Page 14

12

Bridger

T he first thing that registers when I wake up is the warm weight pressed against my side. My brows pinch together as I blink against the weak sunlight streaming in through the window.

What the hell happened last night?

I haven’t had a one-night stand since someone decided to stalk my every movement and post it online for the world to comment upon.

I carefully turn my head and glance at the girl sacked out beside me. That’s the moment everything from last night slams into me with the force of…

Well, the force of a Holland Tate sucker punch to the gut.

I still can’t believe she did that.

On second thought… yes, I can.

Holland is a ticking time bomb, waiting for the right moment to detonate.

It’s all part of her charm.

My gaze lingers on the sleeping woman, studying her in the quiet of the morning as her thick auburn hair spills across the cream-colored pillowcase like a fiery halo. She’s all sharp edges and defiance when she’s awake, but here, in this moment, she looks peaceful.

Softer.

Vulnerable in a way she’d probably throat-punch me for noticing.

Her long lashes fan across her cheeks, and her lips—Jesus, those lips.

Full, plush, and just slightly parted, like she’s in the middle of a dream.

Unable to help myself, I reach out and run my fingers through a loose tendril of her hair, marveling at the silkiness of the strands. My mind drifts to what those lips would feel like on me. I can still remember what they felt like two years ago, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satiate the deep craving inside.

What if I hadn’t gotten scared and run?

What if I’d stayed?

And we started something real?

My jaw tightens as I shove the thought away.

There’s no sense dwelling on things that can’t be changed.

Still, the sight of her in my bed both unsettles and satisfies me at the same time.

Someone needs to explain how that’s possible.

Better yet, how do I make it stop?

I drop the lock of hair before sliding carefully from the bed, not wanting to wake her. I need space to breathe, to think, to wrap my head around what I’ve done.

Just as I’m about to leave the room, I glance back.

It’s impossible to ignore the pull, the way she’s somehow rooted herself in the parts of me I thought were untouchable. The steady rise and fall of her breathing is the only sound in the room. For a moment, I stand frozen, watching her.

She looks peaceful, her features soft and relaxed in sleep, a stark contrast to the fire and sharp edges she carries when awake.

The sight of her tangled in my sheets feels right in a way it shouldn’t.

The most fucked-up part of all this is that I don’t regret blackmailing her.

Not even a little.

I like having Holland Tate at my mercy.

Five minutes later, I’m dressed and heading downstairs. The last thing I need is to be late after Coach was up my ass at practice. As I hit the bottom step, I freeze.

Ryder, Hayes, Riggs, Steele, and Maverick occupy the couches, looking strangely serious. Ford, Colby, Wolf, and Madden, my teammates who don’t live here, are perched on chair arms.

The low hum of conversation dies as they notice me, and a heavy silence follows.

My eyes narrow. “Why aren’t you guys at practice?”

Ryder clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “We thought it best to have this conversation here. First of all, you should know that we all care about you.” He glances at the others for backup. “And we only want the best for you.”

I blink. “Umm... okay.”

“And you’ve been going through a lot lately,” Ford adds. “We get it.”

A chorus of murmurs fills the room.

“Get what?” I step closer as tension coils in my gut. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Hayes clears his throat. “With the messages and your father...”

“What is this? An intervention?” I glance around, waiting for someone to crack a smile. Instead, that comment is met with crickets. My eyes widen. “Oh my God, this is an intervention.”

“I don’t think it’s necessary to slap a label on it,” Wolf says, his expression solemn.

“For what?” I bark, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m not drinking any more than you fuckers. I don’t have a gambling problem. And last time I checked, I wasn’t hoarding stray cats in my room.”

“Not yet anyway,” Ford mutters.

Wolf rises to his feet, drawing my attention back to him. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Are you actually dating Holland Tate?”

For fuck’s sake. Is that what this is about?

I press my lips together. “So what if I am? Is it really that big of a deal?”

“Yeah, it kind of is.” Wolf drags a hand over his shaved head.

Steele smothers a laugh with a cough. I glare at him, knowing he won’t be any help. After the text I shot him last night, he’s the only one who knows the truth. And the bastard is enjoying this way too much.

“Look,” Ryder steps in, face earnest, “you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. We get it.”

“Do you?” I growl. “Because it sounds like you’re all one bad joke away from staging an exorcism.”

“We’re just worried,” Maverick adds. “Everyone knows you hate Holland Tate. A few weeks ago, you threatened to wring her neck.”

“I don’t hate her,” I snap, but their dubious glances tell me I’ve already lost this battle. “You guys don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t we?” Colby pipes up. “It’s not exactly normal to go from despising someone to dating them overnight.”

“We’ve been seeing each other on the down-low,” I blurt before scowling at him. “Kind of like someone I know who secretly married a reality star in Vegas?”

He shrugs. “In my defense, I had no idea who she was.”

“I think we can all agree this relationship came out of nowhere,” Ryder interjects, trying to keep the intervention on track. “We just want to make sure you’re good.”

“I still think it’s a cry for help.” Ford leans forward. “Blink twice if she’s got something on you and you’re being watched.”

“Shut up, Hamilton.”

Wolf steps closer, arms crossed. “With everything you’re dealing with, no one would blame you for going off the deep end.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch Steele’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Any second he’s going to lose it and roll around on the floor.

“I appreciate the concern,” I grind out, “but everything’s under control.”

Except nothing could be further from the truth.

I look around at my teammates. These guys are the ones who’ve always had my back. The truth sits heavy on my tongue, but I can’t risk one of them letting it slip. This thing with Holland is too precarious.

Instead, I give them a small piece of the story. “Something happened with Holland a couple years ago,” I admit, voice low. “And she’s always been there, in the back of my mind. Whatever this is between us needs to run its course. All right?”

They stare at me, and for a second I think they’ll keep pushing, but then Ryder nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I blink. “That’s it? No more with the third degree?”

“We’re still concerned,” Maverick says, rising to his feet. “But if this is your way of getting closure, we’ll support it. Even if you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Or at all,” Ford adds with a smirk.

“I, for one, think their relationship is a match made in heaven,” Steele finally chokes out between laughs.

“Can we get to practice now?” I glare at them all. “Or are there more feelings you’d like to share in the circle of trust? I’m sure Coach would love to hear why his entire first line can’t be bothered to show up on time.”

They all groan and shuffle toward the door.

Ford pats my shoulder as he passes. “Don’t worry, man. If it all goes south with Holland, cat adoption is still a viable option.”

I flip him off but can’t help smiling.

The truth is, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing with Holland. But for now, I don’t have any other choice but to fake it until I figure it out.

Or until it blows up in my face.

Whichever comes first.