arc before hitting the post and rebounding into the stands.

I missed.

A perfect, fool-proof goal opportunity, and I missed like a fucking amateur.

Alex stands with his hands on his hips around forty or so yards away from me, though I can hear his sigh from here. He doesn’t yell at me, just tilts his head as he looks at me with disappointment.

I was right when I said I don’t deserve him.

Because we lose the game, and it’s all my fault.

Text thread between Leo and Brynn

Leo:Why the fuck is Isabella wearing my jersey?

Brynn:She wanted to wear a jersey to the game to be supportive, so I gave her my spare one.

Leo:You could have given her your brother’s.

Brynn:I did, but Salem barfed on it.

Leo:Then she could have just worn a red shirt.

Brynn:I’m sorry, I honestly didn’t think it was a big deal.

Leo:Never again.

Leo:The only woman allowed to wear my number is you.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Brynn

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