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“Shit,” I hear Coach say before he dashes from the sideline across the field. He hollers to the trainer to find Connor’s bag.

I know where Connor left his bag. It’s under the bench I’ve been sitting on since the match began. I hunch between mine and Malik’s legs, grab it, and run it to the trainer.

When I turn back to the bench, Malik is shaking his head, sighing a curse word under his breath.

“What’s going on?” I ask, feeling dumb.

Malik nods to the field and says, “Guessing the con-man got stung. Dude is deathly allergic to bees.”

“Fuck, is he gonna be okay?” I turn toward the field to try to catch a glimpse, but all I can see past the bodies of those surrounding Connor is that he’s laid up on his back.

“He should be good,” Malik says. “He’s always got an EpiPen in his bag, but last time this happened, they pulled him and took him to the ER, just in case. You never know with that shit.”

Coach and the trainer walk Connor off the field to a chorus of claps, and the trainer takes Connor away while Coach snaps his fingers in my direction.

“You’re in!” he calls to me, and my heart stops for a second. Concern for myself immediately replaces my concern for Connor. It all happens in a flurry, time moving too quickly for my mind to keep up. Coach is behind me at some point, saying words to me that should pump me up. My heart issure pumping, but it’s more nausea I feel. Then the ref gives the go-ahead, and I’m on the field, jogging toward Rowan on instinct but stopping short when I remember where the hell I’m supposed to be. I have to glance at the score cards just to remember what the score is. We’re up 2-1. Not much room for error.

And just like that, the match is back on.

In a flash, I have to recall everything I know and everything Rowan taught me. Suddenly, it all comes back. Adrenaline takes the wheel. I focus on the ball, where the opponents are, and where my teammates are. I listen for their voices, and I track the plays.

The strangest part in all this is that I’m finally playing on Rowan’s side. He doesn’t chide me or tease me. When he tells me to stay on him, it’s not to defend against him, but to protect him.

I got you.

He’d been working with me on my offense, but defense comes naturally, especially now, when I’ve got Cal on our asses, scouts in the stands, and our team is so far undefeated. I can’t let the first time we lose be the first game I’m put into.

I take the ball when I’m open and get it to Rowan or Levi as soon as they’re open and calling out to me. Then I’m doing everything I can to put my body in front of the opponents, making it harder for them to make a steal.

When a man in blue and gold has a ball dribbling between his feet, I’m on him like it’s life or death while keeping my arms back to make sure I don’t foul.

If I can just get the ball to Rowan—

The ball comes loose, and I make the pass, hoping like hell Rowan is still as open as he was two seconds ago. Like a hawk, he swoops in, takes possession, and flies across the field withhis eyes on the goal. Cal’s goalie readies himself for the attack, and just then, Rowan kicks the ball into the opposite corner, a clean strike right into the net.

3-1 now.

No time to celebrate, but inside I’m freaking out with joy.

When the game clock runs down, we’re victorious. The elation on everyone’s faces eclipses our sheer exhaustion, and a new sort of adrenaline kicks in. We cheer, pat each other on the back, and fuck up each other’s greasy hair. We tell our opponentsgood gamebefore hitting the locker room, then Coach gives us a rundown of what he saw out on the field, and how proud he is of us. The usual post-match pep talk I’ve gotten used to over the past weeks.

Mid-speech, Coach’s hard stare zeros in on me. “And let’s give a round to Tommy, who managed not to barf all over the field.”

The team howls with laughter, and my face goes a shade redder.

“In all seriousness,” Coach says, coming forward to clap me on the shoulder, “Good work out there, kid.”

I nod the compliment away, feeling bashful, and I look at Rowan, because it’s only his approval that means much to me. Across the aisle, standing against the lockers, he stares at me with a look that isn’t hiding anything—all hunger and passion, like Rowan could swallow me whole at any moment.Please do.

Once we’re all showered, changed, and back on the bus, Coach surprises us with lunch at a local pizza arcade, and we all become giddy like children. Connor and the trainer meet us at the restaurant, and Levi gives him an animated rundown of the match post-bee sting.

I’m holding my palm over my mouth to keep from cackling the pizza out of my mouth when Levi starts in on an impression of me.

“Tommy,” Rowan’s voice says above me, tapping my bicep.

I look up, and he’s nodding for me to follow him. I take a quick swig of Coke to wash down my bite, then hop up and follow in Rowan’s wake. It’s a snaking path across the dining hall, through the arcade, and down a narrow hallway with doors leading to the kitchen and the restrooms. Rowan leaves through the door at the very end that swings open to reveal daylight.

Curiously, I follow him into what looks like an alleyway behind the restaurant, but I don’t have many seconds to process where we’re at before Rowan is shoving me against the brick wall.