**Chapter five: Under pressure -Blake's POV**
920 Words
The echoes of the bouncing ball against the walls of my room create a rhythmic backdrop to my swirling thoughts, a mix of nervous excitement and anticipation. Just as I'm lost in my own world, my phone vibrates, cutting through the haze. I glance at the screen and see an unfamiliar number illuminated. Curiosity piques as I tap the message open, and a grin involuntarily spreads across my face. "Hi, it's Malia from school," she writes, and suddenly, the worries of the day fade into the distance. She’s reaching out, asking about coffee. My chest feels lighter; she’s a bit dorky, sure, but there's something endearing in her awkward charm that has always caught my attention. Before I can begin to craft a response, a booming voice resonates from downstairs—my father's voice, resonating with authority.
I jog down the stairs, my heart racing not from exertion but sheer exhilaration, and step into our sprawling lounge. It’s imposing, adorned with fine art, and dominated by a majestic fireplace. My father, slightly towering over me at 6'6", sports a collection of tattoos that tell stories of battles fought and won, his silver hair slicked back—a warrior's demeanor cloaked in familial care. His stern gaze meets mine, and without preamble, he cuts to the chase. "Does it look like you're going to beat the champions this year?" The tension ripples through me; the stakes are high for our upcoming game against Valley High. "Yes! We’re going to destroy them!" I declare passionately, bolstered by the strategic plan our coach has laid out. My father’s response, however, is as heavy as the weight of expectation he places on my shoulders—failure is not an option, not for the family, not for the pack.
As I rush to reply to Malia—“Meet me tomorrow at Karen’s at 7 PM”—the gravity of my father's expectations hangs over me like a thundercloud. I barely register Malia’s message before I’m pushed away from my distracted thoughts with another bellow from Dad. The next morning dawns agonizingly early, signaled by a whistle that cuts through my rest like a cold knife. My father, decked out like a drill sergeant, demands I rise at the crack of dawn for a run—a gruelling requirement tchat leaves me drenched in sweat and frustration. “Just what I needed,” I grumble internally, the idea of skipping training to meet Malia, growing more tempting yet increasingly risky. The thought of brushing aside my responsibilities weighs heavily in my mind as I step into the shower, letting the water wash away my physical exhaustion while I contemplate the pressures of being the next alpha—a role defined by strength, duty, and relentless expectations. As I head off to school, the reminder of Malia’s offer lingers like a sweet whisper, igniting a flicker of rebellion against the looming shadow of my father’s demands. Would I dare to meet her?
As I roll into the school parking lot, the familiar weight of my helmet comes off with a satisfying tug, and I take a moment to catch my breath. The sound of the bike’s tires skidding on the pavement seems to draw attention, and I can feel the stares penetrating my back. It’s not unusual; I’m used to it. The girls’ whispers and the way they glance my way are nothing new—just the price of being one of the star players on the football team. Soon enough, I’m joined by Jackson, my loyal beta, and a couple of other guys from the squad. We stride confidently through the hallways, each step accompanied by a chorus of eyes that seem to follow us like moths to a flame, but we remain unfazed, focused on our game plan for tomorrow.
As we gather around, our conversation turns lively, filled with banter about our strategy to crush the rival team. Jackson, ever the social butterfly, dives into plans for the party this Friday night after the game, a grin plastered on his face as he plays up the excitement. “It’s gonna be epic, mate! Just think of all the girls there; we might finally meet our mates!” he exclaims, and a ripple of laughter follows. Josh, another player, adds in with enthusiasm, “You guys are missing out! My mate is incredible; I found her just after turning 18!” His voice drips with envy as we head to the gym, anticipation bubbling among us as we prepare for practice.
As we hit the field, the cheerleaders arrive, adding a new energy to the mix. Kirsty, with her trademark swagger, glides over to me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hi handsome, you ready to smash it tomorrow?” she purrs, followed by a playful wink that could’ve easily melted anyone else. My heart sinks; we used to have a thing, but that was before she hit eighteen, and I knew right then that she wasn’t my mate. “What do you want, Kirsty? Now is not a good time,” I respond, trying to brush her off. But she’s persistent, trailing me and suggesting a "pre-workout" at her place, her voice sultry and teasing. I huff, feeling a mix of annoyance and longing, and decide to walk away. My father wouldn't mind us being together; her family's reputation holds weight, but for me, it’s about more than just status. I need to find my true mate, and Kirsty just isn’t it.
- Writer
