Page 58 of Racking Up Penalties
Chapter 27
The sharp scent of autumn fills my lungs as I stand in the packed stands, my pulse racing in time with the university band’s drumline. Below me, the vibrant green field is a blur of motion and color, but my attention hones in on myboyfriend, Tristan Delaney, number twelve, commanding the field.
“Come on, Tristan,” I mutter under my breath, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
I can feel the energy coursing through the crowd, an electric current charged with every down, every snap of the ball. It’s intoxicating, and despite the chill in the air, warmth spreads through me, fueled by the adrenaline.
“Look at him go,” I murmur, more to myself than to Liam or Ethan flanking me. Tristan’s arm whips forward, the ball slicing through the air.
“Tristan’s on fire tonight,” Liam comments, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a semblance of a smile. His tousled blond hair ruffles with the evening breeze, those striking gray eyes reflecting the field’s glow.
“Yeah, he’s got the magic touch,” Ethan adds, his voice low and rich, resonating with a pride that feels palpable. I feel the warmth from his athletic build radiating against my side, a stark contrast to the cool night air.
Tristan takes the snap, and it’s as though time slows down. Tristan drops back with grace, his eyes scanning the field. He pumps once, twice, then launches the ball. It spirals into the waiting arms of a wide receiver streaking down the sideline.
“Go! Go! Go!” The words tear from my throat, joining the cacophony of cheers that erupt around me.
The crowd is on its feet, a sea of excitement swelling with each yard gained. I’m caught in the tide, rising with them, my heart thudding against my ribs. The pride I feel watching Tristan is overwhelming; it’s more than just admiration, it’s something deeper, something that tugs at the very core of who I am.
“Touchdown!” The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, confirming what we’ve all seen. Tristan jogs off the field, helmet in hand, and even from this distance, I can see the grin splitting his face.
I can’t help but mirror that smile, feeling an echo of his triumph.
Liam and Ethan met me here at the stadium right before the game started so we haven’t had a chance to talk about their fight. The fact that they both came today seems like a good sign and I won’t let anything take away from the attention Tristan deserves today.
The defense doesn’t let up a touchdown and then Tristan is back on the field.
Tristan moves like poetry in motion as they progress closer to the end zone.
“He’s a beast out there. I almost forgot he’s a star after spending all this time with him lately,” Liam admits.
Ethan just grunts, not speaking to Liam directly. They only talk through me.
As the final minutes tick down, Tristan continues to dominate the game, his arm a cannon, his decisions swift and sure. With each play, the team inches closer to victory, and I’m swept up in the collective joy of it all.
The blare of the final whistle cuts through the electrified air, a definitive signal that marks both an end and a beginning. My hands sting from clapping, my voice hoarse from shouting encouragement.
Even amidst the chaos of victory, I can’t shake off the awareness of Ethan and Liam beside me. Their silence speaks volumes, laden with the weight of things left unsaid. There’s a push and pull between them, an invisible tug-of-war, that I don’t understand.
I steal glances at them, noting the rigid set of Ethan’s jaw, the way Liam’s hands clench and unclench at his sides.
I wish I could dive into their minds and unravel the knot of whatever conflict lies between them. I want to smooth the creases of their frowns and ease the tightness in their shoulders.
I reach out, my fingers brushing against Ethan’s arm, and then Liam’s. They both startle at the touch, as if jolted from their own silent storm clouds. “Guys,” I start, my voice a soft entreaty that slices through the noise of the departing crowd. “What’s going on with you two?”
The air around us thickens, charged with something unspoken but palpable. Ethan and Liam share this quick, loaded glance.
Ethan turns to face me, his brown eyes a deep well of guarded secrets, while his posture remains stiff, almost defensive. “It’s just hockey,” he says, but his voice tells a different story.
A frown tugs at my lips. I know there’s more beneath the surface but I nod, accepting the incomplete answer for now, because what else can I do? You can’t force someone to tell you what’s wrong.
I bite the inside of my cheek, studying Ethan and Liam as they stand on either side of me.
I tug the hat I knit myself down lower on my head.
“Good game, huh?” I venture, trying to steer us back into neutral territory.
“Yup. I bet we will be celebrating tonight,” Liam murmurs, his eyes still tracking the players below.
