Tiago
Yannik: "You need my help, like it or not."
Yannik: "I'm talking about History, by the way."
According to the location Yannik sent me, she lives close byâten minutes by car, tops. Too bad I'm not stupid enough to let someone's girl mess with me.
But delusional? Maybe.
I've been staring at the screen for too long now, consumed by my internal debate. Long enough to dissociate, the surroundings merging into a noise buzzing in my head. Sometimes it becomes so loud the deafening sound feels like silence, wrapping around me, forcing me to feel my own heartbeat.
Somewhere in my throat, blocking the air.
"Oh, fuck me dead!"
Some things, in certain tones, still jab at the shield, aiming for the most vulnerable point.
"Maybe he's not that great after all!" I hear the anger in his voiceâthe burning disappointment he's feeling at this exact moment. "He failed the fucking tryouts, Ruby. Open your eyes!"
Only then do I look up, my eyes detaching from the screen. The first thing I see is myself, like looking into a mirror.
Myself, but older. A face creased with fury, marked by a massive scar stretching from eyebrow to jaw.
A scar that's a constant reminder of who he isâand who he'll always be.
"Calm down, Rhys, he just got nervous..."
Mum's voice sounds calm, a sharp contrast to Dad's. But she's not calm, though. I can hear the tremor in her vocal cords, a useless attempt to soothe the storm around her.
"Nervous? I don't give a rat's arse about that." Of course you don't. You never care about emotions unless it's rage. "Do you remember when he promised he'd handle it? When he stuffed it up* at his last schoolâdo you remember that?"
The lump in my throat grows so large I can't help but clench my fists under the table, my eyes fixed back on the screen.
Come on, give me a sign.
Give me a valid reason to trust you.
Something more than a stupid hope that you can fix my shit.
Because since last year, it feels like there's more than enough for me to drown in.
"Rhys..."
When I look at Mum, she's looking at me. She doesn't need to say what she's feeling; I already know. She doesn't want me here, doesn't want me to hear. But I'm still at the dining table, sitting there as Dad paces in front of me, his energy so overwhelming he doesn't even let Mum speak.
"Always cleaning up his crap, and then you're the one crying about it." He stops to take a deep breath, and his eyes snap back to me just as mine flicker down to check for new messages. "And what kind of fucking idiot just sits there, mouth shut, like nothing's happening?"
He's low-key right. I'm just here, blending into the furniture, wishing I could disappear so no one can remind me of my mess.
"I can't do much, Dad. I tried talking to Coach..."
I can't finish because Dad snaps, his glare piercing straight through me.
"Then stop pissing about* and show him what you can bloody do, Santiago!" His voice booms like thunder, then instantly quiets, leaving behind a sneer. "Unless you can't, and that's why you're out."
"Stop it, Rhys." Mum sounds as decisive as ever. It's a pity she still hasn't learned that no words can stop this mess.
It's been here too long to be cleaned up by talking.
"I'll stop when our son grows a pair and starts doing more than nothing! Always sooking* like a bloody wimp..."
My body doesn't feel like mine when I stand up, my legs numb and weak as I walk out of the dining room. The constant noise fades until it's completely gone, dissolving into the growing weight of guilt.
"Tiago, wait!"
I hear Mum clearly, but I don't hesitate. I don't even look back, because I already know what I'd see.
Disappointment.
"You can't talk about him like this! What is wrong with you?" Mum's voice is quieter now as I slowly, step by step, reach the stairs.
"With me?"
The disbelief in Dad's voice is palpable.
And maybe, for the first time ever, I think he's right.
Because if I wasn't so caught up sooking about how hard it is for me, I'd already be thereâwearing the number Coach Beckett assigned to me, part of the Wolves, like it was supposed to be.
In my dreams is where it was supposed to be. Because real life is different.
I've dreamed big since I was a kid. Traveled from star to star, losing myself here but being reborn there, in another realm where there was nothing but relief.
No distress. No pain. No hopelessness.
"You've taken it too far, Rhys."
No, this time he didn't.
I see what he sees. It's here, captured in the pictures lining the staircase.
The pride in Dad's eyes back then. It's been ten years since that joyful smile of a proud fatherâthe one he gave me when I won my very first game.
He always wanted me to be something. Then, something more than that something.
Always one step ahead. Always better than myself.
"Our son's going through a rough time. He needs us. He needs you."
And I don't know who I really need. The only thing I crave is a chance to go back, to restore what I had back then. I need myselfâthe old me who was on top.
But not the old me who got into the mess I'm in now.
"All he needs is to pull his bloody head in, but he won't, 'cause he never deals with his crap."
I don't. He's right.
It's just a matter of time before I accept it.
I'm the one who has to fix my business. Whatever it takes, whatever the price, I need to do itâfor myself.
"Always running back to you to bail him out."
For him. To show my father I'm not the spineless kid he sees.
"He's bloody hopeless, Ruby."
That I'm not. That I'm what he wants me to be.
When I storm into my room, my body is about to collapse as it always does. It takes effort to head to the desk, grab my keys, and dash back downstairs.
I feel the keys biting into my palm as I squeeze them in my fist. Or maybe it's my nails digging into my flesh. At this point, I have too much to deal with.
The mess of voices grows louder as I pass the dining roomâmy parents still discussing their hopeless sonâwhile I open the garage door.
It's cooler here. Despite the lingering summer heat, I can feel the fall creeping under my skin.
Me: Coming in five.
I catch myself repeating her name in my head, and once I hear the engine roar, nothing can stop me from heading to her house.
I can't think straight, my heart pounding inside my chest, begging to be released. The hunger, the thrill of successâI already feel it.
I can almost hold it in my hands, this phantom sensation of glory.
I see the cream-colored house before I manage to park properly. The adrenaline rushing through my veins makes everything spin as I get out of the car.
This is when I see the copper hair in the doorway.
"Let's fucking do it!" I hear the voice shouting, but it takes me a few moments to realize it's mine. So eager. So distressed. "Anything you want, I'm up for it."
I walk fastâso fastâbut it's not enough to shake off the desperation, the hopelessness.
"I want it. Whatever you've got." My voice is shaky, but the anger I feel is bigger than my shame, and it pours out of me in excess. "Anything you want from me, just tell me the fucking price!"
Yannik is walking calmly, unlike me, and we meet on the sidewalk by her house. She knows I'm shouting but doesn't ask me to lower my voice. Instead, she stands in front of me, her lopsided, predatory grin level with my collarbones.
"You think you can buy what I want?" Her husky voice is almost a whisper. My jaw is so tight it takes effort to talk again, now that I have those hazel eyes on me.
At night, they're as dark as a deep forest in fall.
"Everything has a price," I force myself to speak, my voice tense and thick.
The grin on Yannik's face grows wider. She tries to suppress it, but I can still see the hunger in her mischievous smile.
"What's yours, Santiago?"
Everything around me is screaming. All my organs are screaming too. My brain is begging me to stop, to take a breath and turn aroundâto leave this girl in the past, far behind.
But I know she'll keep existing in my fantasies. My heart knows.
There's no more running now.
No more mess, so my heart can stop hiding.
"Do you have a price?" She savors every word, watching for my reaction, but I stay still, my body made of stone.
She's testing me, seeing how far she can go. And my job is to let her do itâbecause we both know who calls the shots.
Yannik.
For the first time, it feels right to say her name.
"I do," I exhale, feeling the heat radiating from her body even though she's half a yard away. Deep inside, far from where common sense reigns, I want to close the distance completelyâabsorb every drop of her warmth.
"Then I want you."
Her eyes stay locked on mine, steady and unrelenting, looking straight through me. Crawling into my head like a disease, a toxin I can't purge.
"It can't be it..." I stutter, and she nods, unbothered. I swallow, my throat dry and raw. "What's the catch, Yannik?"
Her playful expression ignites my anger but keeps me rooted to the spot. I stay. I listen.
I feel her all over me.
"No catch," she says, licking her lips. "No kiss. No feelings. Just you."
Yannik is tempting me, testing my limits. She knows I can't say no.
"A deal, then."
I hold out my hand, a silent question hanging in the air.
I can't be sure of everything that's in her head, but I know a piece of it.
A dirty, greedy part that sees me as her prey.
And I accept it, because my need for her help outweighs my self-respect.
"A deal."
Her hand in mine feels so small. We come to an agreement, shaking hands, and all I can think about is how soft her skin is, how intoxicating her perfume smells, and how wicked are the demons in her smile.
Yannik gives me another chance to startâa hope to cling to.
But she also gives me desperation.
As her hand grips mine, she's unleashing the desires I've worked so hard to bury.
And the fact that she knows about them is the worst part. I see it in her eyes, in the way she looks at me.
And I can't help but savor it.
My mind instantly conjures an imageâvivid and blindingly realâreinforced by her words spinning relentlessly in my head:
I want you.
I don't do boyfriends, Santiago.
No kiss. No feelings.
Just you.
The words repeat like a curse. Invasive. Unstoppable. Too powerful to resist.
So I sign the contract, shaking hands with the devil to bring me where I want to be.
To the top.
***
Stuff (something) up: ruin (slang, Australia)
Piss about: do nothing, waste time (slang, Australia)
Sook: complain (slang, Australia)