Page 8 of Broken Desires

As we prepare to leave, there’s a sense of anticipation, a subtle undercurrent of excitement. Maybe the night isn’t over just yet. Maybe there’s still a bit more adventure left to be had with him.

The night air is cool, carrying with it a sense of calm that contrasts sharply with the party’s earlier chaos.

“Do you want to come up for a coffee?” I ask as we reach the door of my building. It’s a bold invitation—one that I’d never made before.

He hesitates, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

I’m quick to clarify, “I’m not actually offering coffee.”

His response comes with a tinge of regret. “I know,” he says. The familiar sting of rejection hits me, yet it’s tinged with a sense of understanding. Rejection is never easy, but his reluctance softens the blow somewhat.

“I wish you a good night, Vanessa,” he says, his gaze lingering. Even though I can’t hear his voice, I imagine it deep and resonant.

Impulsively, I say, “Call me Nessa.” He steps back, still watching me, and his smile holds a hint of sadness, suggesting that this isn’t an easy choice for him either.

“I thought ‘Nessa’ was reserved for friends,” he remarks, a touch of humor on his face.

I return his smile, feeling a connection that transcends the physical. “We’ll be friends one day, Liam Ashford. Mark my words.”

His smile broadens slightly, a mixture of hope and anticipation in his eyes. “I hope you’re right. Good night, Nessa.”

As he walks away, I’m left standing there, filled with disappointment and even some relief. Maybe it’s for the best. Liam Ashford has the potential to be more than just a fleeting encounter, more than a simple distraction. And that’s a dangerous thought because a man like him could easily become an addiction.

Chapter 4

Liam

Ipull into the stadium’s parking lot, the early morning quiet wrapping around me like a thick fog. The lot is empty, save for Coach Thompson’s car sitting alone under the pale dawn light. I park my car, killing the engine, and rest my head back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. Sleep has been elusive for the past few nights, my mind relentlessly circling back to Vanessa.

As I step out of the car, the cool morning air hits my face, a sharp contrast to the tangled warmth of the thoughts I harbor about her. I recall telling her “no” last night—a decision that feels like the toughest I’ve ever made. It’s clear in my gut; with Vanessa, it wouldn’t just be about sex. There’s a depth, a complexity to her that I can’t ignore.

I walk toward the stadium office, my steps automatic. Coach’s office light is on, casting a warm glow through the window.

Stepping into Coach Thompson’s office, the familiar scents of leather and old books wrap around me. It’s a space that’s become a sanctuary over the years, a place where victories and losses are equally shared. Coach looks up, his eyes reflecting years of wisdom and the weight of leadership. “Morning, Coach,” I greet, trying to sound more energetic than I feel.

“Liam, you look rough. Bad night?” he asks, looking up from a stack of papers.

A chuckle escapes me, though it lacks its usual warmth. “Yeah, just couldn’t catch enough sleep.” The truth is more complicated, tangled up in thoughts of Vanessa and the future that looms large, casting long shadows over my present. “What did you want to talk about?”

He leans forward, his fingers tented. “We need to talk about the team’s leadership going forward. This is your last year, Liam. It’s time to think about who’ll step into your shoes.”

I nod, his words hitting me harder than I expected. I’ve always known this moment would come, and I feel a strange pang of longing at the reminder of my freedom reaching its expiration date. “You’re thinking about the new captain?”

“Exactly.” Coach leans back, eyeing me with an understanding that goes beyond the soccer field. “You’ve set a high bar, Liam. We need someone who can handle the pressure and keep the team united. Based on the stats, it’s between Westbrook and Hawthorne. What’s your take?”

The question hangs in the air. I consider Cole Westbrook, with his natural athletic prowess but questionable attitude, and Ethan Hawthorne, steady but less dynamic. “It’s a tough call, Coach. Westbrook has the skills, but Hawthorne has the discipline.”

Coach rubs his chin, mulling over my words. “I see your point. We need someone who can handle the pressure on and off the field.” He shakes his head. “Would you not consider doing a master’s? It would help me out.”

I let out a laugh. “I would if I could.” The idea of staying for a master’s, extending my time here, tempts me more than I can say. But reality quickly sets in. My plans after graduation are set, commitments and goals I can’t ignore, even for the sake of the team or… something else.

This is not about me—it has never been about me.

Duty, above all else, chimes the stern voice of my father.

“I’ve been thinking… Maybe a co-captaincy could work.”

Coach leans back against his desk, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ve never seen it work before. You live with them—think it’s possible in this case?”

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