Page 9

“YOU’RE NEVER LATE, man!”

Bowen’s ever-loud voice assaulted Atticus as he burst into the locker room. He tossed his bag onto a bench. The very bag that was the reason he was late. He’d left it at home when he and Kai had gone back out to the party venue to get Kai’s car.

Atticus figured he was the only one to blame, his giddy excitement at having his crush spend the night again pushing all other thoughts out of his head like he was back in high school. He’d hurried back home after dropping Kai off, snatching up his practice gear before rushing to the gym.

“Not late yet,” Atticus replied, tapping on his phone’s screen before chucking it into his locker. “A minute to spare.”

“Bo’s right though,” Eric, their libero, sang as he damn near bounced across the locker room. Too much energy in one person. “You’re always fifteen minutes early. Must have been something special that kept you away if you’re just now getting here.”

Atticus ignored him, changing quickly. He tugged his maroon practice jersey over his head, and damn his traitorous mind, he couldn’t help but picture Kai in the same color. Kai, wearing his jersey, with the name ‘Mills’ stamped across his back.

“Ohoho,” Bowen cheered, coming up behind Atticus and slapping him on the back so hard Atticus nearly banged his head into the open locker door. He glared at his wing spiker. Bowen only grinned back, his smile wide and all too knowing.

“He has a very special reason for being late.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bo.” There wasn’t any true heat in Atticus' response, even if his gut did suddenly feel too heavy. He knew what was coming next.

“Aw, c’mon man, don’t be like that!” A thick arm slung around his shoulder as Bowen aimed his words toward the rest of the team filing out the door.

“I saw you leave the party last night, and you were very much not alone. Let us live vicariously through you, none of us have the luck you do when it comes to getting laid!”

Heat rose to his cheeks, despite Atticus' best efforts. Most of the team ignored them as they left the locker room, with only Eric stopping to reach out a hand for a high five as he passed. A few chuckles that echoed off the metal lockers, ringing through Atticus.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Atticus ducked his head, slipping out of Bowen’s grip.

“Sure I do,” Bowen sang, trailing behind him. “I saw you leave with Kai last night. Saw how close you two looked before that.” Another slap on Atticus' back, one that packed a sting that shot through him. “Been a while since you hooked up with somebody a second time.”

“Bowen.”

The sharp voice, tinted with a southern drawl, rang out from behind them, right as Atticus was about to open the door. He turned to see Kieran McCullough, their team captain and starting middle blocker, standing impatiently behind them.

“Out,” Kieran ordered, pointing at the door before planting his hands on the backs of Atticus and Bowen’s heads and shoving them forward. “Now. We’re late.”

The three of them burst into the gym, the sounds of their teammates running drills already echoing throughout the space, shouts for the ball, the squeak of shoes on the shiny wood flooring, the sharp trill of Coach Rodriguez’s whistle.

Bowen jogged off, Kieran stepping up beside Atticus to take his place as they walked toward the court.

“Thanks man,” Atticus said, voice low.

Kieran only shrugged. “Bo doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about eighty-percent of the time.”

“What about the other twenty?”

A chuckle escaped Kieran. “All golden retriever energy, no thoughts at all. That’s why you love him.”

Atticus huffed, but he couldn’t deny it. “When did you get back?”

“About an hour ago.” Kieran sighed, running a hand over his scruffy face before reaching up to tie his chin-length tawny waves into a loose bun.

“Your dad okay?”

“He’s fine. Just overdid it in the sun yesterday morning.”

The whole team had received a text the morning prior letting them know that their captain might miss a couple practices.

His father had collapsed in a field on the family farm, and Kieran had needed to rush home, a two and a half hour drive from the city.

Tension had been high in the group chat, considering the fact that these were their last practices before the start of the season that coming weekend.

Kieran was always a steady presence on their team, gentle- if firm- and he always knew how to wrangle their rowdy bunch into something special on the court.

He’d only been with the Cats for a single season, having accepted a deal the year before and leaving the St. Louis Hawks.

All so he could be closer to home, closer to the farm that had begun to take up more and more of his time.

“Glad he’s okay,” Atticus said, slinging an arm around Kieran’s shoulder.

They’d grown up two towns apart, had played together in middle and high school.

Kieran had always been around, and both Atticus and Sammie had felt the loss of their friend when he’d left to play for the Hawks right out of high school.

It was good to have him back, even if Atticus did worry about the bags under his friend’s eyes and the way he seemed more and more stretched thin.

“Sammie sent him an edible arrangement.” Kieran chuckled. “He loved it. Ate the whole thing and bragged to the doctor about her like she’s one of his own kids.”

Atticus held back a wince. Sammie would not like the idea of being considered a sister to Kieran. Considering the fact that she’d been pretty solidly in love with him since middle school.

“She said you’re bringing her some grain this week?” They’d reached the court, and Atticus fell into his warm up stretches with ease, Kieran mirroring the motions.

“I’m going back to the farm in a couple days to check in on dad again.” He stretched one arm across his broad chest, breathing out slowly before switching to the other arm. “I’ll bring her pallets back with me.”

Atticus only nodded, biting his lip to keep from saying anything more. Sammie would murder him slowly and viciously if he made any comment about how much she looked forward to the days when Kieran dropped off her grain shipment at the brewery.

Their conversation trailed off and Atticus went through the rest of his warm-up in silence. There was still a nagging at the back of his mind, an annoying stab like a splinter that had lodged into place when Bowen had been ragging on him for taking Kai home.

It hadn’t been like that . Atticus hated the idea that his team, that his friends, might have gotten the wrong idea about why Kai had left with Atticus. Even Julian had jumped to the conclusion that it was another hookup when he’d texted Atticus that morning.

Atticus moved into position as they began to play in earnest, taking his place to serve. A deep breath in. Hold. He met Bowen’s eyes across the net, his teammate glowing with excitement to get this practice match going. Hold .

A flick of his wrists had the ball soaring into the air.

Atticus stepped forward, once, twice, launching himself up.

He put all of his frustration, all of his annoyance at how people perceived him, how his friends perceived him, into the serve, slamming his hand into the ball to send it crashing across the net.

Bowen executed a perfect dig, sending the ball toward Aaron Jacobs, their second-string setter.

Aaron’s set was a little wobbly, sweat already beading on his dark brown skin.

He’d gone too hard in the warm up, and his stance was just a little off.

Atticus made a mental note to set aside some time to work with the rookie later in the week.

When Bowen leapt up for the spike he was blocked by Kieran. After a quick scramble, they finally got the ball to sail back over the net.

Eric crashed to his knees, but bumped the ball just right. “Second touch!”

Atticus was ready, eyes trailing the ball.

This was his moment, a second touch meant for the setter.

He was blinded by the bright lights above for the span of a single breath, but it didn’t matter.

He knew exactly where to be, arms up and ready, back arching as he pushed off the floor.

He might be a fuck up in life, unable to break past the reputation he’d built for himself.

Unable to win over the only heart he’d ever truly been interested in.

But he was a damn good setter.

The second touch landed perfectly against his fingers. Atticus locked eyes with Kieran at the same moment. His captain was already in motion, had known from the second that Atticus leapt for the ball where he would be needed.

A flawless set, the ball arching toward Kieran, who was already flying toward it, arm swinging forward and down. The players on the other side weren’t ready, a heartbeat behind as two of them launched themselves up. A moment too late as Kieran slammed a cut shot past them.

Atticus felt it, the crash of the volleyball against the wooden floor.

Felt the vibration in the soles of his feet, echoing up into his chest, through his body.

This was what he loved about volleyball.

The way he felt connected to it all. To the ball, to the court, to his teammates.

They were all one organism, working in tandem, complementing, supporting.

It didn’t matter if they ragged on each other, didn’t matter if Bowen drove Atticus up a wall with his teasing comments that didn’t land quite right.

That feeling of making it all work, making it all come together. The way Atticus was at the core of it all, the whole team relying on him to set the ball just so . There was nothing like it.

As their teams reset, Atticus taking his place behind the line to ready for another serve, he couldn’t help but wish that everything else was as easy for him as volleyball. Couldn’t help but wish he could find the perfect set in everything else, as whiskey-colored eyes flashed in his mind.