Chapter 123 The Rush Of Adrenaline

Chapter 123 The Rush Of Adrenaline


I stayed beneath the shower longer than I needed to.

Eventually, I turned the tap off.

Later on, I pulled on a pair of jeans, a simple shirt, and my oversized gray hoodie.

Mom was sitting on the couch with her phone resting on one knee.

The sound of an excited commentator echoed from the speaker.

She looked up immediately and tilted her phone toward me. "The game's already started."

I glanced at the screen for barely a second before looking away again. "I know."

"You aren't changing your mind?"

I shook my head while pulling the hoodie over my head. "No."

"Reet..."

"I don't want to go."

She gave me a look.

"I don't even know if he'd want to see me."

"It'll just make everything worse," I added.

Mom slowly stood. "It still doesn't matter."

I frowned. "It matters to me."

She walked closer. "If someone you love is struggling, sometimes your presence matters more than your pride."

I looked away. "I can't."

"You can."

I sighed heavily. "Mom, I'll only distract him. He already has enough problems. I don't want to become another one."

She folded her arms but didn't argue. Instead, she simply returned her attention to the live stream.

I walked toward the kitchen, pretending to look for something to eat even though I wasn't hungry.

Behind me, the commentators continued talking rapidly.

Then I heard my mother quietly murmur to herself.

"Oh..."

I looked over instinctively. "What?"

She didn't answer me. Instead, she frowned at her screen.

"...Dylan's playing like he's confused."

I froze.

My heartbeat skipped. "What?"

She still wasn't looking at me. "It looks like..."

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "...he isn't concentrating."

I stared at the back of her head. "No..."

She sighed quietly. "That's unlike him."

I swallowed.

The commentator's excited voice filled the room.

"Brookwood loses possession again..."

"...another poor pass..."

"...Brookwood’s captain doesn't seem himself today..."

My stomach twisted painfully.

I quickly looked away again.

No.

I won't go.

I grabbed my backpack from beside the couch for absolutely no reason and put it down again.

My mother still hadn't looked away from her phone.

"They're really struggling." She murmured.

"I've never seen him like this."

I bit the inside of my cheek.

Don't think about it.

Don't imagine him.

Don't—

"The first half is almost over." She added softly, still not looking at me.

A heavy guilt slowly settled over my chest.

Brian's words echoed again in my head.

"He needs you."

"He hasn't gone to practice."

"He's a mess."

“You'll regret it.”

Then Dylan's face flashed through my mind.

The way he'd knelt in front of me promising he wouldn't choose Vanessa, promising he loved me and would find a solution.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

No, Reet.

Stop.

I pulled the hood further over my head as though hiding inside it would somehow silence my thoughts.

But it didn't.

The commentators grew louder.

"...Brookwood team are way behind…"

"...St. Harvey completely controls the game..."

"...their captain Kevin has been outstanding..."

Another painful knot formed inside my stomach.

Then, Mom quietly said, "I feel sorry for Dylan."

That did it.

Something inside me cracked.

I suddenly couldn't breathe properly anymore.

The walls of our tiny living room felt too close and too suffocating.

I grabbed my phone.

Mom looked up in surprise. "Reet?"

"I'm..." I couldn't even finish my sentence.

The front door was already open.

"Reet!"

But I was already outside.

The cool morning air hit my face when I ran.

My heartbeat pounded loudly inside my ears.

Please…

Please don't let me be too late.

I flagged down the first taxi I saw.

"Brookwood School." I blurted. "Please."

The driver nodded before pulling into traffic.

The journey felt endless.

Every red light annoyed me and every slow vehicle became unbearable.

I kept checking the time every few seconds.

Come on…

Come on…

Finally…

The school stadium appeared ahead.

I jumped out before the taxi had fully stopped and paid quickly.

When I hurried toward the entrance, the roar of hundreds of students reached me before I even stepped inside.

The atmosphere was electric.

By the time I squeezed through the crowd, a loud whistle echoed across the field.

The first half had ended.

"No..." I whispered. "I'm late."

I cursed quietly under my breath.

Around me, students immediately began discussing the match.

I barely took three steps before I overheard two boys talking.

"Dylan's been terrible today."

"I know."

"I've never seen him play this badly."

"It's like he forgot how to kick a ball."

"He isn't even concentrating."

"I guess the breakup really messed him up."

Another student joined in.

"Kevin's destroying Brookwood."

"They're already leading two-nil."

I slowly turned toward the scoreboard.

2–0.

My heart sank.

Kevin's teammates were celebrating near their bench, laughing loudly and high-fiving one another.

They looked energized, confident, and victorious already.

Meanwhile, Brookwood's side looked painfully quiet.

Some players sat with towels over their heads.

Others stared blankly at the grass.

But I searched desperately for Dylan.

Where is he?

Where's Dylan?

My eyes scanned every player.

Every bench.

Every corner.

Nothing.

Students kept walking past me—blocking my view.

I moved faster.

My breathing became uneven. "Dylan..."

I whispered unconsciously.

Where are you?

I pushed gently through another crowd of students.

Then turned another corner and thud…

I walked straight into someone. "I'm so sorr—"

The familiar perfume hit me first.

Vanessa.

She looked me up and down. "Well, what a surprise."

I immediately stepped back. "I don't have time."

I tried walking around her but she blocked me.

"I said excuse me."

She folded her arms. "So, you finally decided to show up."

I frowned. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" She laughed mockingly.

"I should be asking what you've done."

I blinked. "What?"

She leaned closer. "He's ruining the entire game."

I stared at her.

"And whose fault do you think that is?" She raised a brow.

My eyebrows knitted together. "What are you talking about?"

She scoffed loudly. "Don't play dumb."

She gestured dramatically toward the field.

"He can't even think straight."

She didn't let me speak. "Brookwood's losing because of you."

My throat suddenly felt dry. "That's not—"

"It is." She cut me off sharply. "He hasn't played this badly in years and it's all your fault he can't focus."

"He looks miserable and don't pretend you're not the reason."

I shook my head instinctively. "No..."

Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "You ruined him."

Something pierced my chest as I thought about Miranda's proposal.

Vanessa was right.

It turned out that not doing anything at all was more detrimental than picking a side.

Then Vanessa's words echoed in my ears even after I had already turned away from her.

"You ruined him."

"Brookwood's losing because of you."

I didn't even want to argue anymore, I simply wanted to find him.

So when I took one step to the side, Vanessa immediately shifted with me blocking my path again.

"Oh, where are you rushing off to?" she mocked, folding her arms. "Going to make him play even worse?"

I clenched my jaw. "Move."

She smiled wider. "I don't think so."

"You've already done enough damage."

Something inside me finally snapped in annoyance.

"Move," I repeated.

This time my voice came out firmer.

But Vanessa raised one eyebrow. "Or what?"

I looked straight into her eyes. "I said move."

She laughed. "You don't get to—"

"Move!" I shouted.

Several nearby students turned toward us.

Vanessa looked momentarily stunned at my tone.

I took advantage of that tiny hesitation and pushed past her shoulder—not hard enough to knock her over, just enough to get around her.

She stumbled half a step. "What the hell, Reet?"

I didn't even look back, I just kept walking and soon, I was running.

"He's not going to forgive you!" Vanessa yelled behind me.

I ignored her.

I searched everywhere.

The Brookwood bench.

The tunnel leading back to the field.

The first-aid station.

Equipment storage.

Behind the bleachers.

Nothing.

My breathing became increasingly uneven.

"Dylan..."

Where are you?

Several players walked past carrying water bottles.

I stopped one of them. "Have you seen Dylan?"

The boy frowned. "I think he went inside."

"Inside where?"

"The locker rooms…"

"Thanks."

I hurried away before he finished speaking.

The hallway behind the stadium felt strangely quiet compared to the roaring crowd outside.

The cheers were muffled now like distant thunder.

I checked the locker room first.

Empty.

Training room.

Empty.

Equipment room.

Empty.

Then my eyes landed on the sign at the end of the hallway.

MEN'S WASHROOM

I hesitated just for a second.

Then I swallowed my embarrassment.

"I don't care," I whispered to myself.

I pushed the door open carefully.

The room was eerily silent.

I stepped farther inside and then I saw him.

He stood alone in front of the large mirror, his broad shoulders rose and fell heavily.

One hand rested against the sink and the other hung loosely by his side.

My breath caught at the sight of the shattered mirror in front of him.

Long cracks spread across every corner.

Fragments still clung to the frame and tiny pieces glittered beneath the bright bathroom lights.

There were faint smears of blood across several broken sections of the glass.

My eyes immediately dropped to Dylan's hand.

The blood on his hand was enough to leave red streaks where he'd apparently struck the mirror.

A soft gasp escaped my lips before I could stop it.

"Dylan..."

He didn't move.

I wasn't even sure he'd heard me.

I slowly stepped farther inside and shut the door, then I locked it.

Only then did he realize someone was behind him.

When he turned around, our eyes met and everything else disappeared.

He looked exhausted and a little surprised to see me.

Dark circles rested beneath his eyes and his usually neat hair was damp with sweat and pushed back carelessly.

His uniform was dirty from the first half.

There was frustration all over his face.

But the moment our stare lingered, his expression softened.

I didn't even realize tears had begun gathering in my eyes again but I blinked them back.

I felt a little awkward and the silence stretched between us.

Then I finally forced my voice to work. "How long?"

He frowned slightly. "How long... what?"

I swallowed. "Before..." I glanced briefly toward the door. "The second half begins."

He exhaled slowly and then he ran one hand through his already messy hair.

The movement carried so much frustration that it made my heart ache. "Ten minutes."

His voice sounded rough. "Coach's giving everyone a break."

I swallowed again.

“He said that I need to get my shit together.” He added.

Another silence settled between us.

I looked at his injured hand again.

He noticed.

Almost instinctively, he hid it behind him as though he didn't want me seeing it.

Our eyes locked again.

I wanted to apologize.

I wanted to ask if he was okay.

But I knew he wasn't.

I wanted to tell him I was sorry.

I wanted to tell him I'd missed him every single second but the words stayed trapped somewhere inside my chest.

He looked like he wanted to say something too because his lips parted slightly but closed again.

Then I took one hesitant step toward him.

He didn't move.

He simply watched me.

I took another step closer and stopped only a short distance away.

For one endless second, neither of us breathed.

Then… something gave way.

I wasn't even sure which one of us moved first—maybe it was both of us.

One moment we were standing there frozen and the next, we crossed the distance between us almost at the same time.

His arms wrapped tightly around me and immediately circled his waist.

I let out a frustrated breath.

The force of the embrace nearly knocked the air from my lungs.

I buried my face against his chest without thinking and his familiar scent instantly surrounded me.

He held me as though he was afraid I'd disappear if he loosened his grip even a little and I clung to him with just as much desperation.

“I'm so sorry.” I breathed out as a tear slipped down my face.

He held me tighter. “I'm sorry too.” He mumbled against my hair.

When I pulled away slightly to get a closer look at his face, he flicked the tear on my face with his thumb and before I could say anything, he claimed my lips with a strange kind of urgency that made something throb between my thighs.