𝐑 𝐔 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄?¹ - juan soto

11.

the yankees' clubhouse buzzed with post-practice energy—teammates shouting across the room, equipment clanging, and the faint hum of a tv playing highlights from the day's games. lyra stood in the corner with her notebook, blending into the background like a professional. She scribbled notes on today's practice, but her eyes flicked occasionally toward juan, who was sitting a few feet away, pretending to ignore her.

"lyra, you're in the way," he barked, loud enough for the other players to hear. His tone was sharp, exasperated, but his eyes held a glint she'd come to recognize.

"i'm doing my job, soto," she snapped back, lifting her chin defiantly. "not my fault your batting's been garbage lately."

a few teammates snickered, clearly used to their sparring matches by now. one of them—a rookie infielder—leaned over to juan and muttered, "man, she really doesn't let up, huh?"

"tell me about it," juan muttered as he shot lyra a withering glare. "she's been on my case since day one.

satisfied with his act, the rookie wandered off, leaving lyra and juan alone near the lockers. as soon as the room emptied out, juan's entire demeanor shifted. his glare softened into a smirk, and he stepped closer.

"garbage batting?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "you've got a real mean streak, larosa."

she smirked back. "and you've got an ego the size of yankee stadium. somebody has to keep you in check."

without missing a beat, he closed the distance between them, his eyes dark with mischief. "yeah? and how's that going for you?"

before she could respond, his lips were on hers—swift, deliberate, and thoroughly infuriating. he kissed her with the same intensity he played with: all-consuming and unapologetic. lyra melted into it despite herself, her notebook slipping from her hand.

this had become routine for them. throw everyone off around them by faking an argument, then stealing moments like these in their rare, private minutes alone. it definitely wasn't sustainable, but it had worked for the time.

"juan," she whispered when he finally pulled back, breathless and glaring.

he smirked, brushing his thumb over her jaw. "relax, sweetheart. nobody saw."

she shoved him lightly, though her cheeks flushed. "you're going to get us caught."

juan laughed, leaning in one last time to steal another quick kiss. "not if we're careful. i'm sneaky, remember?"

lyra took his palm off of her cheek, holding it tenderly with both hands, "yeah, but we could stand to be a little more careful." she leaned in closer, whispering, "what if someone saw me leaving your house this morning?"

juan chuckled. he spoke at a regular volume, "hey, it's not my fault you wanted it that bad—"

lyra shushed him. "what are you doing?" she leaned into his ear, "did we have to be that rough? my back hurts and you made me sweat my silk press out."

he smirked, "i like your hair better like this anyways."

lyra tilted her head, "like what?"

"curly and stuff. it's pretty." juan fiddled with a curl on top her head.

she rolled her eyes, a blush crawling onto her cheeks, "you're impossible."

he smiled down at her, "and you love it."

✎ 𓂃

lyra sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop balanced precariously on her knees. the cursor blinked on the screen, mocking her as she stared at the unfinished op-ed. she typed out the title:

Op-Ed: Beyond the Headlines—The Truth About Juan Soto

it glared back at her, daring her to hit publish.

she leaned back against the headboard, letting out a sharp breath as she glanced at her phone on the nightstand. no missed calls. no texts from juan. he had no idea what she was doing, and for the first time in weeks, she'd intentionally kept him in the dark.

her fingers hovered over the keyboard, then retreated.

what if this backfires?

she thought about everything she'd built—her reputation as a journalist who didn't pull punches, who asked the tough questions no one else dared to. this piece wasn't her usual style. it wasn't a takedown or an exposé; it was a defense. an amalgamation of her emotional roller coaster of a month. worse, it was vulnerable.

what if they think she's gone soft? what if they think she's compromised?

lyra ran a hand through her curls, wincing as she hit a tangle. her editor had reluctantly given her permission, believing it would sell, but would this affect her? somewhere along the way, juan had stopped being just another subject. he was infuriating, arrogant, and frustratingly charming—and he had also let her in.

she closed her eyes and replayed the memory of juan from the other night. the way he'd opened up about the pressure he felt as a dominican player in the spotlight, his voice low and raw. she remembered the quiet strength in his words, the way he'd let her see a side of him no one else seemed to care about. he deserves for people to see that side of him.

still, doubt crept in. what would the readers say? the ones who had cheered her on for holding athletes like juan accountable? would they accuse her of bias? would they see right through her carefully chosen words and guess the truth about what was happening between them?

she sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. the screen blurred as she stared at it, her vision clouded with uncertainty.

her phone buzzed suddenly, snapping her out of her thoughts. she grabbed it, her pulse quickening when she saw juan's name.

Dinner at the steakhouse? My treat.

lyra stared at the message, not replying. right as she was about to put her phone away, it buzzed again.

Don't make me beg.

lyra huffed out a laugh, despite herself. her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, but instead of replying, she set the phone back down.

he has no idea what she was about to do for him.

she looked back at the screen. the blinking cursor seemed less menacing now. her decision solidified in her chest, heavy but resolute.

"this isn't for him," she whispered, as if saying it out loud would make it true. "it's for the truth."

she scrolled to the top of the page, her heart hammering as she reviewed the final draft.

"Sports journalism often thrives on creating heroes and villains, simplifying complex individuals into narratives that fit neatly into our expectations. But the truth is always more nuanced, more human, than a single story can capture."

her finger hovered over the "publish" button, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. she inhaled deeply, counting to three, then clicked.

the screen flashed, confirming the article was live.

lyra leaned back against the headboard, her pulse racing. for better or worse, the truth was out there now. all she could do was wait—and hope.