Chapter 34 Circling Threats
Dante's POV
Micah’s fingers were still curled around my second note when he stumbled out of the gym, breaths uneven, eyes glassy. He didn’t look back at me not directly but his shoulders trembled in that way I’d learned to read, the way that always meant he was holding too much inside. I let him go only because I needed to think. Someone had pushed him today, and not in the way I wanted to. Someone else had touched his variables, his performance, his body’s balance. And I wasn’t going to let that go.
The locker room emptied slowly, echoes of laughter bouncing off tile as teammates drifted out. I stayed behind under the pretense of reorganizing equipment. My jaw ached from grinding. Someone was playing games with Micah. Someone who didn’t understand that Micah was… tethered. To me. Even if he didn’t fully know it yet.
When I stepped into the hallway outside the gym, my eyes collided with Alison’s. She leaned against the vending machine, arms folded, wearing an expression that felt too composed, too knowing. She didn’t smile. She didn’t even nod. She just looked, long enough to make the hair on the back of my neck rise. She tilted her head slightly, like she was weighing something. That was all. No words. No smirk. But it was enough to lodge her in my thoughts like a thorn.
I moved past her, but she pivoted subtly as if tracking Micah’s earlier path. My grip tightened on my bag. Whoever had switched his drink, pushed his body into collapse, tried to get between us Alison suddenly felt dangerously plausible.
The next day, I made practice brutal. Quietly brutal. The kind where no one could say I singled Micah out, but everyone could see who I was watching. I adjusted drills on the fly so he was always in my line of sight passing lanes that required him to move toward me, rotations that kept him within arm’s reach. At one point I stepped behind him to correct his footwork, my palm resting lightly on his hip bone. Too lightly to be necessary. Too firmly to be casual.
Micah’s breath hitched even over the squeak of sneakers, I heard it. “Shift your weight,” I murmured, low enough only he could hear. “You’re leaning forward. You’ll fall again.” His shoulders stiffened. “I ..I’m fine.” “You weren’t yesterday.” He swallowed hard, his pulse fluttering against my arm when I steadied him. And for a second, the gym blurred out. It was just him and me and the silent question trembling in the air between us. Then a whistle blew and the spell broke. But the tension didn’t.
Halfway through drills, Max approached. I sensed him even before he spoke, he carried the kind of energy that announced itself. “Dante.” His tone was strained, already on edge. I didn’t turn right away. “Run the play again,” I called to the team. Only when they moved did I shift my attention to him.
Max planted himself in front of me, arms crossed. “What’s your deal with Micah?” My jaw ticked. “My deal?” “You’re on him every second. Everyone sees it.” I let silence stretch until he shifted uncomfortably. Then I smiled slow, patient, cutting. “You’re worried about how I coach?” “I’m worried you’re obsessed,” he snapped before he could stop himself. A few heads turned. Micah froze mid-pass. I kept my voice calm, almost gentle. “Obsessed? Max… that’s a strong word. Are you feeling insecure about your own performance?”
His face flushed instantly. “That’s not...” “Because if you are,” I continued, tone still soft but heavy enough to press on him, “I can schedule extra sessions. You need the work.” A few teammates snorted quietly. Max’s ears went red. “That’s not what I...” “Then focus on your drills,” I said smoothly. “Let me worry about mine.” It wasn’t technically humiliation, but the effect was unmistakable. Max’s fists clenched, but he backed away, jaw tight, eyes burning. Not at the team at me. And I let him. Watching him return to the court like a storm cloud barely held together.
But the moment I looked at Micah again, Max’s glare sharpened from across the gym. He wasn’t backing off not really. He was retreating to rethink. Good. I preferred opponents who telegraphed their next move.
During water break, I scanned the players. Alex was joking with two guards. Clean energy. No guilt. Max was brooding, shooting daggers at me between sips. But Alison who wasn’t even on the team stood near the entrance with her camera bag, claiming to be updating media content, though she wasn’t taking photos. She watched Micah wipe sweat from his forehead. Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t watching the team, she was watching us.
My stomach went cold. Someone had shaken Micah, and I was done pretending it might’ve been random. I circled back toward the court. “Partner passing,” I called. “Micah. With me.” His head snapped up. His lips parted like he meant to argue, but he didn’t. He jogged toward me, nervous energy rolling off his skin. I tossed him the ball and let him feel the weight of my stare. “Eyes here,” I said. He lifted them slowly, pupils dilating when they met mine. His chest rose too fast. “You good?” I asked—soft, quiet, intimate in a way no one else could hear.
He nodded, then shook his head, then flushed with frustration. “I… I don’t know,” he whispered. I caught the ball, stepped closer. “Then stay with me.” His breath hitched again. And God, the way he looked at me—ike he hated how much he needed that sentence. Like he didn’t know how not to need it.
Max kicked a stray ball across the court, loud enough to make Micah flinch. I turned sharply. Max pretended not to notice. Threat confirmed. By the end of practice, Micah’s cheeks were flushed, not from exhaustion but from a tension neither of us addressed directly. When he headed toward the locker room, rubbing at his forearm like he was trying to calm himself, Max cut him off too quick, too deliberate.
I moved before I even realized it. Max leaned in, voice low but sharp. “He’s using you, Micah. Can’t you see that?” Micah froze, eyes wide. I stepped up beside them, smiling as if I’d simply wandered into the conversation. “Everything okay here?” Max stiffened instantly. “We’re talking.” “I can tell.” I tilted my head, still wearing that calm, polished smile I knew infuriated him. “But practice is over. Give him some space.” Max’s jaw worked. “He doesn’t need your permission to talk to people.” “But you need mine to interrupt my players’ cooldown,” I replied lightly. Micah’s eyes darted between us, panic creeping in. The tension was too much. I put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him just slightly back toward the lockers. “Go ahead, Micah.” He didn’t argue. He moved. And the second he was out of earshot, Max leaned in. “You think you can control everyone, but you’re slipping. People are noticing.” I laughed quietly. “Are they?” His glare was answer enough.
“Careful, Max,” I murmured. “You’re starting to sound paranoid.” He stepped back, chest rising too quickly, fists clenched. I watched him walk off, steps sharp, shoulders tense. He wasn’t giving up. He was preparing for a fight. Good. I was preparing too.
When the gym emptied, when the lights dimmed and echoes died, I sat alone on the bleachers, elbows on my knees. Pieces were moving around Micah touching him, confusing him, pulling him in directions that weren’t mine. Max. Alison. Possibly Alex. Too many hands where they didn’t belong. My fingers curled around the edge of the bench. Micah was getting hurt, shaken, poisoned literally or not and I wasn’t letting anyone else get close enough to break him. Especially not someone who thought they understood him more than I did. Especially not someone who called me obsessed.
I stood, gathering my bag. Max thinks he’s the one protecting Micah. He’s wrong. I walked out of the gym, the plan already forming in my mind methodical, precise, inevitable. I’ll take care of Max first.