The day of the event, the Cyclones spend all day in an unused conference room, and I spend all day trying not to think about Ryker.

Our prep work keeps us busy. Coach Singh and I used the time on the plane to come up with a game plan based on what we knew about the boss. Nat20 didn't give us a ton of details, but what they did tell us points to some pretty key mechanics.

We know environmental damage is going to be a thing, so we have the guys work on positioning against one of the fights from the last raid tier that forces you to pay attention to your surroundings or else you just die immediately. We know there's a tremor attack, and I suggested it probably hits everyone in the area regardless of range, so we work in a few fights with a lot of raid-wide damage, giving the healers more practice keeping multiple people at a decent level of health while still focusing on the tanks who are taking the brunt of the abuse.

There's also a "fixate" mechanic that we can only guess at, but my assumption is the boss will periodically ignore the tank and go after someone else, so our damage dealers practice running just out of the boss' reach and using their own potions to stay alive while I get a better handle on the tight timing to taunt back right after the fixate drops off.

We work on it from nine in the morning until five in the evening, with a few hours' break in between to get lunch and wander the convention floor.

Even though I've made sure our schedule's jam-packed, my thoughts still have quiet moments to drift back to Ryker. The cynical side of me is convinced he's not thinking about me or about last night, and that he's probably found another piece of ass to turn out. But deep down I'm not sure that's true, because it felt like we made a connection.

I know how that sounds, and trust me, I'm not letting my heart get involved just because of a good lay. But there's no denying it was a really, really good lay. We were in sync the whole time, both of us working to achieve the most explosive release I've ever experienced.

I keep daydreaming about it throughout practice, imagining myself back in that bathroom with him, or in an empty conference room, or bent over the counter in that bar. Every time I catch myself I get more and more frustrated, but it's proof I was right.

He isn't out of my system, and if I have the chance, I plan to get another taste before we leave here.

That resolution is enough to keep me mostly focused, and when five rolls around, I feel well-prepared for what's coming. The event isn't until eight, true, but we wanted to do dinner as a team and then we're supposed to report at six-thirty for press photos and interviews.

As we're enjoying a good meal, though, I can't help but notice Rosa is acting a little strange. She keeps looking at her phone and frowning, her thumbs flying across the keyboard before she shoves the device defiantly back into her pocket, only to repeat the process a few minutes later.

"Everything okay?" I whisper.

She shakes her head, her brows drawn up in an almost sympathetic way. "I'll show you after."

That gets my anxiety going, nerves tangling within me more than they ever have about the event. Once dinner's over and we start walking back to the hotel, she pulls out her phone again and shows me a video that uses my face as part of the thumbnail.

My face... and Ryker's.

I can feel panic rise in me before she even plays it, and it's only a slight relief that whoever recorded the video didn't follow us to the bathroom and film me acting like the needy little slut I am.

"It was posted this morning," she explains, "and there are already a bunch of response videos covering it and long-ass tweet threads trying to dissect what it means."

"It doesn't mean anything," I say quickly, "and it's nobody's business."

"I know that and you know that, but you also know how the internet is with this stuff."

She's right. People invent drama all the time, usually with a lot less to go on than this video. As much as I want to know what people are saying about Ryker and me, I know I'll drive myself crazy if I look into this. Especially today.

"If it's still a problem tomorrow, I'll deal with it," I tell her. "But tonight we have bigger things to focus on."

I walk a little faster, not to outpace her but to get away from this nagging feeling I have that I'm the last person to know about this, and it's going to be at the forefront of the discussion surrounding the Cyclones today.

"A lot of people think Ryker set it up," she calls from behind me, and I stop dead in my tracks, "and... I'm one of them."

"Why?" I ask, feeling a little hurt but not being able to put my finger on why.

I guess it's because everyone apparently assumes I'm the lamb here and Ryker's the lion. I couldn't possibly have knowingly consented to what was going on--he must have tricked me.

"Because that's his MO, dude. It's literally the only reason he and that group of basement-dwelling rejects are here."

Jesus. She's right again. How long did it take me to forget Ryker made us look like fools for the sake of a few points? A few seconds after I had his dick in my mouth? Or was it before that?

As we head to the hotel and pile into an elevator to reach the private floor the event is being held on, I can't help but wonder if it's all true. If he was using me not because he wanted me, but because he wanted to make me choke.

* * *

The two teams are separated for the first sets of pictures, videos, and interviews, and that's probably for the best. The news has caught like wildfire and my whole team's whispering about it, asking me if I'm okay, vowing to kick Ryker's ass for me. Coach Singh shuts it down, but she can't do anything about the smug looks I keep getting from the other team.

Or the looks I'm not getting from Ryker. There's a wide room between us, but he feels like he's a million miles away, and I start to resent the fact that he won't even turn his head toward us--toward me. This is going to be just like last time, where he feels bad after the fact, but not enough to do anything meaningful about it.

At 7:30 we're seated, the Cyclones in our team polos, Victoria Aut Mors in the shirts Nat20 provided. The stations are set up just like they are on the convention floor, with monitors back to back. There are two rows here, ten on each side. Ten of my guys, ten of his.

And of course when I take my station, I'm sitting right across from him.

I knew I would be. Blake is sitting out to accommodate the cooperation Nat20 wants to see. He's cheering us on from the sidelines, while I have to somehow work with Ryker as my co-tank.

I fix him with a stare that asks way more questions than I expect anyone to be able to answer. But Ryker doesn't even try. He barely seems to acknowledge me.

"You want aggro first?" he asks as he's putting on his headset.

"Yeah," I answer through gritted teeth, trying to keep it professional.

Hard to do that when the rest of his "team" are leering at me, those same shit-eating grins on their faces that I remember seeing every day in middle and high school. Unlike the kids I went to school with, though, these ones don't keep it to whispers.

One of them smacks his lips loudly and hollows out his cheeks, his hand set in a loose fist below his mouth as he pretends to jerk a non-existent cock.

"You want some?" he taunts me. "First taste's free."

The guy sitting beside him thinks it's just the funniest fucking thing he's ever heard, and it seems to embolden him to speak again.

"I might even fuck you. Lights off, pillowcase over your head, it'd probably feel close enough to a pussy."

My lips press into a firm line and I force myself not to respond. I'm the captain. I have to lead by example.

Rosa doesn't, though, and she shoots off a, "For a straight guy you sure have put a lot of thought into this."

My heart sinks because I just know what's coming next. Homophobia and sexism go hand in hand, after all.

"Aww, are you jealous? Why don't you come over here and I'll fit you in real quick," he says with the creepiest grin I've ever seen.

While I'm willing to take the abuse myself, I'm not going to stand by and let my family take it. I start to say something--already a step behind Jax and Aidan who are half out of their seats by this point--but the moderator speaks over the mic before I can get the words out.

"Okay, let's all be civil. If you'd get banned for saying it in Estalia, I don't want to hear it here, got it?"

It seems like a half-hearted attempt to cover PR's ass just in case, but it keeps things from devolving into an all-out brawl. For now.

It also gives me a chance to stare straight ahead at Ryker, whose gaze is intently focused on the monitor in front of him.

Anger and hurt spark in me, and with my voice low enough so only he can hear, I say, "You know, I always knew you were an asshole, Ryker, but I thought even you had standards."

His distracted gaze finally settles on me and I see something flash across his eyes that might be hurt--or just a trick of the fluorescent lights. "Guess you thought wrong."

The event starts, the cameras roll, and the moderator introduces the twenty of us--and the world--to the Leviathan, a massive mech that's made of bronze and steel, magical runes covering every surface.

It looks amazing, but as much as I try to focus on the boss battle, my thoughts keep pulling back to Ryker. He's ignoring me now, his attention completely on the monitor, where mine should be.

"Everybody buff up," I call out, "I'm making the pull in thirty seconds."

I glance up at the moderator to make sure that's acceptable and he nods. Shaking out the stiffness in my fingers, I settle my hands on the keyboard and mouse. They had us submit a list of all our keybindings, so everything's just the way I'm used to, and it's my character I'm looking at despite the new gear.

"Pulling in 5... 4... 3..." I start to count down, my heart rate picking up.

As soon as I hit one, I rush forward and get the Leviathan's attention. It does this neat start-up animation like it's powering itself on-line, and I pull it off to the side, away from everyone else.

At first, things are fine. I'm taking some heavy hits, but the healers are keeping me up. Ryker's guildmates make some stray commentary, but they're doing their part, filling their roles. We even manage to stagger the thing, stunning it out of the tremor attack it was going to do.

But then it does the attack anyway, stronger this time. Everyone in the raid is hit, and I see all the health bars just keep ticking down.

"Yo, healer, do your fucking job," one of the Victoria guys says.

"You have potions," Ryker snaps at him, "use them."

What should be a simple issue turns into bickering, and even Jax gets involved. Meanwhile I'm watching the sensors on the mech's body, seeing them turn from a subdued orange to a bright, blood red.

"He's dumping aggro," I yell out. "Ryker, you need to be ready to take him."

But he tries to do it immediately. "He won't taunt. He's still stuck on you."

"No, he's on," I look quickly, and see Zenith, one of Victoria's damage dealers, "Zenith."

Instead of running the boss around, the rogue activates stealth and disappears, and the Leviathan goes absolutely ballistic. There's another raid-wide tremor. Two people go down, including one of the two healers.

"Taunt him!" I yell across the monitors to Ryker.

"I told you, he won't fucking come off!"

By the time Ryker finally gets his attention, four more people are dead. We limp along, yelling at each other across our stations until the next tremor, when three more go down.

The moderator's been talking the entire time, casting the event as it happens, and as we get below ten people, I hear him say the words no raider ever wants to hear.

"Looks like he's about to enrage... I don't think they can do enough damage to get him down in time!"

All of those sensors on the Leviathan glow an angry red and he flails around, taking out the rest of us in less than ten seconds.

I knew we probably weren't going to beat it on the first try, but this was an absolute massacre. And as I pull my headset off, I can feel myself wanting to channel all that frustration into Ryker.

But when I look across the monitors at him, he's channeling it elsewhere. He rips his own headset off and stands so fast his chair goes flying.

"This is why I wanted to practice. This is why I wanted you guys to take something seriously for once in your fucking lives!" he shouts at his guildmates. "But congratulations, we all look like fucking morons on the Twitch homepage. I hope all your bullshit was fucking worth it."

The moderator tries to rein things in, but Ryker's already walking off. I catch his profile, and he looks more than angry. He looks crushed. Absolutely humiliated. And maybe even a little scared.

I should be reeling from the second very public failure in the past month, but all I can think is maybe Rosa was wrong. Because that is not the face of a man who wanted to sabotage things. That is the face of a man who was deeply invested, only to be let down by the people he trusted.

I have no idea what to do with this revelation, I only know it changes things.