Page 69 of Twisted Shot
The camera crew is doing their thing, and Mila is doing hers. Managing. Smiling. Nodding at the right people. Skimming the shot list and confirming the player pairings with one hand while holding her phone in the other, answering curt texts from Richard.
The guys are in rare form.
Jesse’s bouncing from mark to mark like he’s born for the spotlight, hamming it up for every take. Carter has turned his two lines into a comedic monologue and is now trying to convince the director to let him rap one of them. Tall delivered his line in complete deadpan, claiming it was his “enigmatic goalie persona.”
It’s working.
The crew loves them. The team’s social media coordinator is grinning like she’s already imagining the edit.
But Mila can’t stop watching Theo.
He stands off to the side, hands gripping the hem of his sweater like it’s holding him together. His expression is unreadable, but his body is all tension. Shoulders tight. Jaw set. He’s been quiet all morning, quieter than usual, and she’d assumed it was just the cameras. Some people don’t love being on display.
But now it’s his turn.
Except it isn’t. When the camera swings toward Theo’s spot, Jesse steps in instead.
“Got it,” Jesse says with a flourish, already hitting Theo’s mark. “We’re swapping. I’ll read Theo’s, too. Just...more Jesse sparkle. Trust me.”
The crew laughs. It’s smooth, well-delivered, convincing.
Too convincing.
Mila watches Jesse say Theo’s lines and her stomach dips.
Naomi slides beside her, holding an extra coffee she somehow scored from catering services. “Didn’t you write that one for Theo?”
Mila doesn’t answer.
Because realization is blooming in her chest.
This isn’t nerves, not the kind you push through with a few deep breaths and a “you got this” pat on the back. This is something else. Something bigger. Something older.
And suddenly, the quiet moments make more sense. The way Theo always chooses corners. The way he tenses when attention lands on him for too long. The way his voice catches sometimes, and everyone pretends not to notice.
He couldn’t say the lines.
Mila presses her lips together, guilt curling low in her belly. She should have seen this. She knows better than to assume extroversion is the default. She’s spent so long around men like Jesse and Carter—loud, always performing—that she forgot.
Theo’s not like them.
That’s what drew her to him.
And what makes this feel like she missed something important.
After the shoot wraps and the crew breaks down their gear, Mila finds him in the hallway near the changing rooms, hunched over, hands braced on the edge of a folding table like he needs it to hold him up. His head is down, broad shoulders tight.
She walks toward him slowly, heels softened by the rubber matting, as if getting too close too quickly might spook him.
“Theo?”
He doesn’t lift his head.
“Hey,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I should’ve asked?—”
“You don’t have to do that.”
His voice cuts through the air. It’s rough and flat, not like him.
