Page 39 of Next Level Up
Right on cue, a knock at the door. Carter grins. “That’s Hunter. Told you he owed me.”
My living room is chaos. There’s cords everywhere, a ring light. Tate’s tower is now taking over the corner desk near my bookshelves. His monitor glows red, headset on and mask in place, he’s back in Ghost mode.
“I cannot believe you’re going to play from my living room,” I say, tossing him a power strip.
“You invited the chaos, pretty girl.”
Carter sets his coffee down and leans forward slightly. “You okay?”
My heart’s thudding. “Yeah,” I lie. Except I’m not. Not even close.
I leave my bedroom door open as I pull my chair out, sink into it, and take a slow breath. My monitor flickers to life, the countdown timer pulsing across the screen. Thirty seconds. That’s all I’ve got left to pretend I’m not about to jump out of my skin.
Carter’s laptop is propped on my nightstand table in my bedroom, where he plans to lurk and moderate/chat-snipe from a safe distance.
I click through my overlays, forcing my brain to switch into streaming mode. My game face, the only armor I’ve got left right now.
From the front room, Tate’s voice cuts through the thin wall. “Hey, pretty girl—hope you’re not about to choke under pressure.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, just for a second, and let out a shaky breath. Then I crack my knuckles, straighten in my chair, and swallow whatever’s left of my nerves.
The countdown timer ticks across the screen, and suddenly it’s real. Thirty seconds. My load out’s locked. My ping’s stable but my hands are sweating so bad I have to wipe my palms on my thighs before reaching for my mouse again.
Carter leans forward on the bed behind me, eyes glued to the screen over my shoulder. “Breathe, baby. You’ve done this a thousand times.”
“Not like this,” I murmur, heart punching against my ribs.
“Exactly like this,” he says, soft but steady. “It’s just another game. You’re better than all of them.”
Across the apartment, I hear the snap of Tate’s headset settling over his ears.
His voice comes in a beat later, low and keyed-up. “Let’s fucking go.”
I adjust in my chair, roll my shoulders, crack my neck. I can do this. Iwilldo this. The match starts.
We drop into a ruined industrial complex which is honestly half warehouse, half nightmare.
The sky is ash-gray, the air thick with pixelated fog and the echo of distant gunfire. I bolt forward, sliding behind a stack of rusted crates, my movement sharp and clean. The HUD lights up—teammates fanning out, enemies pinging near the south corridor.
The chat goes off within seconds.
EZ_BeatMe69:Oof the e-couple’s here. Hide your simps.
GrrrlBoss93:Fuck around and find out.
Tate ’s voice cuts through my headset like a switchblade. “You take left, I’ll sweep under.”
I move. We’re a blur of motion—fluid, ruthless.
A shot pings past my ear. I slide under it, pop up behind a stack of oil drums, and light up two enemies trying to flank. My SMG kicks back hard, rattling in my hand, but I don’t miss.
Carter’s behind me in the room, his breath catching. “Hell yeah. That’s my girl.”
A grenade rolls near me, Tate’s warning, “Move right, now,” and I dodge on instinct, glass shattering behind me as the blast rips through the side wall.
“Thanks,” I huff.
He grunts. “Don’t make me save your ass twice.” while his name pops up in the feed.
