Page 111 of Next Level Up
The two of us have always chased each other—through lobbies, through trash talk, through tension and teasing and whatever the hell we’ve become now.
And we’re not done yet.
My kill-death ratio is climbing fast. My chat is chaos, full of CAPS LOCK praise and people asking if I’m going to stream from the stage finals. One person literally types“BITE ME, HAVEN. YOU’RE TOO GOOD.”
I snort. I don’t have time to reply before the next round loads. I settle back in and keep climbing.
The air in the arena lobby is thick with the kind of atmosphere that vibrates against your skin.
The giant glowing bracket on the wall tracks wins and eliminations, and every time someone updates the screen, a ripple of cheers or groans rolls through the space.
The round ends and the screen flashes across the arena: “Round complete! Fifteen-minute break before the next match.”A cheer rises around me, a low roar of relief and excitement. I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me, shaking off the tension that’s been winding through every nerve for the last hour.
Tate steps away from his area, stretching his shoulders and shaking his hands out. His mask is still in place.
“You survived that one,” he says, walking up next to me,
I snort, brushing a strand of damp hair out of my eyes. “Barely. And you made it look way too easy, as usual.”
From the observation room above the arena, I spot Carter leaning against the railing, his elbows braced, watching everything like a hawk. The weight of his gaze is both grounding and nerve-wracking. I wave lightly, and he gives me a small thumbs-up. “How’s my favorite player holding up?” he calls, voice just loud enough to carry.
I laugh, voice shaky but real. “Still alive. Don’t worry, I’m pacing myself.”
Carter grins as he makes his way towards us.
We step toward the vendor carts along the side of the lobby, Tate keeping his pace close, but not crowding me. I grab a bottle of water, twist the cap, and take a long drink, feeling the cool liquid hit my throat and calm the tremor in my hands.
I glance at the highlighted name of my next opponent. But for these fifteen minutes, the lobby feels like a safe space, suspended between rounds.
I take a deep breath, rolling my shoulders back. “Fifteen minutes,” I say, smiling at both of them. “Let’s make them count.”
Tate tilts his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “Count all you want. Just don’t blink when the next round starts. I won’t go easy.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Carter’s walking on one side of me, his hand wrapped gently around my wrist with Tate on the other side.
“Is thatHaven?” a girl near the snack bar whisper-squeals, and suddenly there’s a ripple of attention, like someone just triggered a flashbang in the middle of the room. A group of guys pass by, one of them slowing just enough to grin at me. “Hey, you’re insane out there,” he says, all teeth and fake charm. “If you need a sub for the next round, I got fast hands.”
Before I can respond, Tate cuts the space between us in half, stepping in with a lazy sort of menace that makes the guy blink and backpedal on instinct. “She’s got all the hands she needs.”
The guy stammers something and disappears into the crowd. Carter just mutters under his breath, “Jesus.”
I laugh. “Relax. I’m pretty sure he would’ve fainted if I actually spoke to him.”
But then I feel it—hispresence.
I turn and there he is, standing just a few feet away, bracket pass around his neck, his eyes locked on me. His jaw is tight like he’s been waiting for this moment all day.
He starts walking toward me and I barely have time to shift before Tate’s in front of me.
“Keep walking.”
Dylan’s eyes bounce to Carter first then to me. And finally to Tate. His mouth twitches, like he wants to say something. But he doesn’t, he simply turns and walks away muttering something under his breath.
Carter’s hand curls tighter around mine. “You okay?”
I nod and manage to give a small smile. “Better now.”
