Chapter 4: Soft

SEBASTIAN’S POV

Some old-school country tune poured through the speakers of my Jeep, the mellow beat syncing perfectly with the rhythm of my fingers drumming against the steering wheel. I bobbed my head, singing along with the song. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the disgust all over my best friend's face, who was sitting beside me on the passenger seat. My grin widened as I reached over and turned up the volume a few notches just to annoy him even more. Will groaned almost painfully as he sunk further into the seat, and I couldn't help but bust into fits of laughter.

"Ah, come on, dude , this one's good." I said, briefly looking at him and back to the road.

"Good, my ass," Will muttered, rubbing his temples like my music was giving him a migraine. "Your music taste is trash. Like literal trash!"

I laughed, tapping the steering wheel again in time with the beat. "That's because you've got no taste, man. You listen to the same three rappers on repeat every single day. What right do you have to judge my music?"

"At least they are better than this crap we are listening to. Gosh, I think my ears are going to bleed."

"Nah, you are just clueless." I said dismissively. "This is some quality stuff."

He shot me a look. "Bro, you listen to the type of music my uncle Broddy listens to, and he's 65 years old, by the way."

"Then uncs is a legend for real," I said with a grin, drumming harder on the steering wheel as the song hit the chorus. "It can't get any better than this."

Will sighed, shaking his head in defeat. "You're a disgrace."

I chuckled. "One day, you'll appreciate good music."

"Yeah, not this kind." He muttered, reaching for the dial, but I smacked his hand away before he could touch it.

"Don't even think about it," I warned.

"Come on, man, it's my turn now. We've been listening to this shit since we left the airport."

"Yeah, because we listened to your crap on the way to the airport."

"That wasn't my playlist. It was Maggie's." Will protested.

He was right because on our way to the airport to drop Maggie off, she was the one who was drowning us with her sappy playlists all the way, which Will seemed to pretty much enjoy, to be fair. And come to think of it, between my sister and I, I could guarantee you one hundred percent that my music taste was better than hers but here was Will complaining about mine.

Such hypocrisy!

I rolled my eyes, taking a left off the highway. "Fine. You can take over, but after this song finishes, though."

"Oh, thank god."

"You are so dramatic." I laughed, shaking my head.

The rest of the ride was filled with our usual back-and-forth — me defending my so-called "old-man" playlist while Will tried and failed to convince me that his taste was superior. He kept threatening to grab the aux, but every time he reached for it, I swatted his hand away without missing a beat.

Eventually, he gave up, slumping in the passenger seat with a defeated groan while I sang the last few lines of the song at the top of my lungs—badly, on purpose. By the time the music faded, Will was staring out the window, a small smile tugging at his lips. It was all easy laughter and noise until he brought up something that killed my mood almost instantly.

"Yo, man what's this I'm hearing about those St Jose wankers trying to jump you at Wendy's yesterday?"

My fists slightly tightened around the steering wheel. "It was nothing."

"What do you mean it was nothing? That clown Reggie is going around bragging about how they scared you off like a little rat. His words."

"That's never what happened."

"Then what happened? And why didn't you tell us or me at least?"

"Because it doesn't fucking matter."

"Of course it fucking matters. Do you know how this looks on us? Our own captain getting cornered by a bunch of assholes and not doing anything about it?" Will's voice rose, his disbelief thick with irritation.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, jaw flexing. "Drop it, Will."

"Nah, I'm not dropping shit. You should've called me, man. Or any of the guys. We could've handled it—"

"Handled it?" I cut in, glancing at him. "What, by starting another fight? You want us to get suspended before the season even begins?"

That got Will stumbling for a moment. "But—"

"But nothing Will. You heard what coach said. This is our last chance," I said, glancing over at him and then back to the road ahead. "You know how important this season is for us, Will. For me. This is my shot at going to varsity football, and I won't blow it for stupid shit like this. I worked too fucking hard to get here."

I continued after a brief moment. "And out of all people, you know damn well I never let shit like this slide just like that, but I had no fucking choice."

Even though what I said was true, what made me walk out of that diner couldn't have been farther from the truth. Just when I convinced myself there was no possible way Zaire could inflict more pain on me than he already had, he somehow always managed to find a new way to twist that knife a little deeper.

Seriously, it was almost impressive how he continuously got creative with this shit.

I was sick of it.

And it wasn't merely the harshness of his words that broke me — I'd dealt with plenty of verbal barbs from him over the years and had learned to manage those the best way I could. No, what really stung was the way he looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was a mere shadow of a person he found wholly undeserving of his attention. Every time his gaze fell upon me, I felt like I was serving some type of cruel sentence, a punishment he believed I had somehow earned but didn't deserve to carry.

And perhaps, logically, it shouldn't have rattled me like that. I desperately wished I could brush it off, laugh it away like I had so many times before. I wished I could still pretend that his opinions didn't matter, that he himself didn't even remotely hold a significant place in my life. But the harsh reality was that it did fucking matter. His judgment, his disdain, pierced through my self-assured facade in a way I simply couldn't ignore.

When his hand pressed against my chest, it felt like being burned from the inside out. The way my body reacted to his touch — fucking hell!

And the most painful thing was that I had to hide it. I had to hide how I felt about him. I had to fucking pretend that I hated him. And all of this was getting to a point of suffocation. This pain was getting too much to bear that for the first time in my life, after all the pain my love for Zaire caused me, I cried.

I sat in my room all alone and cried because of a boy, and it was pathetic.

Will leaned back on the seat, the frustration still brewing in his tone. "So, what? We're just gonna let it slide? That guy's gonna keep running his mouth until somebody shuts him up."

"Then let him talk," I said flatly. "If it makes him feel better, who am I to stop him?"

"I really don't know man, the boys are not going to like this one bit. They were already going crazy in the group chat yesterday. Didn't you see?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I have been offline since yesterday afternoon. And I'm the captain of this team. If y'all are going to do something about this, it will be without me. Y'all asses going to have to deal with coach by yourselves. I won't get involved."

Will sighed but didn’t say anything after that. I was just glad he wasn't pushing this.

We turned down the familiar road toward our neighborhood. Will and I, along with some of the guys on the team, lived in Kingmoore Court. It wasn't just any neighborhood—it was an enclave, a place where every house looked like it had been ripped straight from a magazine. The place oozed exclusivity—the kind of wealth that people in St. Jose only dreamed of. It was the face of affluence, the neighborhood everyone measured themselves against, the subtle battlefield of status where reputation mattered as much as talent or hard work.

Everyone knew who lived where, who had the fancier cars, who had parents with connections, and who "belonged" to the inner circle. Kingmoore Court wasn't just home—it was a stage, and everyone in town seemed to be watching, waiting for someone to stumble. One wrong move, one public misstep, and gossip would spread faster than a touchdown highlight.

"You know, I have realized something lately," Will said casually as we passed through the security gate, his tone too calm for my liking.

I glanced at him warily. "Realized what?"

"I think you've gotten soft towards Gibson."

My heart froze for a moment at Will's words before it started to beat right out of my chest—loud, fast, and completely out of rhythm.

Oh fuck, did he know? Was I that obvious?

Oh my god, no!

I forced a laugh, hoping it didn't sound as shaky as it felt. "W-what makes you say that?"

Will shrugged. "I don't know, man. It's just... before, you used to snap back at him. Every time he said something slick, you'd fire right back. Lately? You just walk away. You're not even trying to get under his skin anymore."

"Maybe I just finally realized arguing with him is a waste of time."

"That's exactly what I'm saying. You've never known how to let things go, Seb. Especially when it comes to him."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Will." I said. "He's not worth it okay? I'm realizing that now."

"Nah, I don't think that's it. You and Gibson—there's something weird there, man. Always has been."

I nearly slammed the brakes right there. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Will lifted his hands in defense. "Relax, bro. I'm just saying, you two are like magnets. One minute you're tearing each other apart, the next, you're... I don't know, staring each other down like the world's about to end. It's intense, even for enemies."

Enemies. Yes, of course.

That word burned like a damn acid in my chest.

I didn't answer him. I couldn't because if I opened my mouth, I knew something dangerous might slip out—something I couldn't take back.

The ride fell into silence as my thoughts raced back to what happened at Wendy's. I exhaled shakily, my jaw tense. I could still feel it—the weight of that touch, the ghost of it lingering where his palm had been. I wished I could scrape it off my skin, forget the way my body betrayed me, how my pulse had quickened, how I'd wanted... God, I couldn't even finish that thought.

Will's voice cut through the silence again, softer this time. "Look, man, all I'm saying is—don't let him get in your head. We need you sharp this season. The guys follow your lead, and if Gibson is screwing with your focus..."

I shot him a glare. "He's not."

"Alright," Will said quickly, hands raised again. "Alright. Just saying."

As we pulled up to my driveway, I cut the engine and leaned back against the headrest, letting the silence stretch between us again. My chest felt tight, like I'd been holding my breath for too long. I forced my jaw to unclench, swallowing the bitterness that rose in my throat. If only he knew how right he was—just not in the way he thought. Zaire had gotten to me, but not the way Will assumed. Zaire didn't just get under my skin; he lived there. Rent-free.

Will reached for the door handle, hesitating before stepping out. "Uhm... I'm gonna go now. Catch you later?"

I nodded. "Sure. Thanks for going with me to the airport."

"Yeah, no problem."

He gave me a last look, then climbed out and headed to his place a couple of houses down the street. I watched him go before resting my chin against the steering wheel.

For a long moment, I just sat there in my car. My reflection stared back faintly from the windshield. My eyes looked tired, my mouth set in a hard line. I barely recognized the guy looking back. The captain. The loudmouth. The one who was supposed to have it all figured out.

If only they knew how close I was to breaking.

I shut my eyes and muttered under my breath, barely loud enough to hear, "Yeah, Will... I've gotten soft. Just not in the way you think."