Page 1 of The Bookworm

ONE

When I see two figures under the bleacher on my way back to the locker room, my first thought is to look away and give the two horny teenagers some privacy. That thought quickly evaporates when I see the larger figure raise an arm and strike the smaller one.

“Hey!” My heart pounds as I step closer and let my eyes adjust to the darkness under the bleachers. The game ran long today, thanks to the coach from the Arbor Heights Bandits calling countless time-outs and fouls to try to penalize us when we did nothing wrong. Now, the bleachers are mostly empty, save the figures under them and a few straggling families congratulating their kids on the field.

When I get a better look at the two people hiding in the shadows, I realize the large figure is a man towering over a girl who is now scrunched up on the ground.

Shock has my feet cemented to the ground, my blood freezes in my veins, and I’m only vaguely aware of someone walking up beside me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sawyer, my best friend, brings me back to reality. When I glance at him, I see the same utter shock in his expression.

“Get the fuck out of here. This is none of your business,” the man slurs, wavering in his spot as he turns his attention back to the girl.

“You made it our business when you attack someone half your size,” I shout, my voice filled with rage. “Why don’t you try to pick a fight with us instead, coward?” I leave the threat hanging in the air, my hands balled into fists, ready to throw the first punch either way.

“And what are you two assholes going to do?” He scoffs. “You think just because you’re wearing some football pads, you’re tough and can takeme?” He pronounces “me” like he’s some heavyweight champ instead of a scrawny drunk.

The girl on the ground groans but doesn’t move to get up. That dipshit knocked her out cold. Who does something like that? No woman deserves to be treated that way. My natural protective instinct kicks in, and I take a few steps toward them, my fists clenched at my sides.

Sawyer follows close without prompting. I don’t need to worry about him having my back, he always does.

“Get away from her if you know what’s good for you. We’re taking her home.” My voice is final. This isn’t a negotiation. If he doesn’t move the fuck out of the way, I’ll drop him to the ground the same way he did her.

He starts laughing. “I’m her dad, idiot. You’ll be taking her to my house.”

Fucking Christ. Who does this to their own daughter?

“I don’t give a shit who you are,” I spit back at him. “You are not taking her home with you.”

“She is coming with us,” Sawyer reinforces. His arms are crossed firmly in front of him like some kind of imposing nightclub bouncer.

“If you touch her, I’m calling the cops. I’ll tell them you kidnapped her.” He turns around and smirks at us as if he’s just used the magical combination of words to get us to back off so he can finish what he started here.

I believe his bluff for a split second, but the uncertainty in his eyes lets me know there’s no way he wants to get the police involved in this.

“I’ll take my chances,” I say sternly. Folding my arms over my chest, I stand my ground.

“Whatever.” He finally shrugs. “She’s more trouble than she’s worth anyway.” He spins around and stumbles away. It takes everything in me to hold back and keep from reaching for him and pummeling him to the ground to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Both Sawyer and I close the distance between us and the girl. I kneel beside her and swipe her long blond hair from her face.

Fuck me. It’sher… Merrit Wright, the sexiest nerd alive.

“He broke her glasses.” Sawyer picks up the broken frame with a lens missing from beside her.

By now, the stadium has cleared out, and the rest of our team and the coaches are already celebrating our win at Flyboys Pizza. Sliding my arms under her slim body, I lift her off the ground. She stirs briefly, but her eyes never open. I carry her to my car with her head against my chest.

“Are we really going to take her home with us?” Sawyer questions.

“Where else are we going to take her?” My heart aches realizing home for her might never be an option, not with a dad like that.

“To the hospital, maybe?” He actually has a point. She may have a concussion, and she has been out for a minute, which means it could be bad.

“Yeah, let’s take her to get checked out,” I concede, remembering all the horror stories Sawyer and I have heard about guys on the team who had their lives ruined from untreated concussions.

“No hospital, please,” Merrit’s small voice pleads. “I’ll be fine, I swear.” Her big blue eyes look at me with confusion. I can see how hazy everything must be for her.

The anger brewing inside my chest expands because from the way she talks, I know this wasn’t the first time he hit her. I remember all the times she wore long-sleeved shirts and jeans in the sweltering summer heat, and how the other guys made fun of her because they assumed she couldn’t afford new clothes for each season.

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