Page 71 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

Shit.

I’d almost thought he’d forgotten. Hoped. Like maybe I could fly under the radar and pretend this never happened. My lower lip trembles, and I suck it into my mouth, biting the tender flesh to keep it from visibly proving just how much I’m freaking out at this moment.

Theo lifts his head and meets my gaze, making me feel exposed. Naked. Vulnerable. And I hate being any of those things. Especially around a guy who only slept with me because I forced him to. But there’s so much in his gaze.

Resignation. Shame. Pity.

Like I’m a kicked puppy, and he’s the one who delivered the blow.

Theo clears his throat and tears his attention from me to Coach. “Blakely has nothing––”

“Bullshit,” Burrows interrupts, standing up from the bench in front of his locker. “The guys all made a bet to see who could sleep with her first, and Theo won by threatening to kick me out of his place if I didn’t leave her alone with him.” I gasp at how quickly he threw me under the bus. He turns to me, his eyes shining with regret. “But I swear, Blake. I didn’t care about the money. I liked you before. You have to know I––”

“Fuck you, Burrows,” Theo interrupts. He stalks closer to him, as if he’s ready to go another round and start throwing punches. They’re chest-to-chest, their brows pulled low and angry as Theo spits, “We both know you put cash into the pot because you were confident she’d let you touch her.”

“Says the guy who was adamant he didn’t even like Blake before giving me a hundred bucks under the bullshit excuse it was to support the rest of the team’s endeavors.” Burrows scoffs and shakes his head. They’re in the center of the room now. Facing off with each other. Having a pissing contest in the middle of the locker room while a dozen spectators surround them as the intermission timer ticks away, counting down the seconds until the second period of the game begins.

The vein in Burrows neck throbs as he adds, “If you wanna see the messed-up person in this scenario, you should take a look in the mirror.”

“Enough!” Sanderson yells.

Theo’s chest heaves as he backs away from Burrows and cranes his neck toward Coach, fire and rage leaving his angry expression ablaze. I’ve never seen him this pissed off. This worked up. He’s usually a pretty laid-back guy. Until I come into the picture. Then he turns into an angry caveman with a capital C. But against his own teammates? I never thought I’d see the day.

And it’s all my fault.

“I really thought you dipshits could handle having a girl behind the bench,” Coach says, his tone lethal. “But apparently, I was wrong.”

My breath hitches, and I step forward, my footsteps sounding like they belong to a tiny mouse compared to the angry stomps the floors are accustomed to after today. “Coach, please. I need this internship.”

“Coach,” Russ intervenes. It’s the first time he’s said anything since I walked onto the ice at the beginning of the first period.

“Not now, Russ,” Coach mutters.

Russ runs his palm over his soft gray hair and clasps his hands in front of him. Casually. Like we’re discussing the weather instead of my future in LAU’s athletic department. “I’m just sayin’ you shouldn’t ruin Blake’s opportunity because the team’s thinking with their dicks.”

Sanderson’s nostrils flare, his fingertips turning white as he squeezes the clipboard in his hand.

Please don’t make me lose this internship.

Please don’t make me lose this internship.

The mantra churns in my head over and over again as Coach glares at each of the players, one by one. And I hate how I’m out of control. That my future is in the hands of someone else. Someone who isn’t too pleased with the effect my presence has on the team. I can’t exactly blame him. What the Hawks were doing on the ice wasn’t hockey. It was…ridiculous. Childish. Embarrassing. Not only for the players but also for Coach.

“Russ is right.” Coach’s voice cuts through the tension in the room like a sharp knife. “But from now on, LAU’s team has a no fraternization policy. Effective immediately. And if I find out any of you are trying to date––let alone place bets on Blake or anyone else in this locker room––you’re finished. We clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the team murmurs.

Sanderson points his finger at me. “Same goes for you, Baby Thorne. I expect you to be professional from this moment forward. Understood?”

My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest as I force a nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, let's get back on the ice, and get our heads out of our asses. Go Hawks!” He pumps his fist into the air and heads toward the exit.

“Go Hawks!” the team yells.

I stay at the back of the room as the rest of the group files down the hall to the rink, preparing for the second period. When I’m the last one left in the locker room, I let the air whoosh out of my lungs and lean against the row of lockers, my mind spinning.

Drained. Exhausted. Relieved.

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