Page 101 of Never Your Girl

I blink, my brain struggling to process what I’m seeing. “What’s he doing here?”

Garret exhales sharply, his hands curling into fists on the table. “He stops by once a week and stays for about forty-five minutes. An hour, if Mom’s lucky.”

The world tilts as the pieces start to fall into place. “Are you saying this is your house? That Bridger’s father is seeing your mom?”

Garret’s lips press into a thin line as his nostrils flare. For a moment, I wonder if he’ll deny it, but then he nods.

And then everything clicks—the sharp cheekbones, the similar jawline, the tension that always simmers just beneath Garret’s surface. I suck in a breath as the realization slams into me.

“Is he… your father?”

Garret’s eyes slice to mine, cold and unforgiving. “Yes.”

For a moment, all I can do is stare at him as my mind cartwheels. The pieces are all snapping into place, but I don’t like the picture they’re forming. The texts, the personal details only someone close to Bridger would know, the bitterness in Garret’s tone whenever his teammate’s name comes up.

Oh shit.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” My voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re the one behind the messages.”

Instead of denying it, he leans back on the bench, his posture almost defiant. “Yeah. It’s me.”

My jaw drops, and for a second, I can’t find the words. Then anger surges up, hot and sharp. “Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve caused? To Bridger? He’s one of your team—” I stop myself and shake my head, trying to get a mental grasp on it all. “He’s your brother?”

“Half-brother,” he bites out. “And Mr. Perfect will be just fine.”

“Don’t do that. You don’t get to play the victim here. Whatever issues you have with your dad or Bridger, you don’t get to hurt him like this. He doesn’t even know!”

Oh my God, he doesn’t even know he has a brother.

Half-brother.

Garret’s expression hardens, and I catch a flicker of something behind his eyes.

Guilt?

Regret?

The emotion disappears before I’m able to decipher it.

“He deserves to know the truth,” I say firmly. “About your dad. About everything.”

Garret shakes his head before dragging a hand through his windswept hair. “No. You’re not telling him.”

I cross my arms and hold his gaze. “If you think I’m just going to sit on this?—”

“You will,” he interrupts, his tone icy. “Because if you care about Bridger, you won’t throw this at him during playoffs. I’ll handle it in my own time.”

I narrow my eyes. “And when exactly are you planning on doing that? When it’s convenient for you? After you’ve hurt him with more humiliating messages?”

“I’ll tell him when I’m ready,” he says through gritted teeth. “And the messages are done. I’m over it.”

“You’re damn right they are,” I snap, rising to my feet and staring down at him. “Because if they aren’t, I’ll make sure everyone on this campus knows who’s behind them.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue.

Without waiting for a response, I turn and walk away, my heart thundering. My thoughts are a chaotic swirl, but one thing is clear—Bridger deserves to know the truth.

I’m not going to let anyone else hurt him.

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