Chapter 30

Amelia's POV

Nine hours ago, I sent Samuel a message asking if he'd had dinner.

He didn't reply. I told myself he was probably tired from training, and that courage I'd spent days gathering quietly dissipated. I flipped my phone face-down and never picked it up again.

Two hours ago, I finished my makeup, mentally rehearsed the cheerleading routine twice, and solemnly decided not to think about Samuel.

He had his things. I had mine.

An hour ago, I met up with my teammates near the east tunnel. Evelyn waved at me from the stands. Then we watched the team jog onto the field, helmets gleaming under the lights, cleats crisp against the turf—we lined up along the sideline, and I focused all my attention on the countdown in Cassidy's eyes.

Samuel walked at the front. Compared to many veterans on the team, his face still held a youthful quality, but his eyes were sharp as blades—fearless, determined to win.

He walked straight past me, head turned to look the other way. My hand hung at my side, thinking about the beat of step-touch into pivot.

We passed each other by.

The performance went smoothly. Better than smoothly, even.

Cassidy showed a genuine smile. I blended seamlessly into the team—over twenty girls waving pom-poms together, the atmosphere electric.

After the opening performance, my teammates gathered by the railing near the sideline, loose and excited as they watched the field. Some of the veterans were already making plans.

"Drinks after the game?" Susan announced, counting heads. "Did you guys see that black-haired player who just passed by? Anyone have his number?"

Only half my attention was on her words. My eyes had already drifted to the field.

I never knew Samuel could be this fast.

A few clean, efficient gestures, and the entire offense realigned. He didn't shout—he didn't need to. The people around him just moved, as if he had some internal frequency and the whole team had been tuned to the same channel. The moment he released the ball, the stands erupted, and I felt it too—he was glowing.

His athletic figure, efficient commands, and sharp eyes were inspiring the entire team. His talent was on full display in this moment. He was the undisputed core.

I kept watching him.

"There it is," came a pleased voice beside me.

Cassidy held up her phone.

"Keep that smile," she said. "That's the smile I wanted. Not easy—you finally look human."

"She spotted someone she likes," Susan said slyly, following my gaze toward the field. "Look at that expression. That's the expression."

My teammates laughed. I let them laugh, my gaze shifting away for just a moment.

Then—

"Tweet-tweet—"

A sharp, urgent whistle cut through everything.

The referee blew the whistle. The intense play stopped immediately.

I couldn't figure out what happened—I only saw players surging in one direction. Cassidy stood on her toes to look, then covered her mouth and drew in a sharp breath.

"Sss—"

The crowd parted, and I saw it.

Samuel was down on one knee, his dirty-blond hair covered in—blood!

So much blood.

Too far away to see clearly, I could only make out that half his face was stained red!

In that moment, all the color drained from the world, leaving only the red on him.

So much blood. What happened?

Who hit him? Why didn't I see it?

Did it reach the bone?

So much blood... What would happen to Samuel? What happens when someone loses a lot of blood?

My mind was a mess. Rationality disappeared somewhere, and I jumped straight to the worst possibility.

Would I lose him?

I stood there, pom-poms still in hand, stiffly trying to retrieve my rationality.

Who was Samuel?

He was one of maybe four people in my entire life who had ever truly loved me.

My mother once, Evelyn, perhaps Joseph, and then Samuel—after I told him we were over, he said he wouldn't leave, that he would wait.

Was he leaving now?

My feet moved faster than my brain.

Before I realized it, I had already dashed onto the field and was stumbling forward.

Cassidy called my name. I didn't stop.

I pushed through those tall players and threw myself in front of Samuel, dropping to my knees on the turf, cupping his face in both hands to examine him closely.

His left eye seemed swollen. Blood had soaked through his jersey and was now seeping into mine, but I didn't care. I pressed my palms against both sides of his head, as if sheer force could hold everything together.

My voice was wrong—I was shaking. "Why is there so much blood... You... Don't leave! I won't allow it!"

He smiled. Dazed, absurd, thoroughly and maddeningly Samuel-like foolish grin.

He said something I didn't catch.

Then he patted me reassuringly and turned to the referee: "I can continue. No concussion. Surface wound—I can play once it's stopped bleeding."

"You should come off," I said.

He looked at me: "I'll win this for you."

"That's not what matters most."

He smiled again: "Trust me."

Two words. I exhaled.

His temperature was normal, pulse neither too fast nor too slow. The medical staff wiped his face clean, revealing the wound above his eyebrow—deep, but indeed nothing vital.

"Okay..." I forced myself to be rational.

This was his first game. A critically important battle for him.

It would determine whether this new captain could earn everyone's recognition.

Most importantly... he loved football.

I pressed down my trembling hands and said quietly: "I'll be on the sideline. I'll be watching you."