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10

Bridger

I follow Holland through the parking lot, each step charged with restless energy that coils tighter by the second. She shoots a glance over her shoulder as she reaches her car.

Her icy glare is sharp enough to cut glass. “Is it really necessary for you to follow me home, Sanderson?” She spits my name like poison.

With a shrug, I lean against the side of her car. “That’s what 24/7 means. You’re a smart girl. I thought you’d understand that.”

Her expression darkens, and I can tell she’s close to snapping. I have no idea why I enjoy provoking her so much. It’s twisted. A therapist would probably have a field day with the thoughts that run rampant through my head where this girl is concerned.

It’s a surprise, and maybe even a disappointment, when she doesn’t rise to the bait. With a roll of her eyes, she slides behind the wheel. It takes a minute or two for her engine to turn over.

My brows rise as the vehicle coughs and sputters. “Are you sure this thing will make it back to your place?”

Her response is to give me the finger.

I can’t help the chuckle that slips free.

As soon as she backs out of the space, I beeline to my own car and tail her through the winding streets. The drive is just long enough for guilt to rear its ugly head and have me second-guessing myself.

It’s not too late to put the kibosh on this half-baked idea. Holland would be more than thrilled to forget about this arrangement I’m forcing her into. I won’t say a word about her working at the club, and I’ll go back to pretending I don’t think about her more than I should.

But…

I don’t want to.

And I really fucking hate how much I don’t want to let go of the opportunity that’s fallen into my lap.

Holland Tate has managed to burrow deep beneath my skin, and I’m going to get her out one way or another.

Fifteen minutes later, we pull into the parking lot of her townhouse. With another chilly glare aimed in my direction, Holland slams the car door with more force than necessary before marching up the steps. She doesn’t bother waiting for me. I follow her inside the small entryway before shutting the door behind me as she stalks through the dark interior.

“Make yourself at home,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she gestures around the living area. “Oh, wait. I don’t actually want you here.”

Instead of settling in the living room, I follow her to her bedroom, leaning against the doorframe and scoping out her private space. “Nice to see you’re warming up to this arrangement.”

She mutters something unintelligible under her breath before yanking open a drawer and tossing articles of clothing into a bag. Her movements are stilted and her jaw remains tight. Not once does she glance my way.

“How many days should I pack for?” she asks in a clipped tone.

I shrug, pretending like I haven’t already imagined her at my place and in my bed or haven’t considered the havoc that’s going to come with having her all up in my business. “Guess that depends on how long it takes for us to catch the culprit.” I wink. “That is, if it’s not you.”

A growl vibrates in her chest as her lips twist into a scowl. “Right. Because I’m the architect of all your problems. Totally forgot about that. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Guess that’s what we’re going to find out,” I say, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans as I watch her throw a few more items into her bag.

I can’t help but glance around her room with more interest. It’s nothing like I expected. There’s a worn leather armchair in one corner, stacks of books and notebooks piled high on the floor. A sketchpad tossed carelessly onto the chair catches my eye, the pages slightly bent and smudged.

Without thinking, I gravitate in that direction before reaching down and picking it up. Intricate sketches of landscapes, portraits, and half-finished scenes fill the pages, each line careful and precise.

They’re good.

Actually, they’re better than that.

There’s a rawness to them, an intensity that pulls me in and captures my attention.

“You draw?” I glance up.

“No,” she snaps, grabbing the sketchpad from my hands and shoving it into her bag as color floods her cheeks.

I pop a brow. “Clearly, you do. I didn’t realize you had a hidden artistic side.”

She looks away, shoving another shirt in her bag. “Shocker that you’re not exactly perceptive.”

There’s a bite to her words.

I hate to admit that she might be right.

Holland’s always been a mystery to me, a combination of sharp edges and soft curves that never quite added up. She’s too much, too real in a way that makes me uncomfortable.

I settle in the chair and watch her. “Is it some big secret?”

Her hands still for a second but she doesn’t look up. “Not a secret at all. The people who matter in my life know about it.”

Ouch.

“Did you ever consider me one of them?” The question is out before I can stop it.

Her gaze is hard when it slices to mine. “After all this time, why does it even matter?” Before I can tell her that it doesn’t, she adds, “Let’s get something clear. We’re not friends. You’re blackmailing me because you think I’m out to ruin your life. At some point, you’ll realize it’s not me. And then won’t you feel like an asshole?”

Her words hit harder than I expect, and something that feels very much like regret unfurls inside me. I’m caught between wanting to pull her closer and wanting to protect myself from what she’s capable of.

“This could be over with before it even starts if you’d just come clean.” My voice is quieter than I intend. “Just admit you’ve been fucking with me, and I’ll let it all go. I won’t even press charges. I just need it to end.”

She lets out a humorless laugh before zipping up her bag and throwing it over her shoulder. Sadness flashes in her eyes before it’s quickly masked. “I’m not going to admit to something I haven’t done.”

With that, she pushes past me into the hallway without another word. I follow, still trying to piece together what’s real and what’s just a facade.

When it comes to Holland, I’m not sure I’ll ever know.

As soon as the townhouse is locked up, she beelines to her vehicle, stubbornness and tension etched across her expression. “I’ll follow you back to your place.”

“Actually,” I say, holding her gaze, “you’ll ride with me.”

With a roll of her eyes, a puff of air bursts from her. “So now I can’t even drive my own car? What if I need it? How am I going to get to work?”

I glance at her death trap of a vehicle. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was held together with paperclips and bubblegum. “I’ll drive you.”

“Awesome. Now I have my own personal chauffeur. Things just keep getting better and better.”

A grin twitches around the corners of my lips. “Aren’t you lucky?”

Her glare hardens. “Luckiest girl in the world.”

I pop open the passenger door of my BMW and extend my arm. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”

With a snort, she slips past me before settling on the leather seat. “Chariot, my ass.”

Once she’s situated, I close the door and hustle around to the driver’s side.

Who would have ever thought Holland Tate would be sitting in my car and sleeping in my bed at night?

It all feels a little surreal.

And yet, I still can’t bring myself to regret the impulsive decision to bind her to me.

The drive to my place is made in silence as thick tension permeates the small space. Each unspoken word stretches uncomfortably between us as she stares out the window. Her expression might be unreadable, but I can feel the anger and frustration radiating off her in suffocating waves.

It’s strangely intoxicating.

The moment we pull up in front of my place, Holland bolts from the car before I have a chance to kill the engine. My attention stays riveted to her as I follow her up the stairs to the front porch.

She pauses outside the door, glancing at me with a dubious expression. “Can’t say I ever thought I’d be shacking up at the hockey house.”

And I’d fucking kill the guy she shacked up with.

The thought is so unexpected, it catches me off guard.

I bite back the sharp retort and reach around her, opening the door before muttering, “That makes two of us.”

She’s close enough for the rosemary and mint scent of her shampoo to slyly wrap around me. It’s so damn tempting to lean in and inhale a big breath of her.

But I don’t.

Are you fucking kidding?

Of course I don’t.

She’d probably junk punch me if I did. And then she’d kick me while I was curled up in the fetal position on the ground.

Her eyes narrow. “Did you just sniff me?”

Fuck.

I feign ignorance. “What? Of course not.”

I wasn’t kidding about the junk punching.

With a frown, she stalks inside the entryway before taking in her surroundings. Her body stiffens when she notices a couple of my younger teammates making themselves at home on our couch. There’s a girl or two cuddled up next to each of them. Their gazes stray to us, and I’m treated to a round of chin lifts.

Holland’s upper lip curls with disgust as she hitches her bag higher on her shoulder. “Just to be clear, I don’t plan on hanging out with your friends.”

“I wouldn’t expect it.”

“So, what happens next?” she asks, her tone turning to more of a challenge. When I continue to stare, she tacks on, “Care to share what nefarious plans you have in store for me now that you’ve dragged me back to your evil lair?”

I force a slow grin at the description. “What’s wrong, Tate? Frightened?”

The thought of Holland at my mercy and fingertips any time I want sends a rush of pleasure through me.

Her eyes blaze with a heady mix of anger and defiance. This is one girl who will never turn tail and run. With her, it’ll be a fight to the death.

“Just remember that I’m here because you blackmailed me, not because I want to be anywhere near you.”

Unable to help myself, I crowd her personal space.

And just like I expected, she doesn’t back down. Her furious gaze remains steady and her jaw stays tightly clenched.

“Keep telling yourself that, Tate. At the very least, be honest with yourself. There’s a reason you didn’t walk away.”

Her cheeks flush a pretty pink color as she continues to hold her ground. “Don’t delude yourself, Sanderson. I’m here because I don’t want people all up in my personal business. There’s no other reason than that.”

On some level, I believe her. Holland has always been private. Her circle of trust is almost nonexistent. But she’s also not the kind of person who does anything unless she ultimately wants to.

I study her expression. “Do you realize that you have a tell?”

Her face scrunches at my change in topic. “Excuse me?”

“Your left eye twitches when you lie. I noticed it a few years ago. I always thought it was interesting to see when you were being honest and when you were lying.”

“Fuck off, Sanderson. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Holland?”

We swing toward the soft voice. Willow stands there, Maverick at her back, both wearing identical expressions of confusion.

When neither of us respond, Willow’s brows pinch together. “What are you doing here?” Her gaze darts between us. “With Bridger.”

Holland stays motionless.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her at a loss for words.

“We’ve been seeing one another,” I blurt.

Willow blinks. “I’m sorry, could you please repeat that? For a moment, I almost thought you said that you two were together. As in… together .”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Willow bursts into laughter. “Shut up. No, you’re not.” Her gaze remains focused on her roommate. “What are you really doing here?”

The moment I wrap my fingers around Holland’s forearm, electricity sizzles between us. Her body jerks, wide eyes slicing to mine, filled with confusion and something darker.

I tug her closer before slipping my arm around her waist. “Go ahead and tell them, babe.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times, like a fish gasping for its last dying breath. Any other time, it would be hilarious.

Just when I think I’ll have to step in and do all the talking, she whispers, “It’s, um, true. We’re together.”

Willow’s eyes widen. “No way.”

Holland’s teeth scrape across her lower lip. I’m pretty sure she’s dying a slow death inside. “Yeah. We’re…” She gulps. “Together.”

“I… don’t understand.”

Maverick’s lips tremble with smothered laughter.

Dickhead.

Holland’s cheeks are fire-engine red as her tongue darts out to lick her lips. “I…”

I’ve never seen Holland flounder so much in her life. Taking pity on her, I cut in. “We’ve been secretly seeing each other for a couple weeks.”

Willow levels me with a hard-edged stare. “Why?”

“Why?” I repeat, not understanding the question.

“Yeah.” She plants her hands on her hips. “You two can’t stand each other.” Her attention slides back to her friend as she points at me. “You’ve made your feelings for him very clear.”

Holland nods, acknowledging her past comments. “I, um… It’s like you said earlier. There was more to it buried beneath the surface.”

Hurt flashes in Willow’s eyes. “Why didn’t you just tell me that when we were talking about it?”

Holland’s shoulders collapse. “I just needed to get it figured out before we made anything public.” Her expression hardens as she side-eyes me. “I’m really sorry.”

I give in to impulse and press a kiss to her cheek before burying my face against the side of her neck. “Oh, sweet cheeks. There’s no more keeping our love to ourselves. We can yell it from the rooftops if we want.”

Her voice dips, becoming more of a grumble. “We don’t want to do that.”

“Are you sure, love muffin?”

She glares as her tone turns menacing. “One hundred percent positive.”

“Well, I think it’s time for us to go upstairs and”—I waggle my brows—“ you know .”

Holland narrows her eyes before smashing her lips together. I can almost see the smoke billowing from the top of her head. “Talk?”

“Sure. Maybe afterward.”

“I’m going to kill you with my bare hands.” She snaps her teeth at me.

I glance at Willow and Maverick. “Threatening bodily harm is her love language.”

“I don’t make threats. I make promises.”

When that bone-chilling comment is met with silence, I steer Holland toward the staircase. “On that note, we’re going to skedaddle.” I lift a hand in a wave. “Have a good night.”

We’re halfway up to the second floor when Willow says, “We’ll talk more in the morning, Holland.”

“Now that sounded like a threat,” I say beneath my breath.

“Because it is.”

As soon as we cross the threshold and step inside my room, I close the door. Not even a second later, Holland whirls around and punches me in the gut. It happens so fast I don’t see it coming until it’s much too late. I do the only thing I can and double over as the air leaves my lungs in a rush.