Page 94 of High Hopes

Sena follows my gaze and groans. “How is he still attractive in this weather? It’s like twenty degrees out, and your man looks like he’s shooting a Nike ad.”

I roll my eyes, but warmth spreads through me despite the cold.Mine.

We find a spot along the sideline, close enough to see the action but far enough back to avoid stray balls—or worse, colliding players. Sena pulls out a travel mug from her oversized tote and takes a sip, her breath curling in the cold.

There aren’t many people here—just a handful of friends and girlfriends, bundled up like us, braving the chill to show their support. It’s practice, not a game, so there’s no crowd orpressure, just the low hum of chatter and the occasional laugh as the players warm up.

It’s not long before the scrimmage begins. The team splits into two squads, their jerseys marking the difference—white for one side, red for the other. Liam’s on the white team, playing his usual position on the wing.

Sena leans in close, her voice low. “So, do I cheer like a supportive friend or heckle like a chaotic neutral?”

I snort. “Please don’t heckle. He’ll just use it as fuel to show off, and then I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Her grin is mischievous, but she raises her mug in mock solemnity. “Fine. I’ll keep it classy—for now.”

It doesn’t take long for Liam to get into the rhythm, weaving around defenders with that effortless speed that makes him look like he’s gliding across the field. Even in practice, he’s magnetic to watch. The way he moves, the sharp focus in his eyes, the sheer control he has over the ball—it’s mesmerizing.

“You know,” Sena says after a while, breaking the quiet, “this isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. It’s kind of fun, seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Happy,” she says simply, her tone softer now. “You’ve got that look, you know? The one people get when they’re completely smitten.”

I duck my head, my cheeks burning. “Shh.”

“It’s true,” she insists, grinning. “And it’s cute. Gross, but cute.”

We both laugh, the sound muffled by the layers of scarves and coats. For the next hour, we alternate between cheering quietly and complaining. Sena’s commentary is relentless and hilarious—she calls the goalkeepers “big bumblebees” and spends a good five minutes trying to figure out why soccer doesn’t allow tackling.

“That guy just pushed Liam,” she says indignantly, pointing at one of the defenders. “Why isn’t there a penalty for that?”

“Because they’re technically on the same team,” I explain, though I’m not entirely sure I understand the rules myself. “And because this is an intra-squad practice scrimmage. Besides, it’s not a foul unless someone actually gets taken out. I . . . think?”

“Annoying,” she declares, sipping her coffee. “Let me at him. I’ll foul him.”

The scrimmage winds down, and Liam’s team finishes strong with a 3–1 win. The final goal is a thing of beauty—a gorgeous assist from Liam that sets up his teammate perfectly.

“Okay, I’m officially frozen,” Sena announces, standing and rubbing her gloved hands together. “I’m gonna go thaw out somewhere warm. Maxxine wants to run lines, so I’m gonna head to hers. You good?”

“Go ahead,” I say, pulling my scarf tighter around my neck. “Thanks for coming, though. I know this wasn’t exactly your vibe.”

She waves me off with a grin. “Anything for you. But next time, you owe me a bar night—or something equally indoors. With heaters. And no running.”

“Deal.”

Sena gives me a quick, tight hug before heading off, her steps crunching in the frost-covered grass. I watch her go, warmth spreading through me. Having two people—Sena and Liam—who I’m close to, who I trust, who I really gel with, is so much better than trying to keep up with a big group of shallow friendships.

It’s not about quantity; it’s about connection. And with them, I feel it in a way I haven’t before.

The players pack up their gear, shaking hands and chatting as the scrimmage officially ends. I spot Liam jogging toward me, his breath misting in the cold air, his face still flushed fromexertion. His lopsided grin grows wider as he gets closer, and I can’t help but smile back.

“You were amazing!” I say as he reaches me, bouncing on the balls of my feet to stay warm.

“Thanks,” he says, running a hand through his damp, messy hair. “You survived the whole thing. Color me impressed.”

“Barely,” I tease, wrapping my arms around myself. “But you looked great out there.”

“Yeah? You weren’t bored out of your mind?”

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