I knew something was going on when I found my twin and Gordo smiling sweetly over at me from their spots in the living space of the bus. The fact that all of the members of TCC and their crew were surrounding them didn’t help any. I usually didn’t sleep in, but a stuffy nose had kept me up. I grabbed a plastic cup from the cabinet over the microwave and then fished out one of the gallon jugs of water that were stashed in the lower kitchenette cabinets, all while watching the group closely and trying to listen to what the hell they were talking about.

The scent of bullshit was strong in the bus.

“I’m in,” Julian said first, looking at Freddy. “You?”

“I’m in,” the TCC tour manager agreed.

What exactly were they in for?

Slowly but surely, the rest of the members sitting on the couches all nodded or verbally agreed to whatever it was they were talking about. I slowly slid in to the only seat available across from Carter, which was one of the two chairs belonging to the small table in the kitchen.

“Carter, what about you?” Eli asked the man I spent a lot of time with.

Still in his pajamas and looking only slightly more awake than me, he shrugged. He had his hair down and parted down the middle, the ends brushing his thin shoulders. “I’ll play.”

I’ll play?

Oh no.

“How many people is that, then?” Gordo asked. I didn’t miss the smug look he threw my way after he asked.

“Eleven,” one of the TCC guys answered.

Gordo let out the most exaggerated sigh I’d ever heard in my life, even going as far as to make his eyes go wide. “E-lev-en? That’s an odd number. We can’t have an odd amount of players in the game.”

This motherfucker.

My brother turned to look at me and shrugged his shoulders. “Flabs, I guess that means you have to play.”

“The hell that means I have to play. I’m not playing,” I said in a careful, controlled voice before taking a too casual sip of water, making sure to keep eye contact with him.

“You have to,” Eli repeated.

“Odd numbers,” Gordo piped in like a little shit.

I shook my head, making sure to keep my features even. If I was careful and really nonchalant about it, my chances of getting out of this were higher. Eli knew too easily how to pull my strings at the right time, and I sure as hell wasn’t going there. “It’s not happening.”

Carter shot me a curious look. “You don’t like to play?”

I glared at the two idiots when I answered. “I don’t like to play with them.”

The scoff that came out of Eli and Gordo was impossible to miss.

“C’mon. Don’t be a party pooper,” my twin muttered.

“I’m not being a party pooper. I just don’t feel like getting the crap beat out of me,” I explained to them. Glancing back at Carter, I sighed. “Every time we’ve played in the past, I end up getting hurt. My lip got busted last time, and I’m pretty sure my tailbone was fractured. I also had this bruise bigger than Eli’s head—”

“We need you on a team,” Gordo insisted.

I just shook my head.

“Quit being a baby and play. Gordo promises not to knee you again, don’t you, Gordo?” Eli asked.

The dark-skinned man next to him nodded almost enthusiastically.

They were so full of shit.

“I promise not to knee you either,” Eli amended next. “We can be on the same team if it makes you happy.”

Well, that was part of the problem when we’d played in the past too. I wasn’t usually a competitive person—a game was just a game and if it made someone’s day to win, so be it—but when it came to doing things against Eli, that was a whole different story. We’d been competing for attention, love, food and just about everything else from the moment we’d been born. Arguing and fighting over stuff was second nature for us.

But still. The memory of my bloody busted lip was still fresh in my mind two years later. Before that there had been a visit to the dentist for a new filling, a bloody nose, a sprained back, an ankle I couldn’t walk on for two weeks… the list was endless.

Then there was whatever crap the losing team had to go through. It was the whole purpose behind playing: to embarrass the loser.

“I’ll tell Mason not to purposely trip you anymore,” Eli finally added with an expectant look on his face. “Deal?”

I hesitated. Along with the bloody lip in the past, there had also been a black eye, an elbow to the center of my chest…

“It’ll be fun,” Bryce, the TCC light guy, suggested.

---

It’ll be fun, they said.

Just a friendly game, they said.

Well, they were fucking liars. All eleven of them.

Two hours after I was finally guilt-tripped into agreeing to play, the bus made a detour on the journey from the parking lot it had sat overnight to the park it dropped us off at. The drive had only been four hours long, and in the middle of the night, we arrived in Houston, Texas. Unfortunately, there was more than enough time to kill before we needed to get to the venue, so I couldn’t use that as an excuse as to why we couldn’t play. We all piled out, dressed in shorts, T-shirts and an array of tennis shoes.

A few of us, including me, were busy putting sunblock on when Gordo went around passing out pieces of torn-out notebook paper folded into small pieces. There were two papers with stars on them for whoever won team-captain duties and nine pieces of paper with either a “1” or a “2” on them, the deciding factor for which team each person ended up on. We’d already agreed in the bus that Eli and I would be on the same team, so I would choose a paper for the both of us.

That part of it went fine. There was no problem.

Julian ended up the captain of the “1” team and Freddy, the tour manager/sound guy or front of house, got the other piece of paper to command the “2” team.

Julian, Mason, Sacha, Bryce, Isaiah and Mateo were on team one.

Freddy, Carter, Gordo, Miles, Eli and I were on team two.

Still, no problem.

Then they decided they were going to go over ideas as to what the losing team had to do as their punishment. This wasn’t unusual, either; every time I’d played their stupid Soccer Death Match in the past, there had been some bet going on. It had always been something humiliating, so my standards weren’t too high. I was pretty much ready for something involving bare asses or being someone’s slave for a day.

And then Mason’s dumb-dumb-dumb-ass blurted out, “Losing team has to shave their heads.”

Uhh…

“YES!” I wasn’t sure who first yelled out their agreement, but I wish I had so I knew who to nut-punch.

“No!” I threw my arms out and looked around at the group of idiots who weren’t screaming at how dumb his idea was. “Are you shitting me?”

They weren’t.

Why almost all of them thought this would be an excellent punishment for the losing team was beyond me.

“Majority wins,” they said. Carter and I seemed to be the only people against it, and that was more than likely because we had the most hair out of everyone on tour by far. Everyone was so confident that the team they were on would win, they didn’t mind taking a risk.

All the boys were too scared to accidentally break a finger that it was decided there wouldn’t be goalkeepers on either team. Fine, all right.

We split up on opposite sides, team 1 deciding that they’d go shirtless so everyone would know who was on what team. I may have ogled the guys that were in great shape—Mason, Julian and Sacha—a little more than necessary, but I had no regrets. We started playing.

The first fifteen minutes were good. We were all being respectful of each other, happy kicking the ball back and forth as we jogged up and down the field. I exchanged smiles with a few of the guys on the other team as I tried to defend against them in case the soccer ball made its way over in their direction.

Good. Fine. It was going well.

Then Mason, who had played varsity soccer in high school, scored a goal for his team and it was like a small animal had been slaughtered off the coast of South Africa. The sharks came out to play and the aggressiveness on the field multiplied.

My resolution to win didn’t come out of nowhere. There was no way in hell my head was getting shaved, and I was going to do whatever I needed to do to make that happen. Apart from running track, I’d played two years of soccer in high school, plus on and off with these guys most of my life.

In the fifteen minutes after that initial friendly beginning, each player began hustling back and forth across the grass. When Sacha got ahold of the ball and it seemed like everyone else on my team had their fingers up their butts instead of trying to keep up, I started going after him to steal it away. His legs were longer than mine but apparently no one on my team knew what cardio was, and I got stuck chasing after him. Sacha started putting his hand in my face when I got too close, and I had to whack it out of the way each time he did it.

“Stop hogging the ball!” I yelled at him, trying to futilely steal it.

“If it bothers you so much, get it away from me, then,” he teased before passing it to Mateo.

Between the thirty to forty-five minute mark, every player started running as fast as they could. No one wanted to be on the team that lost. The ball travelled from player to player faster than it would have normally. I was getting desperate. Sweaty as hell, thanks to the humidity and the sun that didn’t seem to care I’d put on sunscreen not that long ago, I started digging my shoulder into Sacha’s side to throw him off balance every time the ball got too close to him. The idea of losing my hair—because I sure as hell didn’t have the bone structure to pull off a shaved head—made the beast come out.

The ball came straight at us and I tripped him. Then I tripped him again and again.

And again.

As I ran with the ball at the tip of my left foot, I heard Sacha in the background calling out, “What the hell? That was a yellow card!”

“Suck it up, Sassy!” I hollered back at him.

And then, it really got out of control.

Even though we were laughing our asses off, I started elbowing him—somewhat gently—in the ribs, and I kicked him in the thigh another time. Not-so-innocent-Sacha pulled the end of my ponytail and would use his shoulder to push me away.

The last time I managed to trip him, he grabbed the back of my shirt to pull me down too. Unfortunately, his weight made me fall down hip first, bumping the shit out of my side as I landed next to him, still laughing. Sacha was smart enough to hop up and take off running to get the stray ball.

My shirt was soaked in sweat, my arms and neck ached with sun exposure, and I had dirt all over me. So, it wouldn't have been a big deal when Sacha dipped into our half-limping, lazy-running time by hip-checking me so hard I lost my balance and fell on the ground once more.

At the last minute, before the one-hour timer went off on Gordo’s phone, Carter scored a goal that I didn’t completely understand.

What I did understand was what happened next. Tied, and with everyone on the verge of dying because only three of us ran on a slightly regular basis, no one wanted to add more time to the clock. So the game went to penalty kicks.

Penalty kicks.

It was Eli that said, “One of you merch losers and Bryce should be goalies. I vote you do it, Flabs.”

I was sitting on the grass when I tipped my head back and scowled at him. “Excuse me?”

“You three are the only people that can risk getting hurt,” he said like that made total sense.

I guess it sort of did. Did I really want to leave the fate of my scalp to Carter’s goalkeeping skills? Not really.

“Does that work?” Julian asked.

I nodded, thinking of my bra-length hair. “Fine.” I glanced at Carter and widened my eyes. “I’ll do it.”

“Can I go first? We can alternate,” Bryce, the TCC lighting guy, asked without even putting up a fight.

I rubbed the back of my sunburnt neck and nodded. “Go for it.”

Eli went first and missed. Cold dread went down my spine, and I had to bury my head between my hands when I realized how screwed we were.

I got to my feet and said a prayer under my breath while I marched toward the net-less, lopsided goal.

“Don’t let me down, Flabby!” Eli yelled.

I shook my head at him as I walked backward, mouthing and pointing “This is your fault.” I was going to end up bald. I fucking knew it.

The first person to come up to do a penalty kick was Mason. He winked at me as he got into position. “I love you, Flabbers, but this ball is going in.”

“Shut up and kick.” I waved him on, ready to get this over with.

“Your wish is my command, my bride.” He then blew me a kiss.

I only just barely managed to deflect the ball a half-inch with the tips of my fingers when he nailed it. His team was screaming from the sidelines while Eli and Gordo hollered at me for missing. Dickwads.

Freddy on our team went next and managed to score. Nerves stirred my stomach, but I pushed them aside and focused on what I needed to do as I walked back to the goal.

Next on the opposing team was Julian, who didn’t talk any shit and simply went for the shot. The ball went up high and I was too short to reach it.

“Goddamnit! Why aren’t you taller?” Eli’s bellow came out at the same time I yelled in frustration with myself.

Miles, on my team, went last and scored.

Carter came up behind me and squeezed my shoulder. “Gaby, I won’t be mad at you if we lose.”

I patted his hand and smiled sadly. “Thanks, remember you said that later on, okay?”

The last player to kick was…

Sacha.

He smiled over at me as he took a dozen steps away from the ball and got into position. “You ready to lose?”

I crossed my eyes and nodded. “Bring it on, Sassy Pants.”

He raised an eyebrow before smiling huge. “You said it,” he replied, getting into position.

Sacha’s goal: getting the soccer ball into the goal.

The ball's goal: breaking my damn face.

It wasn't really Sacha’s fault the ball curved at the last minute and that my hands were in the air when the ball got intimate with my chin.

I'd never gotten into a real fight before, and I suddenly realized why. Getting hit in the face was… not cool. At. All. I know for a fact I squealed, grabbed my chin with both hands and possibly wailed, "Why would you do that to me?" before collapsing to my knees on the ground.

Sacha—as I quickly learned—was a jackass. I could hear him laughing as he ran up to me, getting down on his knees somewhere close by. The hysterical laughs coming from my brother and his friends were background noise I couldn’t ignore.

"Gaby, oh my God, I'm so fucking sorry!" Sacha’s unmistakable voice was at my ear, both horrified and amused at the same time somehow. "Are you okay?" A hand landed on top of mine and another clasped the back of my head.

"No!" It was the truth.

My face.

My face was broken.

He had the nerve to laugh harder, wiggling closer so that his bare, dirty knees pressed against my own bare, dirty knees. "I'm so sorry."

Him practically giggling didn’t make his apology totally believable.

I'm not sure how long we sat there, me squeezing my eyes closed with my chin between my hands, Sacha holding my hands in one of his and the back of my head with his other. It took everything in me not to cry because seriously, my chin was throbbing so bad my brain hurt. Even my teeth felt rattled. When the urge to cry finally managed to pass, I blinked up to see those translucent eyes peering at me in concern. Isaiah, Carter and Gordo were standing behind the man who had just kicked a ball at my face, visibly worried.

"Let me see," Sacha said gently, prying my hand away one digit at a time. Once he prodded with his fingers and made me wince, he let his hand fall to his lap.

“Are you all right?” Carter asked, palms cupping his knees, his face pink and distressed.

I nodded over at him, still holding my face and telling myself grown women didn’t cry from humiliation.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded again.

He didn’t look convinced. “I’ll go grab you some ice, okay?”

Yeah, I didn’t hold back my sniffle. “Thank you, Carter.”

Sacha patted my back. "Let's go sit over there, Princess." He stood up first, holding his hand out for me to take. After pulling me up, he led me toward one of the benches nearby. “I’m sorry,” he kept repeating, smiling more than he should have, but I could tell he felt remorseful at least. If it had been either of my brothers who’d done that, they would have been on the floor dying laughing.

Out of my peripheral vision, I could see Eli arguing with Mason and Julian. By the time we made it to the bench, my brother was gesturing wildly and pointing in my direction.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” the man sitting next to me asked, his entire body angled toward mine.

I went back to holding my face. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Positive?”

I nodded.

“I’m not joking. Are you sure?”

I gave him the same answer. I was fine. Mostly.

The corners of his mouth pulled down just slightly, his eyes roaming my cheeks and jaw. After a minute of silence, he smiled gently at me, his dark eyebrows slightly rising. “That was pretty fun though, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I sniffed again, “until you tried to break my jaw.”

“It was an accident!” He frowned, reaching over to put his hand on the top of my head gently. “I am so fucking sorry, I can’t tell you how shitty I feel. Do you want to hit me?”

I shook my head.

The corners of his mouth twitched up again. He was still fighting laughing no matter how bad he felt. “I really do feel awful. I can’t believe that happened.”

I made sure he watched me as I rolled my eyes but smiled afterward. “It’s all right. It isn’t the first time I’ve had a ball kicked at my face.”

Sacha had this expression that was a perfect mix of a frown and a smile. “If it makes you feel any better, you kicked my ass a few times on the field.” We both looked down at him. Brown and green splotches covered his shirt and shorts, and I swear there was even some mud tangled in his leg hairs. If he weren't so handsome, he'd look like a homeless person. "You play pretty fucking dirty."

I just shrugged at him. What was the point in denying it?

"Will you forgive me?"

"No." I frowned and blinked at him from the corner of my eye. "Yes."

Carter came jogging up to us a moment later with an ice-filled plastic baggy. “Here you go,” he said, handing it over.

I thanked him and took the bag; my hand had barely left my chin when both men hissed. I froze in place. “Is it that bad?”

Carter said “no” at the same time Sacha grimaced and tipped his chin down just enough for it to be counted as a nod.

He didn’t even try to bullshit me. The “yes” that came out of his mouth was loud and clear.

Ah, hell.