Page 41

35

Holland

T he sun filters through the tree branches as Willow and I stroll across campus. Students mill about, rushing to classes or lingering in groups on the lawn. Even though it’s a beautiful day, my mind remains clouded, burdened by the secrets I’m carrying.

Ones I never asked to know.

Ones that have made my relationship with Bridger even more complicated than before.

“I have some news.” Willow’s voice breaks through the turmoil of my thoughts. “Maverick asked me to move in with him next year.”

I stumble and nearly trip over my own feet. If I was looking for a distraction to pull me out of my head, that bomb does the trick. “You’re kidding.”

Her grin widens as a touch of nervousness flashes in her eyes. “Nope. He brought it up last night. Since you’ll be graduating in the summer, I think I’m going to do it.”

“Wow.” I blink, still trying to process this new phase of their relationship. “Things are really moving quickly between you two.”

She glances at me. “Too quickly?”

I shake my head and give her a small smile. “For most people? Maybe. But you two have this thing… like you’ve known each other forever. Maybe I was skeptical of your hotshot hockey player at first, but Maverick has proven himself. He’s solid. He gets my official stamp of approval.”

The tension in her shoulders eases and her smile turns softer. “I love him.”

“I know you do,” I say, looping my arm through hers and pulling her close. “It’s written all over your face when you’re together. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve all the happiness he can offer. And, hey, even Becks has backed off. I didn’t think that was going to happen during our lifetime.”

“Speaking of Mom, she stopped over the other day to do a surprise deep clean and opened all the windows to get a little fresh air in the townhouse now that the weather has turned warmer.”

“Damn, I’m sorry I missed her.”

She smirks. “I’m sure you are.”

“Did you break the big news?”

“No, I’m going to need a little more time to ease her into that situation.” Willow gives me a bit of side-eye. “Not to mention River. I’m not sure who will flip out more.”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be there when you share the good news. Because if I know your brother, he’s gonna lose his proverbial shit.” When a mixture of anxiety and fear flares across her expression, I bump her shoulder with my own. “I’m just kidding. Your twin will be fine. I thought he and Mav hashed out most of their shit.”

“They did,” she says. “Sort of.”

“At the end of the day, they both want the best for you. That’s all that matters.”

Willow nods, but her silence on the subject says she’s still mulling it over. “You and Bridger seem to be going strong.”

“Yeah.” I force a smile, not wanting to dwell on our conversation last night.

“I still can’t believe you two are an item.”

“Same,” I mutter.

She gives me a sidelong glance. “But you like him, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” I admit. I actually like him a lot. The worst part is, I have no idea how everything will shake out. There might be too much standing between us.

Too many secrets.

Too many lies.

Too much baggage.

And then there are the trust issues that plague both of us.

It’s a relief when she doesn’t press for more. My life feels complicated enough without trying to explain it to someone else.

“Holland.”

I glance up only to find Steele Sanderson approaching. His attention stays locked on me.

“Hey, Steele,” Willow greets. “I saw Lilah in the tutoring lab the other day. We’re going to get together later this week for coffee.”

His expression softens when he glances at her. I’d think there was something wrong with him if it didn’t. Willow is the sweetest, kindest person on the face of the planet. I’m lucky she befriended me way back in elementary school and that we’ve stayed close ever since.

“Oh yeah? Make sure she orders decaf. Otherwise, she’ll be a total squirrel,” he replies before turning back to me. “Got a minute, Holland?”

I hesitate before glancing at my bestie. She gives me a questioning look. “Go ahead,” I say quietly. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Willow takes off, but not before throwing a curious glance over her shoulder.

When Steele gestures toward a patch of grass just off the walkway, I follow.

Even though I have a sneaking suspicion, I ask once we’re clear of the crowd, “What’s this about?”

Steele crosses his arms against his chest as his eyes narrow. “You might have Bridger fooled, but not me.” The warmth filling his tone when he’d been talking to Willow is long gone. “I know you’re involved with those messages.”

I reel back, as if slapped. “You’re wrong. I don’t have anything to do with them.”

“Bullshit,” he snaps. “You’re hiding something.” I open my mouth to deny the accusation, but Steele cuts me off. “I think you and Garret orchestrated all of it. I saw you two together yesterday.”

“It’s not what you think,” I say quietly as guilt constricts my chest. “I care about Bridger, and I’d never want to hurt him. That might not have always been true, but it is now.”

“Is that so?” His eyes narrow as he steps closer. “Just so you know, I’m aware of how he forced you into fake dating him in order to keep a closer eye on you. Maybe you’ve managed to snow him, but I’m not so easily fooled.”

“You’re right, he did blackmail me.” The words burst out louder than I intend. I release a deep breath, trying to steady the storm churning inside me. “Look, I get why you’d think that. But things are different now. Bridger matters to me. I promise, I’m not the one trying to hurt him.”

Steele’s gaze narrows as he presses his lips into a tight line. His silence stretches, heavy with unspoken doubt, before he finally speaks. “I don’t know what to believe,” he says, his tone cautious. “But I’ll tell you this—I’m not letting him get burned again.”

“Neither am I.” My voice is steady as I square my shoulders. “And I’m going to deal with it.”

His brow furrows, suspicion flickering across his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means there’s something I need to take care of,” I say sharply, cutting off any further questions. Without waiting for Steele to respond, I turn on my heel and walk off, the urgency in my steps leaving no room for argument.

Instead of heading to class as planned, I veer toward the administration building on the other side of campus. My stomach churns with unease, a cocktail of adrenaline and dread swirling inside me. I don’t have a plan or even the perfect words, but that doesn’t matter.

I can’t allow this to continue.

The closer I get, the heavier the air feels, like a weight pressing down on me. By the time I step through the double doors of the administration building, my palms are damp, and my breathing feels uneven. I straighten my spine as I approach the elevator.

The ride to the fifth floor is slow and agonizing. My reflection in the shiny metal doors stares back at me, pale and uncertain.

When the elevator dings, I step into the hall, the squeak of my Chucks echoing in the quiet space. Each step toward his office at the end of the corridor makes my pulse thunder louder in my ears. Just before I reach the door, I pause, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. A small voice in my head whispers to turn back and avoid the confrontation altogether.

But I refuse to do that.

Summoning every ounce of courage I can muster, I push forward. The secretary at the desk looks up from her computer with a polite smile. Her perfectly pressed blazer and impeccable bun only make me feel more out of place.

“Hi,” I say, my voice shakier than I’d like. I clear my throat and try again. “Is Mr. Sanderson available?”

Her smile tightens, and she tilts her head. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but it’s important. I just need a few moments of his time.” The words tumble out too quickly, betraying my nerves.

She studies me for a few seconds before picking up the phone on her desk. “One moment, please.”

As she dials, I clutch the strap of my bag, my fingers digging into the worn leather. The muffled sound of her conversation reaches me, but I’m unable to focus on the words. My thoughts are a jumble of anxiety and resolve.

After a short exchange, she hangs up the phone and gestures toward the door. “You can go in. He has a few minutes.”

My heart lurches as I nod, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”

With a deep breath, I step toward the door, my hand hovering over the brass handle. I force myself to turn it and push the door open, ready to face whatever comes next.

Richard Sanderson sits behind a massive, polished desk. His sharp, calculating eyes snap up the moment I enter, narrowing with suspicion as they rake over me.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his tone clipped and unwelcoming.

I square my shoulders, willing the tremor in my hands to disappear. “Mr. Sanderson, my name is Holland Tate. I’m a friend of Bridger’s.”

His gaze hardens, and he leans back in his high-backed leather chair, folding his hands over his stomach. The faintest flicker of disdain plays at the corner of his mouth. “What about him?”

My heart hammers against my ribs as I take a hesitant step forward, gripping the strap of my bag like it’s the only thing tethering me to the ground.

My throat feels like sandpaper as I force myself to speak. “I know about Garret.”

The air in the room shifts. His expression freezes for a split second before his eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

I lick my dry lips, summoning every ounce of courage I have left. “I know that Garret Akeman is your son,” I say, the words slicing through the tense silence.

Richard’s jaw tightens, and his fingers drum against the armrest of his chair. “You’re overstepping, Miss Tate,” he says in warning. “This is none of your concern.”

“None of my concern?” I echo. “You’re pitting two brothers against each other without one of them even knowing it. You’ve been lying to Bridger his entire life. He has a right to know the truth!”

His eyes flash with something that might be anger or something darker. My hands tremble, but I keep them at my sides, unwilling to show weakness.

“If you cared about him at all,” I continue, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me, “you’d stop hiding the truth from him and do what’s right.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he snaps. “Bridger doesn’t need your meddling. I suggest you stay out of matters that don’t concern you.”

I lift my chin. “I’m not meddling. I’m standing up for someone I care about. Someone who deserves better than the lies you’ve been feeding him.”

The tension in the room turns suffocating.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Miss Tate. Be careful it doesn’t backfire.”

The threat in his words settles over me, heavy and oppressive.

“The only person playing games here is you,” I say. “And I’m done letting you get away with it. If you won’t tell him what’s going on, I will.”

“Tell me what?”

I whirl around so fast I nearly lose my balance, and my heart plummets to the floor when I see Bridger filling the doorway. His expression is a storm of confusion, shock, and anger. His eyes dart between me and his father, searching for answers.

“Bridger…” My voice is barely audible.

This isn’t the way I wanted him to find out.

Without acknowledging me, he steps into the office, his movements deliberate. “Is it true?” His words hang heavy in the air as his gaze locks on his father. “Is Garret your son?”

Richard’s cold glare shifts to me.

For a moment, the room is silent except for the heavy thudding of my pulse.

The older man rises from his chair, his expression unreadable, as he tugs at his tie to straighten it. “This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion.”

Bridger’s jaw clenches, and a muscle tics in his cheek. Anger radiates off him as he takes a step forward. “Don’t give me that bullshit. Just answer the damn question.”

Richard doesn’t respond.

His silence is louder than any denial or confirmation could have been.

Bridger’s bitter laugh echoes through the office. “Un-fucking-believable.” He turns abruptly, brushing past me without so much as a glance, and heads for the door.

“Bridger, wait!” I call out, my voice cracking, as I chase after him.

He stops just outside the office, his shoulders rigid and his fists clenched at his sides. Slowly, he turns to face me. There’s no way to escape the way his eyes blaze with hurt and betrayal.

“You knew?”

I falter under his piercing gaze. “Garret told me yesterday,” I admit, my voice trembling. “I wanted to?—”

“The messages,” he interrupts, his voice raw and accusing. “They were from him, weren’t they?”

I nod, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. “Yes.”

His face contorts with a mix of anger and disbelief. When I step closer, desperate to explain, he retreats, his body language screaming at me to stay away. The distance between us feels insurmountable.

“Don’t,” he snaps. “You should have told me.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my chest aching. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

He shakes his head, his laugh devoid of humor. “Yeah, well, you didn’t.”

And just like that, he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. I stand frozen, tears stinging my eyes as my heart shatters for the boy I’ve grown to care about.

And for the man who deserved so much better.