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21

Holland

T he lobby buzzes with post-game energy, a mix of excitement and relief that the Wildcats pulled off the win. The fact that I’m standing with the other girlfriends, their laughter and chatter flowing around me, feels a bit surreal.

This isn’t a place I ever thought I belonged.

I’m not even sure I do now.

Especially wearing Bridger’s jersey.

Carina nudges me, a knowing smile lifting her lips. “Can’t say I ever expected you to be dating a hockey player.”

I huff out a laugh. “It wasn’t exactly on my bingo card for the year.”

“Honestly?” Juliette chimes in, her tone light but thoughtful. “I like you and Bridger together. He needs someone. Sometimes he just seems so…” She hesitates, searching for the right word. “Lonely.” She shrugs. “Anyway, it’s nice to see.”

My gaze gets snagged by Willow. When she beams like a Cheshire cat, I shake my head and roll my eyes.

I don’t realize that the others have been listening to the conversation until they all murmur in agreement. My stomach twists into a series of painful knots. They’d be shocked to learn that this isn’t the real deal.

He essentially blackmailed me to be here, pretending to be his girlfriend.

It doesn’t escape me that these girls have gradually become my friends and I’m lying to them. I don’t like the way it makes me feel.

Like a fraud.

My attention drifts across the lobby before landing on a trio of men near the far wall. Two of them are big, well-built, and impossibly good-looking. The third is the chancellor of the university, Richard Sanderson. Even from here, his presence feels sharp and cold, like a brittle winter wind slicing through a thin coat.

“Who are the two men with Bridger’s father?” I ask, nodding toward the small group.

Juliette follows my gaze. “The one on the left is my dad,” she says with a small smile, “and the other is Colby’s father.”

“They’re both former NHL players,” Britt adds, tossing her caramel-colored hair over her shoulder. “Gray McNichols now works for ESPN.”

“No shit?” I nod, impressed despite myself. I’ve never been into athletes, but maybe I’ve been too hasty about that decision.

Carina leans closer, her voice low and teasing. “Almost makes you want a daddy, huh?”

My eyes widen as I choke on a laugh. “Jesus, Carina. What would Ford say if he heard that?”

Her expression turns sly. “Probably that he loves his baby girl more than anything.”

I shake my head.

On second thought, I could totally see that.

The locker room doors finally open, and the guys start trickling out one by one. Each player greets their significant other with smiles, hugs, or kisses. Ford beelines straight to Carina before wrapping her up in his arms and smacking her lips with a kiss. A few of the other guys do the same with their partners. I’ve never been a girl who thought she was incomplete without a man in her life. I’ve never had the time for a relationship, and after allowing myself to get close to Bridger freshman year and getting burned, I didn’t want to risk my heart again.

But…

Seeing all the other couples, especially Maverick and Willow, I can’t help the loneliness that creeps in at the edges. Like maybe being on my own isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

I scan the face of each player who joins the throng, looking for Bridger. A few more minutes tick by and there’s still no sign of him.

I spent a lot of years at the hockey rink with Willow watching her twin brother, River, play. I wouldn’t say I’m an avid fan. Although the fights that erupted were mildly entertaining. But I know enough about the game to understand that Bridger had a rough one.

After the way he held me in his arms and comforted me last night, the walls I normally keep in place where he’s concerned have started to crumble.

My attention drifts back to Richard Sanderson. He exchanges a few more words with the two former NHL players before striding purposefully down the hallway that leads to the locker room. Something about him sets my teeth on edge. It’s not just his aloof demeanor. It’s the way he carries himself, like we should all be thankful he decided to grace us with his esteemed presence.

Say what you want about my mother and her parenting style, but deep down I know she loves me. Maybe not the way I want, but I’ve never questioned it.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, forcing a casual tone as I step away from the group. “I’m going to use the bathroom before we head out.”

“Want me to come with?” Ava asks as Hayes wraps his arms around her from behind and presses a kiss against the side of her face.

“Nah, I’m good.” Instead of waiting for a reply, I swing away and follow Richard, making sure to keep a careful distance.

The hallway is quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights amplifying the sound of my Chucks against the polished floor. My pulse quickens when he pushes through the heavy door and disappears inside the locker room.

I hesitate as my hand hovers over the metal handle.

If I had any brains whatsoever, I’d return to the lobby and wait for Bridger there instead of eavesdropping on a private conversation. For a handful of seconds, curiosity wars with common sense.

I take a deep breath and cautiously ease the door open before slipping inside, trying to make as little noise as possible. The last thing I want is to alert either of them to my presence.

My nose scrunches at the heavy scent of sweat and humidity that permeates the air. It’s enough to knock me on my ass. I duck behind a row of lockers as my heart picks up tempo, pounding a harsh beat in my ears.

“You almost fucked that up.” Richard’s sharp voice cuts through the space, making me jump. “You’re lucky your teammates picked up your slack. Otherwise, they’d be blaming you for that loss. It would be the first time in ten years that this school didn’t make it through the playoffs.”

My breath catches.

What the hell?

Is his father really berating him about what happened on the ice?

“My game was off tonight,” Bridger mutters, his voice barely discernible.

“Your game was off?” the older man repeats with a disbelieving laugh. “You were a goddamn embarrassment out there. I should have left after the first period instead of wasting my time watching that shitshow.”

“I don’t need a lecture from you,” Bridger says in a clipped tone.

“Excuse me?” his father growls.

My chest constricts at the heavy footsteps that strike the tile. Any second, my heart is going to explode from my chest.

“Why don’t you just admit that the only thing you care about is how this reflects on you?”

“Watch your damn tone,” Richard snaps.

“Or what?” Bridger’s voice grows stronger, defiance bursting from it. “You’ll bench me? Oh wait, you don’t make those decisions, do you?”

Even though I can’t see what’s happening, the suffocating tension is enough to choke on. The sound of the slap slices through the air, stopping me cold. My mouth drops open, and my eyes widen in stunned disbelief.

Oh my God.

Did that just happen?

The silence that follows is deafening.

“You’ll regret that attitude, boy,” Richard hisses.

My heart pounds a painful tattoo as I press my back against the locker and scoot around the corner until I’m out of sight. Richard’s footsteps echo throughout the room, each sharp click a countdown to when I can finally breathe again. It’s only when the door swings shut behind him that I force out the shaky exhale and step out from my hiding spot.

I find Bridger sitting on the bench with his elbows braced on his knees and his head hanging between his shoulders. The red mark on his cheek stands out against his skin, evidence of what I heard. The sight of him like this, so beaten down and vulnerable, has something uncomfortable thrashing deep in my chest.

For a second or two, I wonder if it might be best for me to slink away and let him lick his wounds in private. If the situation were reversed, that’s exactly what I’d want.

But how can I do that?

Especially after he was there for me last night.

That thought only solidifies my decision. Even though I know he won’t be happy to see me, I take a deep breath, summoning courage I’m not sure I have, before stepping forward and making my presence known.

“Hey.”

His head snaps up, and his eyes narrow when they land on me. For a painful heartbeat, he only stares before asking, “What are you doing here?”

“I…” I hesitate, biting down on my lip. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. You had a rough game.”

He blinks, like he’s not used to anyone checking in on him. “Yeah, it was definitely shitty.” His voice is low. He leans back, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “The old man wasn’t very happy about it.” A beat of silence stretches between us as his eyes harden. “I suppose you saw that.”

It’s tempting to lie so he can save face. Instead, I nod. My throat is tight as I force out the words. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Your father is an asshole.”

“Guess we found something else we can agree on.” He glances away as his shoulders stiffen. “You should go, Holland.”

Rather than follow the directive, I step closer until all the distance between us has been swallowed up. Only then do I slip my fingers beneath his chin and gently turn his face toward me. His gaze flickers with surprise as I study the red mark. My stomach clenches as a wave of anger and disgust crashes over me. I’m tempted to stomp out of the locker room and find Richard Sanderson so I can give him a taste of his own medicine.

Even more than that, I want to comfort Bridger. Without thinking, I lean in and press a soft kiss against the handprint. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just looks at me with an unreadable expression before releasing a long, slow breath. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

The surety in his tone reignites my anger.

Before I can respond, he rises to his feet and locks his fingers around the hem of his jersey. “I should hit the showers.”

“Okay,” I say, forcing a small smile. “After that, we can get out of here.”

“Yeah, I don’t feel up to going to Slap Shotz,” he mutters, his voice quiet.

“What a coincidence, neither do I,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light.

With a nod, he pulls the material over his head. My breath catches as he strips off his chest pad, revealing lean muscle. The rest of his gear gets removed until he’s completely naked. That’s all it takes for air to clog in my throat. When he turns and walks toward the showers, I can’t stop my eyes from lingering.

His ass is seriously impressive.

Once he disappears around the corner, I shake my head to clear it. It takes effort to get my runaway thoughts back under control, not to mention the arousal that has sprung to life.

Bridger Sanderson might drive me crazy, but right now, he’s also reminding me why pretending not to care about him is getting harder with the passing of every second.