Page 4

4

Bridger

T he puck whizzes past my stick while my mind replays the last mass text and my father’s reaction. We haven’t spoken since that night.

The silence is blissful.

Out of all the possible suspects on this campus, one name keeps circling my thoughts like a shark in bloody water.

Holland Tate.

Her parting shot after class still burns.

Nothing about our sexual encounter was forgettable.

Not that I’d ever admit it, but I obsessed about that night for months. The way her body?—

“Sanderson!” Coach’s whistle pierces the air. “What the hell was that? My grandmother has better hands, and she’s been dead ten years.” He jerks his head toward the bench. “Akeman, show him how it’s done.”

Perfect.

Garret fucking Akeman.

At the beginning of the season, he’d been gunning for Ryder McAdams’s spot before getting it through his thick head that he didn’t have a shot. Now he’s turned his attention to mine.

He glides onto the ice, all cocky attitude and unearned confidence. “Don’t worry, Coach. I got this.”

I clench my stick so hard, my fingers cramp. One punch. That’s all it would take to wipe that smirk off his face.

In the end, the few seconds of pleasure it’ll give me won’t be worth it.

Especially if my father catches wind of it.

I drop onto the bench and guzzle down some water before silently stewing. It’s a relief when Coach ends practice and everyone files off the ice.

My mind tumbles back to the beginning of the season and how epic I thought it would be to play the sport I’ve always enjoyed, with guys who’ve become more like brothers to me.

Fast forward six months, and my life feels more like a living hell I can’t see my way out of.

I push into the locker room and throw my stick in the holder near the door. The place is already thick with the scent of sweat along with humidity from the showers.

With a huff, I settle on the bench to unlace my skates before shoving them in my locker. Next comes the jersey and chest pad. Just as I’m peeling off my elbow pads, Garret saunters over with a white towel slung around his hips and a shit-eating grin quirking his lips.

“Rough practice, huh?” he says, leaning against the locker beside mine. “Better watch it, or I’ll be taking your place on the second line.”

I stiffen. There’s no way in hell I’ll allow that to happen.

“Fuck off, Akeman.”

His eyes light up as his smile broadens. “Nah, don’t think I will. It’s about time Coach realized the only reason you have a place on this team is because of your old man.”

I almost snort but rein it in at the last second.

This guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. My father didn’t lift a finger or make any phone calls to get me on this team. I earned the position on my own. If Dick had his way, I wouldn’t be wasting my time playing college hockey.

But I’m not about to share that with this douchebag.

It’s none of his business.

Ignoring him, I strip off the padded pants and stuff them in my locker.

When he continues to stare, I snap, “Is there something else you’d like to add?”

He shrugs, the picture of nonchalance, but there’s an edge in his gaze, as if something is bristling beneath the surface, scratching to get out.

“Nope.”

“Great.” I strip off my jock and head to the showers.

I’ve always been even-tempered, but I’ve found myself snapping more than usual lately. Everything that’s been happening has been slowly building within me like a geyser.

By the time I return to my locker, most of my anger has drained away.

Half of the guys have already taken off.

“Any interest in grabbing something to eat?” Hayes glances my way as he shoves his feet into slides.

I pull on my hoodie. “Can’t. I’m meeting someone at the library to work on a project.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah.” It’s probably for the best. I wouldn’t be good company right now. “I’ll catch you back at the house later tonight.”

He takes a step before faltering, his gaze meeting mine. “You doing okay?”

I jerk my head in a nod and force a brittle smile. It feels like I’ve been doing that more often lately. “Yeah, it’s all good.”

“You sure about that? Because I’m here if you need to talk.” He glances down the row of lockers until his gaze lands on Garret. Mine does the same. “We might be teammates, but I have no problem kicking his ass.” Hayes gives me a lopsided smile before raising his voice so that it carries. “In fact, it would be a real pleasure.”

“Suck my dick, Van Doren,” Garret yells back.

“Nah. Too small. I like a meatier cock.”

All right, that does it. My lips lift into a genuine smile when Garret glares and gives him the finger.

Only Hayes would say something like that.

It makes me realize just how much I’m going to miss him next year.

I grab my backpack and head out of the locker room with Hayes at my side. “How’s everything going with Ava?”

My mind is still blown that they’re officially an item. And that Coach didn’t bury him somewhere deep in the woods where his body will never be found.

“Couldn’t be better.”

I shake my head. “Can’t say I ever thought the day would come when you settled down.” There’s a pause before I add, “But you seem happy. I’m glad for you.”

Some of the humor that’s always present in his eyes fades, only to be replaced by solemnness.

It’s a scary look on him.

“I love her,” he says simply. “And one day, I’m going to marry the girl.”

My eyes widen. “Wow.”

“Yup.” The seriousness melts away as he flashes another grin. “All right, man. I’m going to take off.”

And then Hayes is gone, jogging to his Ford Bronco. The truck is a throwback from the nineties, but he loves it. Even when he can afford a brand-new vehicle, it’s doubtful he’ll ever get rid of it.

With a huffed-out breath, I head to the library to meet up with Holland. Even thinking about the green-eyed, auburn-haired girl pisses me off.

All right, so maybe it does a little more than that.

For two years, she’s been an itch I haven’t been able to scratch. An unexpected closeness sprung up between us. One I found myself gravitating to as much as I wanted to run away from it.

By the time I reach the library, the need to see her thrums through me like that of a steady drumbeat.

As much as I want her to confess that she’s the one behind the messages, I want her to admit that I’m not the only one haunted by what happened between us.