number one.

Akira loved practices. Loved working himself until he was sure he was going to drop. It made the drive back a painful experience but Akira never minded. The ache made him feel alive. And in the practices since the Terrapins game Akira had been giving it all and then some in practice. It felt like if he worked himself hard enough before the next game the Wasps wouldn’t be so willing to repeat their insults. Deep down he knew it was a ridiculous idea but it made him feel better and at the end of the day…Akira really only cared about that. Today’s practice was no different, by the end of it Akira was drenched in sweat and stiff as hell. A good end to a particularly good practice. At least for Akira anyways.

He shot a tired smile over at Grant as he fell into step beside him, in a good mood. Even Grant bringing up the Terrapins did little to dampen his overall mood. He’d been avoiding talking about them since the game, for numerous reasons. He rolled his left shoulder as he un-clasped his pads, shoving them into his arm pit. The bruise from the shoulder check had faded quickly and all that remained was a yellow oval that didn’t even hurt. It hadn’t been a terrible bruise but it sure hadn’t been a comfortable. He shrugged. “Nothing I haven’t taken before. And I’ve taken some serious hits before. They should have gotten carded for it.”

Of course they hadn’t. Exy was a violent sport and there were a lot more grey areas than most officials would like to admit. It had a certain kind of charm though. And Akira hadn’t been so bent out of shape about the missed call as he had been about the shit talking and the press. He didn’t want to linger on it, lest his good mood deflate too much. “Killer practice today though. That new strategy we were working on has some serious potential.” So much so Akira was already planning on pulling a few extra practices with the other strikers to work on it some more outside of Wymack sanctioned practices. “The Hornets better watch out, huh?”

“Whether they watch out or not, we’ll still beat them,” Grant echoed, buoyed as always by a good practice. He would always say the same things, regardless of his mood, but it was easy to feel confident right now, when they were still in some of their gear, when they’d won their last game. As much as Grant loved his own individual drills and workouts, there were few things that could beat actually playing with the team, even in a practice. The games were his best source of adrenaline and accomplishment, but the practices brought about that same glow, especially when they went well. It reminded him why he was here, why he played a sport like Exy, why he loved being a Fox.

Although he wanted to chase that positivity and focus on their next game, Grant couldn’t help but think of their match against the Terrapins when he was alongside Akira right now. He cleared his throat, not entirely sure how to bring it up, and decided to just throw himself into it. Grant wanted to be more this year—he wanted to be someone the team could count on off the court, not just on it, and that meant something akin to checking in on them. Or doing his best to do so, at least. Outside of Casey and Zia, most didn’t open up to Grant, and while he had no issues giving the team rides home after a party or offering up advice on the court, that strict line between him and the rest was normally the way he liked it. But...maybe it was time to shake up that status quo.

Brayden’s lips twitched as Grant became slightly defensive in response to his questioning, only further proving his suspicion. Now, he was stuck on the subject and forgot completely about the tapes. He didn’t give a shit about who was dating or fucking who, pretty sure over half the team was involved with each other, but the thought of his Exy-obsessed captain being involved with someone was too amusing to ignore. “Not that it matters,” Brayden said slowly as he grabbed a handful of chips. “Sounds like it matters to you,” He pointed out. 

He gave Grant a break, staying silent as he gave an update on Zia’s life. Even Brayden wasn’t a big enough dick to not be a little proud of her. If anyone deserved a spot with the pros, it was her. Maybe, she and Grant would get married and spawn Exy babies and they would be some sort of Exy power family that everyone looked up to. It was both disgusting and perfect all at the same time. 

“Look, she runs fast and pushes people that get in the way. I get it. We don’t need to keep watching it,” Brayden dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “How long have you and Zia been a thing?” He asked instead, looking up at Grant with a smirk. It wasn’t like him to gossip about crushes or whatever the fuck people talked about, but it was more entertaining than the tapes, and there was some satisfaction in seeing Grant try to talk his way around it. 

Of course, Brayden would choose this moment to get involved in the personal lives of other Foxes. As long as Grant had known Brayden, the striker had seemed uninterested in this kind of thing, choosing to keep to himself rather than get involved in the seemingly abundant relationship dramas that played out on their team. Maybe it was because this was about Grant for once, who typically worked so hard to ensure that there was nothing to for people to gossip about when it came to his personal life. Or, more likely, maybe Brayden just didn’t want to focus on the video playing in front of them. “I meant,” Grant said, slowly. “That it wasn’t any of your business,” he finished, fixing Brayden with his best glare. 

That hadn’t worked so far though, and that left Grant with only two options: continuing denying, or admit that Brayden had stumbled onto something. Grant didn’t want to act like Zia was a ‘dirty little secret’, and besides, he clearly wasn’t able to dissuade Brayden right now. Given his choices, Grant would rather admit the truth here: yes, this was important to Grant, because yes, Zia was important to Grant. 

     “Another essay after this one and a summary of some foreign indie flick that I can’t even remember the name of,” Jake groaned, more upset at the idea of homework than actually at the homework itself. He didn’t mind Film & Media that much, it was an interesting topic but a lot of the time his teachers always wanted more deep and profound thoughts than Jake could actually think of, and that was honestly the worst part.

     “You’re right,” Jake said, lifting his head from his books properly this time to look over at Grant. “Do you always have wise words to share when your teammates are wallowing in self pity?” he asked with a genuine interest. It was a logical thought, but not one that would’ve come naturally to Jake whilst he was moaning and groaning about having to be cooped up all day with the company of over hyped cinematics. “How much do you have left anyway?”

Grant let Jake’s theatrics play out in front of him, choosing not to respond until Jake specifically prompted him. Even then, Grant considered the question for a moment. “I always motivate myself by remembering that if I can’t pass, I won’t play Exy.” His wise words, if any, were always saved for the court. Just like everything else, really. But that was truly the only reason why he put the effort in. His grades were another outward reflection of who he was, and what he was capable of, but in the end, what really mattered was his abilities on the court.

Talking to Grant was never as easy as Vivian wanted it to be, it wasn’t particularly horrible or awkward but Vivian had expected Grant to be very close to the usual stereotype. The easy to manipulate, head strong and cocky boys that usually took Captain positions. People she could exert influence over to increase her own importance. Although Vivian had become different from last year somethings could never change and wanting power was one of them. The head cheerleader should have known that like all the other things about Palmetto their captain would be different.

Still she’s dressed to the nines and is bored as always. Needing attention and intrigued by whatever his reaction would be this time, Vivian flips her hair to the side in an attempt to expose her bodice and gives him a cat-like grin. “Who died and made you the boss of me, Rollins?” It’s stated smoothly then followed by a short laugh. “I almost like it.”

She nods at his statement. Vivian’s sense of kinship with the Foxes and Exy might still be blossoming but her sense of style had always been there. It’s possibly the best thing her bitch of a mother ever taught her. “Well you know the Vixens have to pull up the slack around here for beauty.” Vivian replies mischievously. 

Grant cleared his throat, not entirely sure how he was supposed to respond to Vivian’s comment. In true Rollins style, he simply didn’t: choosing to move onto the next subject with as much grace as possible (which meant, of course, not much). Vivian’s attempts at flirting might’ve missed Grant by a mile, but her joke about the Foxes didn’t. It wasn’t like Grant particularly cared about which team was pulling weight for beauty, but even still: he rose to the bait, his expression lightening to something less than stoic for the first time during the banquet. “Well, of course, the Foxes were busy practicing,” Grant said, drawn as always to something that felt like competition. 

Brayden set his plate on the bedside table and turned off the lamp before shifting further under the blankets. He spent the hours after the game just hanging out in the room with Arlo, while eating room service, and he was ready to sleep. His phone continued to light up, and he briefly saw that he had numerous missed calls from Wymack, prompting him to turn it off. It wasn’t that he was necessarily ignoring his coach, he just didn’t want to talk about press duty tonight. Maybe, tomorrow after he had the night to sleep on it and come up with an explanation, because he didn’t have one at the moment. 

He didn’t go into that room with the intention of being difficult or to cause problems for the team. Obviously, he could’ve handled it better, but he had no idea how to act in front of a camera or formulate well thought out responses on the spot, especially to questions that had nothing to do with the fucking game. Just the thought of it was enough to make him angry at all again. Not just for his own sake, but the others as well. They weren’t giving Akira a break with all the Hollywood questions. Brayden even tried to get the attention off of him, but that was where he went wrong, not considering how he would handle the personal questions aimed at himself. 

There was a rapid knock at the door and Brayden let out a long groan, suspecting it was Wymack. When the voice came from the other side, he didn’t feel any better. Usually, he would just ignore Grant, but he didn’t want him to wake up Arlo. Cursing, he climbed out of bed and left the room, quickly closing the door behind him. “What?” Brayden snapped as he came face-to-face with Grant. “I’m not in the mood for a booty call. Try again tomorrow.” The running joke that Grant wanted him was getting old, but he couldn’t help but automatically turn to it as a defense mechanism. 

As usual, Brayden answered the door with a sarcastic comment on hand, and as usual, Grant’s frown only deepened. There was more venom in Brayden’s tone than normal, but that wasn’t enough to make Grant actually come back tomorrow, especially not when Brayden had come out into the hallway rather than simply slamming the door in Grant’s face. By tomorrow, the articles would already be out, and Grant knew that they were going to turn Brayden’s temper tantrum into an absolute shit-show for the entire team. He knew, because he’d seen it before—hell, he’d lived it before. 

Grant might have learned to school his expression into something serious and stoic, regardless of what people threw at him after (and during) a game, but that was because he’d learned the hard way how important control was. It was so much more satisfying to win against the press by giving them nothing. Yelling at them, fighting them, storming off? That was what they wanted from the Foxes, what they expected, and playing into that image only hurt them as a team. It gave the press a reason to write them off, rather than taking them seriously, and that was the very thing Grant worked against every single day. They’d made progress last season, but Grant knew how easily things could be taken from you, and that went double for the precarious position of the Foxes’ reputation. 

“No, we’re talking about this now,” he countered, unmoved by Brayden’s attitude. “I just saw the press conference,” he said, as if there was any other reason why he’d be at Brayden’s door right now. “Want to explain what you were thinking? How many times have you gone up against the press by now?” Brayden wasn’t some freshmen, unused to the pressure that came from being a Fox. “And before you protest: I’m not saying they were right, but they never are. I’m saying you should’ve known better.” 

Like most things in his life, Grant’s mornings followed a strict routine.  He’d wake up, change into gym clothes, and head out for a run, all before the sun was even up. It didn’t matter if he’d only gone to bed a few hours ago, kept up long after dark by homework or pages upon pages of strategy. The lack of sleep rarely caught up with him, and if it did, he’d just pour himself an extra cup of coffee. He liked the peace and quiet of the mornings. He liked feeling productive, even when most people were still asleep. Grant had it down to an art by now, waking up without an alarm more often than not.

Of course, that routine hadn’t developed out of nowhere, and it wasn’t new to Grant’s life as a Fox. It had started in foster care, when going to sleep felt dangerous, and staying asleep long was just asking for nightmares. Those feelings were rarer these days, but they weren’t gone, and sometimes Grant still found himself blindsided.

Like now, for example. Because tonight hadn’t been a good night. Tonight had been a very, very bad night. 

Grant glanced over at his phone, deciding it was close enough to morning to justify getting out of bed and getting started on the day. He could slip back into his routine if he tried hard enough, and then he’d just...ignore tonight entirely, until it was time for his weekly appointment with Dr. Dobson. Grant dressed quietly, more considerate than normal to his sleeping roommates, and headed towards the dorm’s living space—only to shudder to a halt when he registered that there was someone already out there. 

For a split second, being caught unawares by a tall, shadowy figure felt too similar to his nightmares, and his heart sped up again against his will. Only a second though, thankfully, and then Grant unfroze as he recognized Dominic. He relaxed minutely, and carefully schooled his features into something that was, ideally, more collected than he felt.

Seeing the team manager in his dorm at ungodly hours wasn’t an uncommon experience, not when he was roommates with Kent. Normally though, Grant wasn’t shuffling out of his room with eyes that felt swollen and achy from exhaustion. He was fairly certain he hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep since the summer, since Zia’s apartment in Georgia, but tonight he’d only drifted off long enough for a nightmare. He’d spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, feeling somehow perversely grateful that he’d dreamt about the same thing (same person) for long enough now that he could wake up mostly quietly anyways—a sharp gasp instead of a shout, swallowing down on unnecessary panic. It prevented the awkward conversation that would’ve inevitably occurred if he’d woken Kent and Logan up too.

“You know, Kent is supposed to tell me when he has people crashing here,” Grant said, his voice coming out rougher than anticipated. He cleared his throat, steadying himself. There was no real danger here, only unwanted memories, and he could handle those. More relevantly, Dominic was in his room, and Grant felt like shit. Fine. Grant could handle that too. “Do you want coffee, as long as you’re here? I need coffee.”

                   “Niceto meet you,” she replied with a smile. “Officially, I mean.” Because it wasn’tlike she didn’t know who he was. She might not have met most of the team, butIsadora did know the Exy players… by their last names at least. She didn’t knowmuch else about them other than that. She was intrigued by the Foxes. Part ofher wondered how a team like that could even function. Then again, her highschool cheerleading squad had functioned despite their intent on being completeand utter assholes to her. Isadora wondered what she could do for the Foxes, ifanything. Because it wasn’t like she knew anything about Exy at all. She wonderedwhy it felt like there was such a terrible connection between the win and theFoxes’ moods. They’d won, but even Isadora could tell that it hadn’t been aneasy win, especially towards the end.

                  She probably needed to learn a little more about the Foxes and Exybefore she started talking about the games and whatnot. Isadora doubted thatshe would ever truly become passionate about it, though that didn’t mean she wasn’tgoing to learn. “I guess I’m still learning about Exy,” she admitted. The game didn’tmake much sense to her, but she was not going to admit that. To her it didn’t matterwhat she was cheering for, as long as she was cheering. She was there forherself because she loved it and not for anyone else. Her parents had watchedthe game to see if they showed her cheering. It sucked that they were so faraway and couldn’t come see any of the games. “Still, I’d think that even thoughthe game was rough, in the end you still won and that’s important to remember. Suresometimes it’s about the journey, but sometimes it has to just be about theend.”  

                  Isadora didn’t like giving out advice to people because she normally didn’ttake it herself – which was hypocritical. She was wondering if there was going to be any sort of celebrationtonight. She doubted it with the way everyone was acting. “Well fromexperience, you can’t always choose what happens, you can onlychoose how to look at it before, during, and after. By the looks of it, some of your teammatesneed to learn that.” She knew that wasn’t the easiest advice to take, but itwas something. And honestly, something she needed to learn herself all things considered. “I don’t know much about Exy, but I’d be willing to listen ifyou ever need someone to talk to. Or if you just want to vent or something. This can’t be easy,” she said, gesturing all around. 

“Sure,” Grant agreed easily, because of course it was about the end, about winning against the odds. Grant was nothing if not determined, and he’d been focused on the endgame for years. Dreaming of the future was what got him by on rough days, and buoyed him on his good ones. But this game? This wasn’t the end. It wasn’t even close. Regardless of the outcome, this was simply one step. It was only the second game of the year, after all. They had the rest of the season to get through—and for Grant, the draft loomed at the end of the year, a target he’d been working towards for most of his life. 

Of course, even that wasn’t the finish line. The draft was just another hurdle, and getting onto a pro team was just another step. In the end, he’d only be satisfied once he stood alongside the US Court, and he knew it. This wasn’t about just playing Exy for the rest of his life. It was about pushing himself to play Exy at his best possible level, and proving to both himself and the rest of the world that he could do it.

In Grant’s mind, it was completely unnecessary for her to turn around and attempt to console him at the end of a game, especially one they’d won. It wasn’t like he needed it, and it didn’t help that he didn’t agree with everything she’d said. Grant had to believe that he could and would have an active hand in his future. Otherwise, what was the point? And maybe they couldn’t choose everything that happened to them, but when it came to Exy, they had every chance to control the outcome. It was about skill: not fate, not luck.

Even if he’d wanted to vent though, he had no intention of doing it here, with some woman he’d only just met. That was what Dr. Dobson was for. He knew the therapist, and trusted her. He didn’t know Isadora. Besides, he was fine. Less than perfect game notwithstanding, he’d played well, and they’d been victorious. It was enough, for now. 

So: “I’m fine, thank you,” he said, automatically. His tone, as always with strangers, was more businesslike than social. By now, it was Grant’s default setting outside of the Foxes. Hell, with the Foxes too, when he felt they needed a Captain more than a teammate. “I’m happy we won, and my team played well, for the most part. I was just acknowledging that tonight could’ve gone better.” He cleared his throat, looking to change the subject. “If you don’t know much about Exy, why did you choose the Vixens then?”

They might have a few more weeks before their next game, but Grant had no intention of waiting until the last second to prepare. He ensured they hit practices harder than ever, even in the days immediately following their game in Nashville. Winning their first two games didn’t mean they could get complacent. It meant they had momentum, sure, but that could easily be taken from them. They’d had momentum entering that final game against the Trojans last season too. Come October 6th, they’d have to be ready for whatever the Hornets threw at them.

By the end of this afternoon’s practice, Grant could feel exhaustion creeping in, and that was exactly the way he preferred it. He had homework waiting for him in his dorm anyway—he might as well get the most out of the afternoon, before he was forced to sit around for the rest of the day (which, to be fair, still meant productivity of some kind: just on his laptop, rather than out on the court). 

The team started to leave, some lingering, some rushing out of the court, and Grant found himself alongside Akira in the hallway. He nodded in the striker’s direction,  “How are you feeling? I know the Terrapins hit you pretty hard the other night,” he added, frowning in sympathy. As the goalkeeper, there was somewhat of a disconnect between him and the rest of the team in the aftermath of the game. The goalkeeper’s box was his territory, and technically, no one else was allowed to enter it. That was what had drawn him to playing goalie in the first place—even before everything, even before Haskell, he’d wanted to carve out a space of his own, and guarding the goal gave that to him. 

So, his position kept him away from some of the violence of Exy. That wasn’t to say Grant ever left a game completely unscathed, but there was a big difference between the bruises incurred from diving to the floor to block a ball and the kind that appeared when another striker slammed you into the court wall—and that was before he even began to factor in the specific insults that striker had spat in Akira’s direction, recognizable even from Grant’s place on the bench. 

Grant had only intended to leave the footage of tonight’s game on in the background while he did his homework. Despite his complete disinterest in the press, it was, unfortunately, important to see how they perceived the Foxes. Their reputation would play a hand in Grant’s future, after all, and he needed them to look good. The more seriously people took them as a team, the more likely he was to succeed in the draft at the end. It would help all of them with that, in the long run. Rehabilitating their image wasn’t easy though, and even after last season’s successes, he could tell the tides hadn’t quite shifted in their direction. His focus was on studying, but even still, Grant couldn’t ignore it when the words disastrous press conference drifted over from the screen. 

Grant frowned deeply, reaching over to turn up the volume—just in time to watch an increasingly surly Brayden snapping at the press, before ultimately storming out and leaving Akira alone in there. Jesus Christ. On some level, Grant understood. Truth be told, he’d fled from enough reporters himself, unable to take the way they’d consistently dug into the most painful aspects of his personal life—but that had been freshmen year. Brayden should know better. 

His textbooks abandoned, Grant left the hotel room in search of Brayden. Whatever celebration was going on, he had good feeling Brayden wouldn’t be involved. Even if he was, Grant had no problem pulling him aside to talk to him if necessary. He found his way to Brayden’s room, taking a quick breath and schooling his features into something hopefully stern but not downright angry. Odds were, Brayden would have no issue ditching Grant the way he had the reporters, and then they wouldn’t get anywhere. Brayden seemed determined to have an attitude,  but he also clearly cared about the Foxes more than he let on—he just had to realize that their public image mattered. Things weren’t going to change if they kept acting like the loose canons people expected them to be.

He reached up and knocked, multiple times in rapid succession. “Brayden?” he said, before pausing to listen for a moment, just in case there was any movement behind the door. “Come on, I know you’re in there.” He didn’t, not really, but odds were good that Brayden wasn’t in the mood to explore Nashville tonight. Not after whatever had gone at the press conference.

                    The game had been a good one. Despite not knowing much about Exy, Isadora had been on the edge of her seat the entire game when she wasn’t cheering. It had been an intense game from what she could tell, but the Foxes had won. Which is what Isadora knew was most important in the end. She liked cheering for the underdog team. The Foxes, a team with a reputation for being a rag-tag band of misfits was something Isadora identified with heavily. Not that she’d talked to many of the Foxes about anything. She was looking forward to cheering them on this season. 

                    As soon as the game ended, she went to change out of her uniform and get ready to spend the rest of the night doing her homework. For some reason, despite the win, Isadora could tell the mood on some of the Foxes’ faces wasn’t exactly joy. Which she didn’t understand since they’d won. But it wasn’t like she would have gone to a party tonight anyway. A party in a hotel room didn’t seem particularly interesting to her. Luckily the thought of what she was going to do had been interrupted by her dad calling. 

                    “Oh good. I don’t want to miss that bus.” She didn’t want to be trapped here. Isadora realized that she was talking to the Foxes’ captain. “I’m Isadora, by the way. Normally I’m less of a mess than I am right now, but it’s been a long night. That was a good game. I mean I assume that was a good game. We did win.” So why did everyone seem to look like they’d just been to a funeral? 

“Grant,” he said, introducing himself in turn—as if she hadn’t just spent the entire night watching him play. Lately, he’d been feeling vaguely bad about the disconnect between the Foxes and the Vixens, and if part of that was motivated by the fact that he thought the Foxes could learn from the Vixens when it comes to their attitudes, then so be it. He didn’t want them to become cheerleaders, but they deserved a healthy dose of optimism this year. It would make it easier for the team to power through, because this year, they were going all the way, no matter what. Grant didn’t have any more chances: this had to be it. A score of 6-2 proved they were off to a good start, but Isadora was right: she assumed it was good because they’d won, but the atmosphere still wasn’t victorious. 

They’d won their last game against the Terrapinsby just one point, and that point had been scored in overtime. It put into perspective just how much the team had improved, and despite the sour faces around him, Grant couldn’t help but feel a thrill of pride. Victory or not though, there was no denying that that hadn’t been an ideal game. “We won, but there were injuries. Fights. Even a red card,” Grant said, frowning slightly. “It’s not always just about the points.” It had been an ugly game in the second half, and they were going to carry those things into the next game with them. He’d come off more or less unscathed, affected only by the usual aches that came from playing for so long, but he was an exception it seemed, not a rule. 

He couldn’t explain all of that to Isadora, not really. This might just be one game, but being a Fox meant that this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. They could  never just have a good, clean game—and even if they did, it would be seen as the exception, not the rule. People expected their games to be messy, dramatic affairs, and even though it was the other team’s fault tonight, he was sure the Foxes would be the ones who took the blame. “At the end there, the Terrapins were more interested in hurting us than actually playing us. That’s not the kind of game I want, at least.” 

Grant’s phone interrupted whatever he was about to say, prompting Brayden to look over at him with a raised brow. He expected the other to leave the room to take the call. It would give Brayden an excuse to ignore the tape and eat his chips instead, but Grant merely stepped away, still in hearing distance. He turned his attention back to the TV, having no interest in whoever he was talking to, that is, until he heard their name. Why would Zia be calling Grant? He was sure they were friends and all, but friends usually just sent stupid texts about memes. Actually calling someone just wasn’t a thing anymore.

By the way that Grant spoke in a hushed tone and looked like he was struggling not to grin like an idiot, Brayden had a feeling that they might be a little bit more than friends. A smirk reached his lips as he tried not to blatantly stare at the captain. There was something amusing about the whole thing. He always figured that Grant’s one true love was Exy and that he didn’t have time for being with an actual person. Apparently, the captain was capable of feelings–not that Brayden had any room to talk, considering he didn’t know the first thing about romance. 

Brayden was still wearing his smirk when Grant hung up and returned. Shrugging, he snorted as he met Grant’s gaze. “Nothing much. How’s Zia doing?” He asked, though it was obvious he wasn’t asking out of genuine concern for her. “I didn’t realize you and Zia were so close. Calling you during the day? Hm.” He looked back at the screen, though he wasn’t paying attention anymore. He wanted to see how Grant would explain himself.

He’d sort of hoped staying in the same room would make it seem more...normal? Maybe? It would’ve felt far more suspicious for Zia’s name to light up his phone, only for Grant to vanish into another room to take the call. That had been the logic at the time, at least, but now Brayden’s smug expression told him he’d made the wrong choice. Of course, Brayden looked smug fairly often, always thinking he’d found a way under Grant’s skin—it just mattered this time around, because he’d stumbled on something that truly wasn’t Brayden’s business. 

The obvious response (’you don’t know everything about me, obviously’) was nearly on the tip of Grant’s tongue, but he bit it back. Aside from sounding needlessly defensive, it wouldn’t even be true. That was the problem. People did know nearly everything about him, with very few exceptions. His whole life had always been on display, regardless of his own wishes, and evidently, he couldn’t keep things under the radar when he tried. 

Even still, he leveled his most unimpressed look at Brayden. “Not that it matters, but yeah, we talk pretty often,” he told Brayden. It wouldn’t be right to simply lie, because in the end, he didn’t want to lie about Zia. She wasn’t some kind of dirty secret. It was just...not anyone else’s business, not right now. They both had too much going on, and although neither of them liked it much, they were in the public eye. Even moreso for Zia, now that she played for a pro team. He’d never forgive himself if she had to spend her first year dodging questions about her personal life again, instead of getting celebrated for the amazing player she was. The more people knew, the more likely that became.

It didn’t feel like a lie to dance around the subject though, to allow the other Foxes to think they were friends. After all, his friendship with Zia was at the heart of their relationship—that trust and understanding had been established long before they finally took the plunge and kissed. Things between them had shifted since then, obviously, but they hadn’t changed into anything unrecognizable. Zia was his best friend. She was just something more than that at times too. 

He cleared his throat, focusing on the other half of Brayden’s statement. “She’s doing good. Their season is starting up soon too, so she’s finally getting the chance the play with a pro team.” He paused, before deciding not to elaborate. Anyone who knew Zia would understand how much that meant to her, without his commentary needed. “We’re here to watch tapes though.”