Lola POV
Cassian hadn’t said a single word to Coach about what happened that night. Not a whisper. Not a petty remark. Nothing.
And that silence? That silence was loud.
I could feel it in the way he stared at me—those cold, dead-straight looks like he was trying to burn a hole through my skull. The way his jaw clenched every time we were in the same room. The way he didn’t speak, but judged. Like I was already convicted.
Still, deep down… he knew.
He knew that no matter what happened between me and Jace, there wasn’t a better captain for this team than me. And as much as it probably tore him up inside, he hadn’t challenged me for the role. Yet.
“You should get the fuck off Reyes,” Cassian muttered under his breath, right before the game.
Today was the first official tournament of Regionals.
And guess who we’re up against.
Yep.
Jace.
I hadn’t seen him in nearly a week, but our phones? Lit. We’d been texting nonstop—sending late-night rants, inside jokes, stupid volleyball TikToks, even full-on arguments over who serves cleaner. No one got me like he did. It was sickening. It was dangerous.
It was perfect.
And completely wrong.
Rivals don’t do this. They don’t flirt. They don’t kiss. They don’t text each other good luck. But here I was, losing my mind over the one boy I’m supposed to destroy.
I glanced at Cassian, who was glaring at me like I just betrayed our bloodline. I did.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” I snapped.
His eyes flared, and he shoved me—not hard, just enough to catch my attention. “Lola, focus. I’m serious. Reyes is a distraction. He’s gonna drag you down. You’re out here trying to screw the opponent, your rival!”
“I didn’t fuck him!” I hissed, shoving him right back, fire in my chest. “So stop assuming shit.”
He just shook his head and stormed off.
I grabbed my water bottle, turned around, and yelled to my team, “Let’s go! Before Darla throws a tantrum over her hair again.”
Darla rolled her eyes but didn’t say a word. I didn’t have time for her today.
We gathered for our pre-game huddle, and I flipped the switch. Captain mode: on.
I clapped my hands once, firm. “Listen up. We don’t need to be perfect. We need to be strategic. We play smart. We communicate. And we don’t let the nerves win. No one’s allowed to break down today. We’ve worked too hard for that. Got it?”
A chorus of “Got it” echoed around me.
We hit the court. The crowd roared. Shoes squeaked. The whistle blew.
And boom—game on.
The minute the ball was in the air, my face went from soft to steel. I didn’t look at Jace. I didn’t see Jace.
I saw the other side of the net. I saw the rival.
We were brutal. We were loud. I was fighting like my entire future was on the line—because it was. My hands were stinging from blocks, my knees scraped from dives, my throat dry from calling plays. I didn’t care. I didn’t blink. I didn’t breathe.
And Jace? He played just as savage. The way he moved, the way he called to his team, the way he avoided my eyes like I didn’t exist—it was all war. He was my enemy out there.
We didn’t even flinch when we passed each other near the net. Not a look. Not a smirk. Not a word.
We were acting like we didn’t even know each other.
And for those two hours, we didn’t.
After the game—tight win for us—I didn’t celebrate. I was too tired. Too raw. I walked straight to the locker room, changed into my hoodie and leggings, tossed my bag over my shoulder, and left out the back exit to catch some air.
The hallway behind the building was dim, quiet, only a flickering streetlamp buzzing above.
I didn’t even have time to react when a hand clamped over my mouth from behind.
I screamed into the palm, kicking, twisting, heart leaping into my throat. I shoved my elbow back, but the grip held me firm until I was spun and shoved—gently, but firmly—against the brick wall.
My breath caught.
Jace.
“You fucker!” I hissed the second he pulled his hand away. “I thought I was getting kidnapped!”
He smirked, not even phased. “Kidnapped, Sinclair? Come on. They’d return you in the same hour.”
I slapped his chest, hard.
He laughed, chest rising, eyes locking onto mine. “Okay, okay. That’s fair.”
We were silent for a beat, his eyes softening. Then his hands reached up—slow, deliberate—and cupped my face. His thumb brushed under my eye, and before I could think, he kissed me.
God, the way he kissed me.
Hot. Deep. Certain. His mouth moved against mine like he needed me to breathe.
I melted into him. His hands roamed my waist, slid up my back, tugged me close until our bodies were flush. He lifted me off the ground and pinned me gently against the wall, one hand braced behind my neck, the other gripping my thigh.
My fingers tangled into his hair. My heart slammed against my ribs.
He kissed me like I was his only choice. And for a second, I let him. I let it all go—the rivalry, the fear, the rules.
“Reyes! Get the fuck over here and stop sticking your mouth in random bitches!”
And just like that our moment was over.