Page 70 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

Screw you, Logan, I think to myself as Sanderson turns around slowly and stares me down. Not gonna lie, the guy’s intimidating on a good day. He has to be to keep the players in line. But having his astute attention solely focused on me? I break out into a cold sweat in two seconds flat and fist the long sleeves of my gray LAU hoodie into my palms while feeling like a helpless baby gazelle.

“There a problem, Baby Thorne?” he demands, his tone laced with accusation.

I shake my head. “No problem.”

Unconvinced, he orders, “Wait in the locker room. Once the game is finished, I think I need to make an announcement.”

An announcement?

The blood drains from my face.

Like what? Is he firing me?

“Now, Thorne,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

Dread pools in my stomach, but I force myself to nod. “Yes, sir.”

My legs tremble as I turn on my heel and walk back to the locker room, every possible scenario swirling around in my brain until I’m pretty sure I’m gonna puke.

I screwed up. Well, not only me, but I am the catalyst. Okay, it’s not entirely true, either. My stupid virginity was the catalyst. Which is ridiculous. But it doesn’t change anything. Because of me, there was a fight on the ice during our first game. And now, my head’s on the guillotine. I pace the locker room back and forth, tossing around every possible announcement Coach could make, but none of them ease the knot in my chest. If anything, it only tightens, making me lightheaded and more anxious than ever.

I can’t lose this internship. Not after everything I’ve sacrificed to get here. There were countless applicants. Countless. But I was the one who made the cut. I was the one who clicked with Russ. I was the one who worked my ass off, bending over backward at my last school. Studying. Kissing up to the right people. Biting my tongue in spite of the asshole comments people would make because I have a freaking vagina instead of a penis between my legs. I’ve dealt with all of it and managed to keep my head held high the entire time. And there isn’t a chance I’m going to let Coach take it away from me all because of a stupid one-night stand with a stupid boy who will never see me as anything but his best friend’s stupid little sister.

Nope.

Not a chance.

The buzzer sounds a few minutes later, and the team piles into the locker room for their break before the second period. Next to the last row of lockers, I shift my weight from one foot to the other with my arms crossed over my chest and a dull hum in my ears.

Waiting.

Suffocating.

Anxiety gnawing on every inch of my confidence with the knowledge of how quickly things can spiral out of control if Coach feels like pulling the final thread.

From the tunnel, a low growl reverberates off the cinder block walls before Theo meets my gaze, stalking into the room with his helmet hanging from his clenched fist, frustration rolling off him in waves. He’s followed by a raging Colt, who’s sporting a fresh bruise on his left cheekbone, although I have no idea who put it there.

Sanderson slams his hand against his clipboard as he enters the room, glaring at the team and barking, “What the hell was that out there? Huh, Taylor? Thorne? Burrows? Fucking everyone? Refusing to pass to your fellow player, then roughing with your own teammates? Not to mention the score or the fact we’re zero to three after the first period in our first game. There are scouts on those benches, gentlemen, and you’re doing a bang-up job of making the other team look good.” He turns to Colt and shakes his head. “And the sucker punch on the opposing team in the final three seconds of the period, Thorne? What were you thinking?” His nostrils flare, and he folds his arms, waiting for someone to answer him. “What the fuck is going on?”

The locker room is like a cemetery. Silent. Almost eerie. Not a single person moves a muscle as we wait with bated breath. Only a fool would pipe up right now and put themselves on Coach’s radar. And no one’s a fool.

Clearly, Coach is upset.

And he has a good reason to be.

It’s easy to see how messed up this situation is. The question is, who’s going to own up to it? ‘Cause it sure as hell shouldn’t be me. I did nothing wrong. I’ve done nothing wrong. Sure, I slept with someone on the team, but they’re the ones who set up the bet. The ones who kept Colt in the dark. Them. Not me.

But everyone stays quiet, exchanging glances like they’re volunteering for a lobotomy with an icepick instead of answering a simple question. I can’t really blame them.

This is…messy.

Really freaking messy.

“Taylor!” Coach snaps when a few seconds of silence tick by.

Theo’s head hangs between his shoulders, his curly hair damp with sweat as he rubs his hand over it. “Yeah, Coach?”

“Answer me. And tell me why the hell Logan thinks it has something to do with Baby Thorne.”

---