My Brother's Best Friend, My Greatest Rival

Maya's POV

“You really think Coach is going to let you start this season?”

I kept running.

The cold October air burned the back of my throat. Stadium lights turned the track into a washed-out white oval.

Four in the morning. Empty bleachers. The only hour they would let a girl lace up with the rest of the roster without cameras or commentary.

Ryan Mitchell’s voice floated up behind me, lazy and sharp at the same time.

“I’m not asking Coach for permission.”

He laughed.

The sound bounced off the metal and concrete.

“That’s the problem, Carter. You actually think you belong here.”

I glanced over my shoulder.

Ryan ran three strides back, Tyler Cole and Marcus Reed flanking him like loyal shadows. Sweat already darkened the collars of their long sleeves. Ryan’s mouth curved into that same smirk he’d worn since spring ball,the one that said he was waiting for me to fail so he could be right.

“Keep talking.”

“Gladly.”

His foot suddenly hooked behind my ankle.

I went down hard.

The pain hit first,raw, sharp, and absolute.

My palms screamed as they skidded across the rubberized track, the friction tearing skin open in two long, burning scrapes. Blood welled instantly, hot and sticky, smearing under my fingers as momentum carried me forward another half-second before I crumpled. The impact jarred up through my wrists into my elbows. My knees followed, one of them catching hard enough that I tasted copper when my teeth clicked together.

Laughter suddenly through the pre-dawn air like a blade.

I stayed down for one heartbeat.

Two. The stadium lights hummed overhead, washing the empty bleachers and the long oval of the track in cold white. Four in the morning. The only time the coaches would let me train with the team without the cameras and the comments and the endless fucking commentary about a girl who thought she belonged on a football field.

I pushed up onto my forearms. Blood dripped in slow, dark dots onto the track surface. My chest heaved. Somewhere behind me someone snorted.

“Damn, Carter. You always this graceful?”

Ryan Mitchell’s voice. I didn’t need to look to know the smirk that came with it. I rolled onto my side, palms stinging, and shoved myself upright. The world tilted for a second. Sweat mixed with blood and dripped off my chin. My sports bra clung to my ribs. The long-sleeve compression shirt I’d worn against the October chill was already soaked through at the back.

I turned.

Ryan stood ten yards back with two of the other defensive backs,Tyler Cole and Marcus Reed,grinning like they’d just pulled off the funniest prank of the semester. Ryan’s cleats were still planted where he’d stuck his foot out.

Classic.

Childish.

And effective.

My pulse hammered in my throat. Rage flooded in right behind the pain, so hot it almost felt clean.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

Three long strides closed the distance. Ryan’s eyes widened a fraction too late. My shoulder slammed into his chest. He staggered backward, heels catching on the first row of the metal bleachers. The impact rang out,hollow, metallic,and he went down hard between the seats, legs tangled, cursing.

“What the fuck…”

I was on him before he could finish. My bloody hands fisted in the front of his shirt. I hauled him halfway up just so I could shove him back down again. Metal rattled. Someone shouted my name from farther down the track.

“You think that’s funny?” My voice came out low and rough, scraped raw from the cold air and the five miles we’d already run. “You think tripping me is a joke?”

Ryan’s face flushed dark under the lights. He shoved at my wrists. “Get off me, psycho…”

I shoved harder.

My palms left red smears across the gray fabric of his shirt. “Say it again. Call me graceful one more time.”

“You’re the one who can’t stay on your feet!” Ryan snarled, twisting under me. His elbow clipped my ribs.

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy trying to prove you’re one of the guys, you’d watch where the hell you’re going!”

Tyler hovered a few steps away, hands half-raised. “Whoa, Maya … come on, it was just …”

“Shut up, Tyler,” I snapped without looking at him. My knee dug into the metal seat beside Ryan’s hip. Blood ran warm down the inside of my wrists and dripped onto his chest. “You think this is a game? You stick your foot out like we’re in middle school and then laugh when I hit the ground?”

Marcus shifted his weight, glancing toward the far end of the track. “Coach is gonna hear this. Just let him up.”

“Let him up?” I leaned in until my nose was almost touching Ryan’s. “He doesn’t get to laugh and walk away. Not this time.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed into ugly slits. He shoved harder at my arms.

“You’re the joke, Carter. Everybody knows it. You think running with us at four in the morning makes you part of the team? You’re a distraction. A PR stunt. And when you finally get someone hurt because you’re trying to keep up, don’t cry about it.”

Something white-hot exploded behind my eyes. I drove my forearm across his collarbone and pinned him harder. The bleachers groaned under the pressure.

“I am part of this team,” I hissed. “And if you ever put your foot out in front of me again, I will break it. Do you understand me?”

“Maya!”

The shout came from the far end of the track. Coach Harlan’s voice, sharp with early-morning irritation. Footsteps pounded closer,more than one set. I didn’t look up. Ryan’s face had gone mottled with fury and humiliation.

He twisted again, voice rising. “You hear yourself? Threatening me? That’s assault. I could report you right now and they’d cut you so fast …”

“Then report me,” I shot back. “Go ahead. Tell them you tripped a teammate on purpose and got your ass handed to you for it. See how that looks in the report.”