The Safety's Sideline Obsession Novels & Stories

The rest of them held still around us, audience now to see if I’d mess this up and make my lesson the actual lesson. “You’re safe here,” I murmured, quiet and low. “That doesn’t mean it’s gonna feel like it. Not for a bit. And that’s okay. That’s not on you.” One of the older rejects snorted low in his throat. “Safety is what gets you killed,” he growled through crossed arms. I shot him a look. “Unearned safety does.” I gestured between us and broadly at the range. “Over here? Safety is a choice.”

It's certainly not very gentlemanly to talk about someone's behavior behind their back. However, Safes never considered himself a gentleman. He's more of a Bohemian hippie, committed to a I just like "you look at me but you can't fuck me" look. "Adam?" I let out a little cry, and then I caught sight of Rachel behind him. Rachel's lipstick is tinted. I can see the details. So what just happened, it goes without saying. "So you're the one who made my sister disappear in public all the time -- Adam?"

I couldn't help but wonder if Betty received adequate compensation for enduring such behavior. As we navigated our way through the crowd towards the back of the establishment, I muttered under my breath, "I hope Tank is ready to step in." The need for security became increasingly apparent in a place where boundaries blurred and inhibitions unraveled. I knew that Tank, a brawny presence at the bar, possessed the physicality to maintain order in such a volatile environment.

Cameras were already sweeping the pitch; every gesture was potential evidence. Across the halfway line, Ostin City stood in crisp white and gold — clean lines, disciplined formation. Damien on the sideline — arms crossed, sunglasses hiding his eyes, jaw set like stone. Marc felt the weight of that gaze even through the dark lenses. It burned hotter than the floodlights — steady, unblinking, possessive. He looked away fast. Focused on the ball at his feet. On the grass. On the game. But the pull was there — magnetic, inescapable — the same pull that had started in college locker rooms and never quite let go.

I stood on the sideline during their drive with my helmet in my hands. Watching. Reading. Coach said something to me but I was already past it, already running the next series in my head, already knowing what I was going to call the second we got the ball back. Then Adrian. He was downfield going for a catch when their safety came across late — not late enough to be flagged, but late enough to catch Adrian off guard. The contact was hard. He went down and stayed down for a second longer than I liked. I was already off the bench.

I blinked uncontrollably, staring at the man sitting across from me. An uncomfortable feeling settled deep in my chest. My hands trembled around the fork until I could no longer hold it, and it slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the plate. Lucas said nothing. He simply stared at me, his eyes filled with a quiet honesty I wasn't ready to face. I remained speechless because, deep down, I knew he was right. I had been so consumed by my love for Daniel Valdez that I hadn't bothered to give anyone else a chance—not even Lucas.

“That’s a responsible stance, Coach. We’ll be monitoring the situation closely. One more credible complaint, and this review will escalate. Understood?” “Understood,” I replied firmly. Mr. Comb wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “With all due respect, Ms. Vargas, Reynold is our star player. His parents have been very generous. We can’t afford to lose him mid-season.” “That’s exactly the problem,” she replied coldly. “This program has prioritized winning and money over safety. Coach Thorne, you are under formal review. One more scandal connected to this program, specifically regarding Reynold Mills, and you will be suspended for the remainder of the season. Possibly longer.”

I remained defiant, despite the fear setting in. I stood my ground even though I knew everything could go sideways here. Sasha’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve got some confidence for someone who…” her lips curled slightly, “...looks like that in a bodycon dress.” The words hit, really hard, like they were meant to. For a split second, everything went quiet in my head. The music faded, the chatters disappeared…It was just me… and that familiar sting. The same one I had experienced for far too long.

His mind replayed the scene from last night over and over, Marcus’s smirk at the company party, the ring gleaming like a shackle, Evan’s voice whispering Say yes. The thought clawed at him: This is a cycle. It will always be a cycle. He pulled his knees to his chest, pressing his face into them. And then—gentle warmth. Evan’s hand brushed over his hair, slow, tender. Adrian stiffened, but Evan only settled beside him, tugging him carefully into his side. “You’re safe,” Evan murmured. “That’s all that matters.” Adrian’s throat tightened until he could barely breathe. Because safety shouldn’t feel like a cage.

I have had my eyes on this girl for some months now and it was satisfying to find out that her last relationship with the dickhead she called a man had ended. I wanted her and I was going to do anything to get her but I wasn't going to let her know that or anyone else. If people knew she was someone who I cared for, she wouldn't be safe and bringing her into any form of danger is not something that sits right with me. I sat in the broken hill, a little club where the gang gathered. It was cool Friday afternoon, the guys played different games or should I say gamble. Others were boxing and they were girls littered around, looking desperate for attention from any of them.