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Bridger

A smile quirks the corners of my lips as I push through the door of the Roasted Bean. Holland Tate is a live wire, always ready to spark. Riling her up has become something of a sport to me. One I’m starting to enjoy a little too much.

The way her eyes ignite with fire is addictive.

Added bonus—it takes my mind off all the other bullshit in my life.

My amusement fades when I find Garret waiting outside, his expression murderous as he closes the distance between us.

“What the hell do you want, Akeman?” I snap, all my good humor fading. He’d been up my ass all through practice this morning.

It’s like everywhere I go, there he is.

The strange part is that we’ve been teammates for years and never had any issues.

Were we tight?

Not really, but our relationship was never contentious.

Now it feels like we’re one wrong word away from throwing punches.

Instead of answering my question, he fires off one of his own. “What the hell are you doing with Holland Tate?”

Ah, there it is. I knew he had a thing for her.

I lift my chin, all the while holding his steady gaze. “That’s none of your damn business, now is it?”

He scoffs, the sound sharp and bitter. “There’s no fucking way she’d give you the time of day.”

Something dark twists inside me, and the words shoot out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Actually, that’s not true. She was in my bed last night, and it’s exactly where you’ll find her tonight.”

His lips flatten as rage ignites in his eyes. “We’ll see how long it lasts. I’ll take her the same way I plan on taking your spot on the ice. And guess what? There’s not a damn thing you or your daddy can do to stop it.”

The way he spits out the word daddy stirs something ugly in my gut. His words echo the last message to screw with my life.

My fists clench. “What’d you say?”

Garret leans in, his smirk widening, as if realizing he just found a tender spot to sink his teeth into. “Oh, I think you heard me.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t. Why don’t you say it again and let’s see what happens?”

Holland bursts out of the coffee shop, freezing for half a second before marching over to plant a hand on my chest and pushing me back. Her touch burns even through my shirt.

“Are you two really doing this?” she seethes, looking between us with blazing eyes.

Garret’s gaze stays locked on me as he snarls, “I’d like to know what you see in this guy. He’s a fucking joke. A talentless hack.”

Heat surges in my chest, and I open my mouth to snap back, but a sharp voice cuts through the tension.

“What’s going on here?” My father strides toward us, suit immaculate and expression lethal. Tension thickens the air as his calculating gaze moves between me and Garret. “Is there an issue?”

Garret straightens. “No, sir.”

“Good,” Dick says, though his tone suggests he doesn’t buy it for a second. His attention shifts to me, and his jaw tightens. “I’d like to see you in my office.”

“Fine,” I bite out, my fists still clenched as adrenaline pumps through my veins.

“Sooner rather than later.” His gaze cuts to Holland, narrowing slightly before dismissing her entirely. “I’m sure all of you have somewhere to be.”

The moment he walks away, Garret throws me one last glare before stalking off.

I force myself to breathe and relax muscles that are coiled for a fight. It’s not easy after a run-in with the two people who get under my skin the most.

“So, that’s your dad, huh?” Holland says, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah.”

“Seems like a real warm and fuzzy sort. Kind of like a big, squishy teddy bear.”

The image tugs at my lips despite everything. “You nailed it.”

“I figured as much.” She adjusts her bag strap before glancing away. “I should probably get to class.”

Before she can take two steps, phones buzz all around us. Dread pools in my gut as I pull mine out.

Anonymous Message

Bridger Sanderson and Holland Tate—now there’s an odd pairing. Betting pools are now open as to how long that situationship will last.

My face heats as I glance around. People have stopped in their tracks and are staring, their gazes darting between me and Holland as whispers spread like wildfire.

Holland stiffens beside me, her face paling as she stares at her phone. “Bridger…”

Her voice is oddly soft as her hand rises to touch my arm.

Instead of allowing her to comfort me, I take a hasty step in retreat. “I need to go,” I say roughly, shoving my phone back into my pocket. “I’ll see you in class.”

“Bridger—” she tries again, but I’m already walking away.

My mind churns as I put distance between us.

That message wasn’t as vicious as some of the others, but the implications are enough to make my skin crawl. Someone out there is watching us, stirring the pot.

Or is it her attempt to throw me off and turn my suspicions elsewhere?

I have no fucking idea.

And that’s the problem.

The way she looked at me just now—like she was worried, like she actually cared—makes something inside me ache in a way I’m not used to.

Holland Tate isn’t just tangled up in this mess, she’s twisted up deep inside me.

And that might be the hardest knot to untangle.

What I do know is that I need to get my head on straight before I see her next.