Rekindle The Flame || Stilinski || Book Four || WATTY's 2022

Fourteen

WARM-UPS WERE ALMOST OVER.

Sierra, sitting on the lacrosse bench beside Scott and Stiles, fiddled with the clipboard in her hand. She anxiously glanced to where all of the news vans parked at the end of the field. Reporters were setting up, cameramen making last minute adjustments. Any moment they could go live, and broadcast the high-frequency signal.

"Should I go now?" she asked Scott, who adjusted the protective gear on his arms.

He followed her gaze to the TV vans, understanding her concern. "Yeah," he agreed. "Go now."

Stiles took off his gloves, raising to his feet. "I'll go with you," he told Sierra. "You know, just in case."

Sierra nodded, and together they moved towards to Coach Finstock. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes flickering over his multiple players stretching. A small grin appeared on his mouth as he took a deep breath of the cold, night air.

"Hey, Coach," Sierra greeted him first, Stiles coming to a stop right beside her. "I think now's the best time to, uh, forfeit the game."

Finstock didn't even glance her way, flipping through the playbook he held in his hands. Sierra furrowed her brows, exchanging looks with Stiles, who tried to grab his attention. "How about now?" he asked. "Now, you should forfeit the game. Remember? Forfeit the game...Coach?"

"Stilinski," Finstock finally stated, lifting his eyes back to the field. His smirk widened, making Sierra's insides twist uneasily. "I have never forfeited a game."

Sierra widened her eyes, hoping she misheard the man. She forced a chuckle, "Nice, Coach, that's funny....but really, it's time to forfeit."

Finstock turned to her with a shake of his head. "I will never forfeit a game," he said and then glanced towards Stiles, choosing to push him forward. "You, get on the field. Sierra, get out your playbook. It's time for lacrosse, not chitchat."

Stiles and Sierra stuttered out protests, but Finstock cut them off with the shrill shriek of his whistle. Stiles scowled as the crowd started to cheer, grumbling under his breath. "I hate that damn whistle."

Sierra grabbed onto his arm, pulling him over to where Scott had risen off the bench in concern. "What the hell does Coach think he's doing?" Scott demanded when they reached him.

"Coaching a game apparently," Sierra wittily replied, her fear amplifying from the sudden turn of events. "Which means you all have to go play when there's a chance the Beast will come out and attack you."

Stiles placed a hand on Sierra's shoulder, recognizing the signals of her becoming overwhelmed. "I know it's not ideal, but we can still make this work. I don't play till the second quarter, so that gives us time to talk to my dad."

"While you guys do that, Malia can still cut the wires from the vans," Scott said. He felt just as freaked out as Sierra, but tried to not show it. "Then maybe you can help Mason and Corey look for the shoes in the stands. I'll update Liam and Kira."

Sierra and Stiles nodded, the true empath letting out a heavy breath. "Okay, okay, that's good. That's a plan."

"Hey," Scott caught her attention. "What did we say, Sierra?"

"No one dies tonight."

"That's right," Scott agreed, holding out his fist until Sierra bumped hers against it. "Let's do this."

Sierra and Stiles watched Scott grab his helmet, and then join Liam on the field. Players got in their starting positions, Coach Finstock analyzing their movements. Sierra nudged for Stiles to sneak away from the bench. "Coach is distracted. Let's go find your dad."