Page 32 of Power Move
Soren grins at Maxim stalking across the clearing with snowball remnants clinging to the chest of his fur coat. “He struck again.”
Yet another ball pelts Morgan on the thigh.
“Hey!” He drops the pinecone in his hand and crouches, gathering up snow. “Oh, it’s on, Jonas.”
The front door opens and Rhys steps outside. “What’s going on?”
Laughing, I watch Morgan and Maxim lob snowballs at Jonas in a two-pronged attack. “I think we’re witnessing the start of a snowball fight.”
“Rhys!” Jonas yells. “I need backup.”
“He also started it.” I feel inclined to point that out.
Shrugging, Rhys jogs into the clearing. “Teammates help teammates.”
“Hey,” I call, “we’reteammates.”
He stops, pivots, then jogs back to us. “He got you?”
“I think I was his first victim.”
He holds up his hand like he’s taking a solemn oath. “I will avenge you.” Kneeling, he packs snow in his gloves, then fires it with a battle cry. The ball scores a direct hit to Jonas’s calf.
Jonas stares at him in shock. “What the hell?”
Laughing, I lean into Soren. “Where do you want to go?”
“I wanna be part of this.” He cranes his neck. “Quinn, can you bring over one of the chairs from the fire pit for me?”
“Coming.” Quinn launches a snowball at Maxim, then jogs off.
Soren points to a section closer to the house, beside a snow drift. “I think there.”
We take slow steps in that direction as the melee unfolds behind us. Quinn puts the chair where Soren wants, then drops down and makes three snowballs in quick succession. He fires them at Jonas, Rhys, and Morgan, then runs off toward the tree line.
Soren eases onto the seat. “I’ll be fine. You should go help Morgan. I’ll text Remy and tell him to get out here. Slash house unites.”
I glance at the woods. “Phil and Gio aren’t back yet.”
“I’ll text them too, in case they want to join. They’re probably off having sex somewhere.”
Laughing, I scout out the safest place for me to gather my ammunition. He’s probably right. “And on that note, I’m going in.”
There’s a mound of snow across the field. I run there, dodging snowballs launching in all directions. Trash talk and insults fly in multiple languages. Someone nabs me on the arm, then again on the ass. I whip around.
There’s Rhys, arms raised, wearing an unrepentant grin. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
“I’ll show you sorry.” I crouch, half hidden behind the drift. Sometimes, being the smallest is helpful. Making ball after ball, I keep going, assembling a nice snowy arsenal.
Running footsteps come closer, then a shadow falls over me. Remy dives into my hiding spot. “What’s the plan?”
“Make more. Fire away. Repeat.”
He grabs four, and slings one after the other at Jonas, Maxim, and Rhys, taking attention away from Morgan, though, the Metros are aiming for each other as much as they’re trying to hit us.
I love seeing Rhys this carefree. His wide smile, the laughter, pelting his best friends with snow. He carries the weight of the club on his shoulders as much as the other three, even though he’s not a captain or alternate. It’s good seeing him let go.
Across the clearing, snow covers Soren. Laughing maniacally, he pelts the others. He may not be able to run for cover, but his bad hammy doesn’t prevent him from loading up on snowballs and returning fire.
