Chapter 4 Practice Makes Pressure
Jace
“Hurry up.”
Three years had changed her more than I’d expected. Her strawberry-blonde hair now fell past her shoulders, her freckles hadn’t disappeared, and those bright green eyes still gave away every emotion she tried to hide.
It didn’t matter.
She was still Kenzie Anderson.
She pulled out the chair across from mine without saying a word, carefully avoiding my eyes as she sat down, and I couldn’t help noticing how stiff her shoulders had become.
Good.
She remembered. She didn’t get to walk away from what happened while everyone else was expected to move on.
“Are you going to ask me questions or what?”
She blinked before finally looking up.
“Right… uhm…”
Her attention dropped to the worksheet resting between us.
“What is your name?”
I stared at her.
“Are you serious?”
“You asked me to ask you questions.”
“Jace Ryder.”
She nodded once and wrote it down before scanning the next question.
“Are you new? If you are, state your reason for coming to Westbrook High. If you aren’t, what does the school offer that makes you want to stay?”
“I don’t have an answer.”
She looked up.
“Really?”
I shrugged.
“You wanted an answer. I gave you one.”
“You can’t leave it blank.”
“Then make something up. I honestly don’t care.”
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and unlocked the screen, hoping she’d take the hint and stop talking.
“I’m not doing that.”
“Don’t be difficult.”
“I’m choosing not to lie.”
I looked up before I could stop myself.
“So you’ve suddenly developed a problem with lying?”
The words settled between us.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the pen.
For a brief moment, the room became painfully quiet. She didn’t argue, didn’t defend herself, didn’t even ask what I meant. Instead, she lowered her eyes to the worksheet again, taking a slow breath before speaking.
“I’ll just skip the question.”
“No.”
Her head lifted.
“What?”
“We’re finishing the assignment.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“So I’ve been told.”
She let out a quiet sigh that sounded suspiciously close to frustration before placing the worksheet flat on the desk.
“You know what? Forget it.”
“No.”
She frowned.
“No?”
“We’re doing the assignment.”
Her patience finally cracked.
“Oh my God, Jace. It’s been years.”
I almost laughed.
She said it as though three years had somehow erased everything, as though time fixed things she never apologized for.
“You aren’t even relevant anymore,” she finished.
I pushed my chair back and stood.
The legs scraped loudly against the classroom floor.
Before I could say a single word, the classroom door opened.
“There you are.”
Sean leaned casually against the doorway, one hand hooked around the strap of his backpack.
“Coach has been asking where you disappeared to.”
I glanced toward the clock above the whiteboard.
I was late for practice.
I’d completely forgotten the time.
Sean’s gaze shifted between Kenzie and me before an amused grin spread across his face.
“Well… this is unexpected.”
He stepped inside.
“Didn’t know there was someone at Westbrook Jace Ryder couldn’t intimidate.”
“I’m not trying to intimidate anyone.”
Sean looked directly at Kenzie.
“You buying that?”
She looked from him to me before answering without the slightest hesitation.
“Not even a little.”
She shoved the worksheet into her bag with far more force than necessary before slinging the strap over her shoulder.
“We’re not finished.”
She looked back at me.
“You have practice, and I have class.”
Then she walked out without another glance.
I watched her disappear into the hallway before turning toward the door myself.
“What was that about?” Sean asked as he fell into step beside me.
“What was what?”
“You know exactly what.”
“We got paired up for an assignment.”
“Oh.”
The hallway outside was already crowded, students hurried between classes as locker doors slammed shut one after another, conversations blending into a wall of noise that echoed through the building.
“I’ve got to admit, seeing you and Kenzie Anderson in the same classroom without somebody getting sent to the principal’s office was more peaceful than I expected.”
I scoffed. “It wasn’t.”
Sean laughed.
“You know, most people would’ve gotten over a high school grudge by now.”
“It isn’t a grudge.”
“What is it then?”
I didn’t answer.
He sighed.
“Yeah.” He looked ahead again.“That’s what I thought.”
The conversation ended as we pushed through the locker room doors.
The locker room buzzed with conversation as helmets hit benches and lockers slammed shut around us.
“Captain.”
Tony tossed me a football the second he saw me…
I caught it one-handed without breaking stride.
“Took you long enough,” Logan called while tightening the straps on his shoulder pads.
A few of the guys laughed as we finished getting changed before jogging out onto the field together.
Coach Thompson stood near the fifty-yard line with his clipboard tucked beneath one arm, watching every player spread into position with the kind of expression that made even the loudest guys think twice before speaking.
Before Coach could even blow his whistle, I noticed one of the freshmen receivers struggling to line up correctly.
“No,” I called.
He looked up immediately.
“You’re too wide.”
He glanced down at the painted lines before taking a nervous step sideways.
“Still too far.”
He adjusted again.
“There.”
He nodded quickly.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said. “Just fix it the first time tomorrow.”
“Got it.”
Coach noticed the exchange but said nothing.
A second later, his whistle echoed across the field.
Every conversation stopped.
“I hope you all enjoyed your summer,” Coach called, his voice carrying effortlessly from one end of the field to the other. “Because nobody we’re playing this season cares how much fun you had.”
“We’re ranked third in the division before playing a single game. That means absolutely nothing unless we prove we deserve it.”
He began pacing slowly in front of us.
“Our first three games will have college recruiters in the stands.”
Every head lifted.
“You’ve all been talking about scholarships since freshman year. Well congratulations, they’re coming.”
Silence settled over the field.
“They won’t care how many touchdowns you scored last season, they won’t care how popular you are, and they certainly won’t care whose name is stitched across the back of your jersey.”
His eyes found mine for the briefest moment.
“They’ll care what happens when the pressure starts.”
He looked across the team again.
“Captains.”
Tony and I stepped forward.
“I expect the rest of this team to follow your lead.”
“Yes, Coach,” we answered together.
“Good.”
His whistle pierced the afternoon air.
“Earn it.”
The next two hours disappeared into drills.
Every mistake earned another lap, every completed drill was immediately replaced with something harder, and every complaint was met with another whistle.
By the final conditioning run, nearly everyone looked exhausted.
One of the younger players stopped completely, hands resting on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.
I doubled back.
“Come on.”
“I’m trying,” he said.
“No,” I said, grabbing the football he’d dropped onto the grass and tossing it back into his hands. “You’re convincing yourself you’re done.”
He looked at me.
“You’ve got one lap left.”
“I can’t feel my legs.”
“Good. You don’t need to.
I started jogging again.
“You quitting now?”
He looked around. Nobody else had stopped.
With an exhausted groan, he pushed himself upright and started running again.
The rest of the team followed.
Nearly half an hour later, his whistle echoed one final time.
“That’s enough.”
Relief spread across the field almost instantly.
Tony walked past me, still breathing heavily.
“I hate that your motivational speeches actually work.”
“I didn’t give a speech.”
“You basically did.”
He took another drink.
I reached into my duffel for my own water bottle when my phone vibrated.
Richard Ryder.
My grip instinctively tightened.
I answered before the second ring.
“Sir.”
“You’ve finished practice.”
“Yes.”
“How did it go?”
“Good.”
A pause.
“I didn’t ask for an adjective.”
I stared across the empty field.
“We’re improving.”
“You should already be improved.”
“I spoke with Coach Thompson this morning,” he continued. “He informed me that recruiters will be attending your first three games.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I trust I don’t need to explain what’s at stake.”
“You don’t.”
“The Ryder name opens doors.” Another pause. “It also closes them.”
I remained silent.
“You’ve spent three years rebuilding your reputation.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t make me question whether that time was wasted.”
“I won’t.”
“I expect results, Jace.”
“You’ll have them.”
“See that I do.”
The call ended.
I lowered the phone and stared at the screen for several seconds before slipping it back into my bag.
Three years of discipline and following orders without question. Three years of rebuilding the future everyone thought I’d thrown away.
I should’ve left everything else behind too. Then I walked into Westbrook yesterday and Kenzie Anderson of all people sitting in that classroom.
And every memory I’d spent so long burying clawed its way back to the surface.
She still looked at me with the same confused expression she’d worn back then, like she genuinely couldn’t understand why I’d never forgiven her.
Maybe she didn’t.
Or maybe pretending was easier.
Either way, it changed nothing.
Military school had changed almost everything about me.
Just not the way I felt whenever I looked at Kenzie Anderson.
And that was exactly the problem.
