Thomas
Harry and Rey are nearly late to breakfast on Sunday, and for the person who got us off on Sunday for church, he shows no signs of going to church, instead citing reporters and then dismissing us all to our rooms for prayer which we take to mean sleeping. Harry is his usually annoyingly cheerful eight foot tall self, bumping his head on things and being a tall person and congratulating us on the game. I stay to talk with Coach while the others disappear off to our rooms to get caught up on sleep and video games.
"Harry's cheerful," Coach says, suspicious.
"Yeah, he's like that. Do you think we'll win?"
"It'd take a miracle," he grunts, not looking up from his breakfast.
"What do you think the Tempest's are doing?" I ask.
"Probably having an emergency meeting to discuss why we are the way we are."
Harry
"Well?" Rey is bouncing on the bed when I get back too the room.
"Well," I say, innocently.
"Did you kiss her?" He groans, flopping down on the bed. He was asleep when I came back last night and has been itching to talk about it since.
"That I did," I say, sitting down on my bed.
"And? Did she kiss you back?"
"Yeah, that was the point."
"And?"
"And we're mortal enemies for the next week and once we beat her team horribly she's going to hate me," I say, shrugging, "And it will be over."
"But," he prompts.
"But it will have been an adventure," I say, holding out a hand, he clasps it. "Fools in love. We all are, you shall be too someday. But it's not worth not loving someone."
"What isn't?"
"Losing them. Remember Rey, the love is always worth the heartache. For heartache means you know how to love. And I'd sooner that than never feel it at all."
"Even if it hurts worse than you could imagine?" He asks.
"Yeah, because hurting means you know how to feel. It means you have a heart. And it means you let someone immensely special into your life," I say.
Thomas
"What's wrong with Harry lately?" Jon asks, lying on his bed staring at a video game.
"I don't know. I think he's in love, but he might only love himself and expensive food, I'm not sure yet."
"Who do you think he's in love with?"
"Well, last time he fell in love it was with a future priest so I expect someone equally off limits and destructive, like the president of the country, or someone on the opposing team, or even worse, an actual girl," I explain.
"Worse for the girl or him?"
"Clearly both, Jon. Dad already brought home a witch. This girl could be a Mormon or something else that we absolutely don't need around the house," I say.
"Ew."
"Also, it's scientifically proven women have more blood lust and this gene pool is already violent enough."
"Yeah it is. I'm swearing off women."
"Let's not be hasty, now. We can all have passionate love affairs let's just not bring them home with us to bother other people or complicate our lives."
"What makes you think Harry will try to bring her home?"
"Because he has no self control. And he was most attached to our mother so he feels the need to be loved and validated. If it is a woman, we're doomed they're very rational as well as potentially violent. Let's just hope it's a guy," I say.
"Really?"
"Yeah, Jon we've been over this, two sisters and dad's witch-girlfriend is more than enough women in our house being sane and stopping us from starting fires in the middle of the night. You want another rational person staggering around suggesting we not commit crimes? Harry's got that covered," I sigh.
"No."
"Why do you ask?"
"Pretty sure he's in love with the captain of the Tempests. Who last I checked is a girl."
"Goddamn it, Jon!"
"What?"
"This is why we can't have nice things!"
"I'm not the one falling in love with her!"
"No, but you put it out there in the world and now he'll do it if he's not already thought of it we've been over this. She's beautiful and looks like she could and would gladly strangle him with her thighs. He has no self control. It's a bad combination," I say, flopping down on the bed, "We'll just leave that as is and hope he doesn't fall in love with her."
"Do you think she loves him back?"
"Doubtful! That's the problem. Have you not met us, Jon? Women don't voluntarily like the likes of us."
"I think that's depressing."
"Yeah, but it's true."
Kate
"In short, after hours of research into experimental psychology on the minds of psychopaths, we have no idea what they are doing," Coach Fletcher and I have a slideshow prepared.
"We have ten injuries after last night, we cannot let that happen again," I, who also cannot let other things I did last night happen again. How could I kiss him? Also how dare I enjoy it so much and want to do it again so badly? That jerk. That idiot. How dare he make me fall in love with him? I'm not even enjoying myself; it just hurts. "Tonight we must win. We have to. We have to beat them."
We lose
In fact, we lose spectacularly.
Harry
Game 3 opens with a glorious thunder. The fans are wild. The Tempests are scattered and confused. We are a tight knit machine.
We play like we know how. Clean, neat, with dozens of shots on goal. By the end of the first we're 1-0, with the Tempests getting penalties right and left as they try to retaliate for the previous game's violence. In the end we'd forced them to pull out seven players. They are down to thirteen. They can still do line changes but barely. They aren't used to skating a full game and are exhausted and confused. Despite Kate's admonishments, they are an uncontrollable mess, desperate to score on us or at least injure us.
By the time the third period ends we are at 3-0. Warwick and I each scored a penalty shot plus Thomas put it in once. The Tempests are seething and confused. We are exhausted. Rey and I have to cling to each other to get off the ice, Jon doesn't look much better. Coach Bill is pleased but he spares us a speech, telling us we know we're awesome and to go hit the showers. I doubt the Tempests get any such favors.
We sleep half of Tuesday, knowing fully we well must win but also we have Wednesday, a break, ahead of us. We are grisly, determined, and overall sore. A few of us have bruises from the various tussles and Rey got a tooth knocked out, but we're going to worry about that when we get home. We sleep, eat, and try to stretch our aching muscles ahead of Game 4.
Game 4 is brutal. The Tempests now are seething from their various losses. They are down men. And we are a disgraceful, scrap of a team hell bent on driving them insane. And we do.
To her credit, Kate is well aware my strategy is to invoke chaos, but settling her team is another matter. By the second period of Game 4, the score is 1-1, they are wired. One skates up and punches me in the face with reckless abandon. Jon, to his credit, only lets one more goal in. Because they keep fouling, I get a penalty shot and we tie it up at 2-2. The third is a fierce battle, I'm exhausted and go to the boards, praying for a penalty shot so I can just get us in. We cannot go into overtime. And I'm sure Kate instructed her Tempests to go into overtime, well aware that will break us.
We are lucky, however. I hate relying on luck, but there we have it. Thomas gets the puck off the boards and in a vain attempt succeeds in scoring in the last few minutes of the period, leaving us 3-2, our win. We are now three games up, and only have to win a fourth. The Tempests are furious, as are their fans.
I'm exhausted. My men are exhausted. We don't plan on winning the next two games but I'm well aware we never could. We will require the full three days off in order to win on Saturday, and we do still have to play on Thursday and Friday.
Coach orders us a celebratory dinner.
"I don't care what happens the rest of the week. You should be proud of yourselves," he says, before letting us tuck in. We eat together in his room so we can all talk, then he dismisses us, instructing us to sleep, and not leave the hotel tomorrow.
"Reports are fucking everywhere, you're exhausted, watch TV, I know at least one of the Lancasters has an x-box, I'm order you to chill out, and play video games, while I feed you, got it?"
"Yes coach," we echo wearily. For once, I think we all intend to obey. I congratulate them all on a good night's work, assure them that Thursday and Friday will be fun days again, and then we split off to our rooms.
"I'm too tired to shower," Rey says, crawling onto his bed fully clothed. His pudgy face is lined with tiredness, and his eyes are heavy.
"Okay, clean up in the morning then," I say, sitting down on my bed. He does look exhausted. And he's only going to be fifteen. This has been hard on him.
"You going to bed soon?" He mumbles, rolling over his face in a pillow.
"Yeah, in a bit, I'll turn off the lights," I say, turning on my laptop, "I'm just going to do some work."
"Okay," he mumbles, "What are we doing tomorrow?"
"Staying here, like Coach said——or you know, I may not," I say, staring at my email.
Cherished mind-fuck
You are cordially invited to a luncheon in the interests of peace between our kingdoms.
Your forever pain in the ass
"Yeah I'm not gonna be here tomorrow can you cover for me?" I ask.
"Coach is not gonna believe me."
"He doesn't have to."
"Cool. I can do that."
"Thanks, mate."
YOU ARE READING
Henriad (History Plays, Book 5)
Teen FictionThe heir to a criminal empire must deal with his father's terminal illness, raising his siblings alone, falling in love, and the excrutiatingly painful trials that come with growing up. Since his mother's untimely death, Harry has been fiercly prot...
