Page 57 of Wrong Score

I snap my head around to find Drew sitting next to me, a smug grin on his face.

“I suppose he doesn’t,” I reply flatly, the warm glow I’d been feeling moments ago now dimmed. “You haven’t exactly been on his good side lately.”

Drew shrugs, unbothered. “That might be true, but he seems to like you just fine. You’ve written enough digs at him to deserve the same hostility, but maybe your defense of him at the gala changed his tune.” He eyes the oversized jacket I’m wrapped in, his smirk widening. “His jacket looks warm. Makes me wonder if he’s warming you up for a biased article—or if you’re just making it personal to attack a fellow journalist and friend.”

The jacket suddenly feels heavier, as if it’s a spotlight shining directly on me. I shift uncomfortably, the soft comfort of it now tangled with Drew’s implications.

“Drew,” I snap, lowering my voice to keep the conversation between us. “Whose jacket I wear has nothing to do with you, and Charles and the readers ofThe Seattle Sunriseare the only ones who matter when it comes to my writing.”

For a moment, Drew is silent, but I can feel the tension radiating off him. Then, to my dismay, he leans closer. “I didn’t know Clare was going to mention the baby. We agreed to wait until she was further along—”

“Stop.” I cut him off sharply. “I don’t care, Drew. I hope you and Clare have a healthy pregnancy, but you need to get this through your head. I don’t think about you, or your future. Not anymore.”

He follows my gaze, which has shifted back to Bex. Drew sighs, leaning forward in his seat. “I see. I wish you luck with that. You’re going to need it.”

Without another word, he stands and walks away, leaving me to process the awkward exchange.

The game is well underway, but there’s a new tension in Bex’s tight shoulders and locked jaw. He’s trading players, barking instructions, shouting at the refs with the intensity of someone fighting a losing battle but the Hawkeyes are ahead. It doesn’t make sense.

Then, chaos erupts on the ice. A late hit on Briggs Conley sends Lake Powers and Kaenan Altman into retaliation mode. The ref misses the initial hit and calls the penalties on the retaliation instead, sending Powers and Altman to the penalty box.

Bex loses it.

I’m on my feet before I realize it, the blanket tumbling to the sticky floor beneath me. Bex is yelling at the ref, his face red with frustration. When the ref refuses to acknowledge him, Bex jumps over the sideboards, landing on the ice with a determination that makes my heart race.

The crowd roars as Bex confronts the ref, his voice booming across the rink. Ezra rushes to pull him back while Seven steps between Bex and the ref. The second official charges into the altercation, and within moments, the call is made.

Bex is ejected from the game.

I watch helplessly as he storms through the tunnel, disappearing from sight. My heart pounds in my chest, and before I know it, I’m weaving through the crowd, muttering apologies as I push past fans with beers and hot dogs. I flash my badge to get past security and I don’t stop until I'm standing in front of his door.

I knock once before pushing the door open.

“Rowan?” His voice is rough, his eyes widening in surprise before narrowing. “You shouldn’t be here. And if you’re planning on writing this in your next article.”

Of course he’d jump to conclusions about my intentions. "I’m not writing about this and I’m not going anywhere,” I say firmly, closing the door behind me. “What happened out there? You almost got in a fistfight with the ref. What were you thinking?”

"Rowan," he says, his voice low, "I'm warning you. You should leave now before I do something I’ll regret."

I take a step forward. "You wouldn't hurt me. And I'm not leaving until you talk to me and tell me what happened out there," I say.

He turns around, taking heavy long strides towards me until he’s standing in front of me, and I do everything I can not to fidget or step away from him.

"Of course I'd never hurt you. That's not what I meant," he says

"Then why are you so mad? Hits like that happen out there. It's not unusual."

"You." he says.

"Me?"

"You think I can just stand there while he sits that close to you, a thick sheet of plexiglass keeping me for telling him to stay the fuck away from you. That you don't belong to him anymore? That he doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you?"

My eyes widen, where is this coming from?

"Bex…" I say.

"Leave, I'm too worked up for you to be this close to me." His voice is raw, and I feel the weight of his words settle between us.

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