Page 65 of Never Your Girl

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.”

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