Tangled In The Captains Game (Short Story) Eric’s POV

CHAPTER EIGHT
ERIC’S POV

I had just dropped Skylar off and was driving back to the café-bar, trying to process what I’d done. I gave her my jacket—my favorite jacket. The good one. The one that made me feel halfway decent when everything else looked like it crawled out of the back of a thrift shop sale bin. Now all I had left was the other one… and calling it a jacket would be generous. It was more of a sad hoodie in disguise.

As Eminem blasted through the car speakers, I tried to focus on the music, but her scent—vanilla, strawberry, and mint—stuck with me like a damn memory I couldn’t shake. My fingers still buzzed from the brief moment she took the jacket from me. She didn’t even realize what it meant, did she? I gave her my jacket, and now I was driving around like a guy who’d just handed over a piece of his soul.

I pulled up to the café-bar, the neon sign flickering in a way that matched my mood—annoyed, restless, and ready for something to go wrong. I killed the engine, hopped out of the Jeep, and shoved the door open, stepping inside. The stale scent of beer, coffee, and bad decisions hit me like a familiar slap. It was only supposed to be a pit stop, just something to keep me moving through the night. But then I saw him.

Asher.
Kissing the same girl Skylar had caught him with.

Talia or Tayla or… whatever-the-hell-her-name-was. Doesn’t matter. What mattered was the flash of Skylar’s sad expression flashing through my mind. The way her lips had pressed into a thin line, her shoulders slumped like she’d just lost a fight she never signed up for.

And before I knew it, I was moving.

I didn’t think—I just acted. The anger, the frustration, all the things I’d been holding in, exploded. One second, Asher had his hands all over that girl. The next second, I was pulling her off him and throwing a punch that cracked across his jaw. His head snapped back, and the room tilted slightly, but my fists didn’t care. They had their own agenda.

It was like the world narrowed into this tight, burning tunnel. Just me and Asher and every hit I delivered. Left hook, right jab—my knuckles burning, but it felt good. He deserved this. He had no clue how much Skylar mattered, and he sure as hell had no right to hurt her.

“Hell, Eric, what the—” Asher grunted, trying to block a hit, but I broke through every defense he threw up. Blood smeared across his face like war paint. My knuckles stung, but it was worth every ache.

Strong hands grabbed at me, dragging me back, but they might as well have been made of paper. I wasn’t done. I wasn’t even close. Asher managed to spit something out between gasps, his lip split and swollen.

“You… you think you’re some hero, huh?” he snarled, wiping blood from his nose. “You like my sister or something? That doesn’t give you the right. Skylar’s just a useless brat who’s way too soft. God knows why she’s everyone’s favorite.”

Those words hit me harder than any punch ever could. My blood ran cold, and I stopped resisting the arms pulling me back—only to lunge forward again, harder this time. A solid uppercut landed right on Asher’s nose, and I felt the crunch beneath my fist.

“Don’t ever talk about her like that again.” My voice was low, dangerous—like even I was surprised by it.

Before I could swing again, the barista finally wrestled me away, pulling me toward the back of the café. His hands were shaky, but he managed to slap some bandages on my busted knuckles while Asher leaned against a table, wiping his bloody face with the back of his hand. The barista muttered curses under his breath, then kicked us both out before things escalated any further.

Outside, the cool night air hit my face, but it didn’t do much to calm the fire burning inside me. People were staring, phones already in their hands, recording the whole damn thing. Their screens lit up like a sea of tiny witnesses. I knew exactly what this meant—if the coach saw this, I’d be benched for the rest of the season. No second chances.

“Delete it. Now,” I snapped, glaring at the nearest person with a phone.

When they hesitated, I took a step forward, flexing my knuckles for effect. “I swear, if this goes online, I’ll punch the hell out of every single one of you.”

The crowd shifted, and some phones went down. Good. I wasn’t about to let this blow up any more than it already had.

Asher staggered out behind me, still clutching his bleeding nose. He gave me a look—half-confused, half-angry—but I didn’t care. I wasn’t doing this for him.

“You’re a damn idiot, Eric,” he muttered under his breath, spitting more blood onto the pavement.

“Yeah,” I shot back. “But at least I’m not a coward.”

With that, I turned away from him, shoving my hands into my pockets as I made my way down the street. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and all that was left was exhaustion and the distant scent of vanilla, strawberry, and mint lingering in my mind.

It wasn’t just a jacket. It never was.

And if Asher—or anyone—ever hurt Skylar again, I wouldn’t just throw fists. I’d burn down the whole damn place if I had to.

Authors Note:
Soo here it is um- so what do u think about Eric’s and Skylar’s relationship? I’d say he’s whipped. Feel free to call me out if I made a mistake on plot/ grammar/ things going too fast. Anyways byee ilysm <3