Bend & Break: Red Card Romance by Genna Black

Author:Genna Black [Black, Genna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-10-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Blake

The locker room hums with the kind of nervous energy that always settles in before kickoff. The sounds of zippers, muffled laughter, the slap of palms against thighs to shake out nerves—it all blends into a rhythm I know by heart. It should settle me.

Tonight, it barely scratches the edge of the storm in my head.

I tug my jersey over my head, the black fabric clinging for a second before I shake it into place. Number six, bold and white across the back. The logo—a coiled viper, fangs bared—catches the fluorescent light on my chest. Vipers. Our name doesn’t feel like a mascot tonight. It feels like a directive. Fast, relentless, lethal.

My shin guards scrape against my legs as I strap them on. Cleats next—laces pulled so tight I can almost feel my circulation cut off, but I want it that way. Every piece of gear is armor, every layer a promise that for ninety minutes, I’m not Blake-who-can’t-sleep, not Blake-who-saw-a-dead-kid-on-video, not Blake-who’s-in-too-deep. I’m Blake Aster, striker, and my only job is to put the ball in the net.

Samira hums under her breath as she braids her hair, quick and neat. Mayson paces, jersey half tucked, muttering strategy to herself. Lucy’s already in full kit, gloves on, bouncing in place like she’s got caffeine for blood. We’re all wound tight in our own ways, but the moment Coach Carmichael’s voice cuts across the room, it sharpens into focus.

“Let’s go, Vipers. Time to show them who owns this field.”

The cheer rises automatically—loud, raw, united. My throat strains with it, and for a second, the weight in my chest lifts.

We form the line, shoulder to shoulder, cleats clicking against the concrete tunnel. The stadium lights bleed in from ahead. The roar of the crowd grows louder with every step we take toward the field.

At kickoff, the whistle cuts through the night, sharp enough to slice through the last of my scattered thoughts.

We start aggressively, pushing into them before they can settle. Mayson takes charge in the middle of the field, every touch crisp, her eyes flicking constantly around to see the whole picture before anyone else does. Out wide, Sam is already sprinting down the left side, forcing their defender to chase her and pulling the shape of their back line apart. That’s my cue. I drive forward into the heart of it, locking in shoulder to shoulder with their biggest defender, holding my ground and waiting for the opening I know is coming.

The first ten minutes are all noise and speed. Cleats sinking into the damp soil, the snap of passes connecting, the crowd’s energy rolling over us like a tide. Lucy shouts directions from the box, voice carrying across the pitch with that no-nonsense authority only a keeper can manage.

I get an early chance—Mayson threads the ball through the defense, perfectly timed so it rolls right into my path. I take a touch to control it and go for the shot, but their goalkeeper reacts fast. She charges out before I can plant my second step, throwing herself at the ball.

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