Page 91 of Rebel Bride
“Ah, so you’re part of the trust circle.”
“And if he wanted to tell you, he would. Come on, I’ll buy you lunch, and we will not gossip about your brother. You coming, Hatchling?”
I needed to be alone. “I’m going to shower. Catch you guys later.”
Conor was right, though. Like the situation with Lars and my dad last season, this was heading for a showdown. The difference here was that I didn’t give a flying fuck about Carter’s opinion. I did, however, care about my dad’s. He wouldn’t like to learn I had messed with a teammate’s former fiancée days after she had left him.
I took out my phone and sent her a text.
If you need to talk, I’m here. No pressure.
I waited a few moments, but no response. Maybe that cold shower would dampen the fury I felt about Carter shit-talking Summer. Grabbing a towel from the cupboard, I stripped and headed into the showers. I was just about to turn on the faucet when I heard a sound from the locker room.
Muttering.
Soft, angry muttering.
I walked out to find Summer with her back to me.
And she had already made her mark.
Chapter Thirty-One
Summer
* * *
“Hey, Banksy, what’s up?”
I dropped the can and whipped around. Hatch stood behind me in nothing but a towel because that was exactly the sort of day I was having.
“What are you doing here?”
He raised an eyebrow. Okay, he had every right to be here. Me? Not so much.
He picked up the spray can from where it had rolled to near his foot. “Just Color Hair Dye,” he read off the label, then eyed the jersey hanging above Dash’s cubby.
When I came in here, my plan was comprised of a single word: Destroy.
I wanted to obliterate something that belonged to Dash. He could afford anything and replace everything, including me. Looking at the vivid pink streaks like Barbie streaks of fury across the front of his sweater, I felt a burgeoning sense of accomplishment. Not in creating something, but in sheer destruction.
After my chat with Dash, I’d sought out Tara, looking for a shoulder to cry on. Unfortunately, she had already left for the day, but her salon inspired me with its gallery of potential mutilation. Touching her scissors was a little like messing with a chef’s knives—absolutely verboten—so I focused on the haircare supplies. I found a can of semi-permanent pink hair dye, which I imagined Tara used for fun applications of color for the under twelves and clients who weren’t so brave.
Now here I was, a woman scorned, all because Dash wasn’t acting suitably damaged by my actions.
“I—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He handed the can back to me. “Go ahead.”
“I’ve done enough.” I didn’t want to damage the cubby or surroundings because someone other than Dash would have to fix that. I placed the can down on the bench.
“He was a jerk to you.”
“I shouldn’t have expected anything else. I’m mostly angry about the lies he’s spreading.” I swiped at a tear. “Yet, I can’t blame him, can I?”
In a flash, I found myself wrapped in strong arms. “Summer, you didn’t handle the end of your relationship well. But you’re trying to make amends while he’s acting like a little bitch.”
I chuckled against his chest, which felt so good on my cheek.
