Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
He levels me with a hard look. “Bro. Stop blowing smoke up my ass.”
Yeah, I didn’t think he’d buy it.
His expression darkens as he steps closer. “To insinuate that you’re getting benched or cut from the team is bullshit.”
The reminder ignites my anger all over again. I’d been so consumed by Holland.
By the taste of her.
The feel of her.
So much so, that I’d almost forgotten about Coach pulling me.
“Is it?” The words come out sounding bitter.
“You know it is. It was one shitty practice.” He taps my temple with his finger. “Don’t let it fuck with your head. We both know that’s when problems start.”
He’s right. Once doubt creeps in, it’s all downhill from there. Hockey is just as much of a mental game as a physical one.
Maybe even more so.
I scan the living room. Teammates are sprawled across couches and girls are floating around, looking for attention. “Whoever’s behind this knows what happened at practice. It has to be someone on the team.” My jaw tightens. “Or they’re being fed information.”
What I’ve learned these past few months is that paranoia is a real bitch. Especially when you’re looking at guys you’ve known for years, wondering if they were ever your friends to begin with.
Steele straightens, his usual easygoing demeanor vanishing. “Come on, man. You really think it could be someone on the team?” His gaze sweeps the room. “No way would any of them do that to you.”
“How’d they know Coach pulled me from the scrimmage?”
“It could’ve been anyone in the stands. Practice isn’t private.”
True enough. Which means we’re back to square one.
“Whoever it is has a real hard-on for you,” Steele continues. “And the messages keep getting more personal. It only makes sense that it’s someone you know.”
My mind circles back to green eyes and auburn hair, to the way Holland felt pressed against me in the library stacks. The taste of her still lingers on my tongue.
“What if it is her?” The words come out rough. “She’s the only one who has a reason to hate me this much.”
Steele’s eyebrow lifts. “Are we back to Holland Tate again?”
“She refuses to admit it, but I think she’s bitter about what happened between us.”
“I don’t know.” He looks torn between support and skepticism. “You’ve confronted her and she’s denied it. There’s not a shred of proof. Does she even have those kinds of computer skills? Or know someone who does?”
“It’s more of a gut feeling.” But doubt simmers beneath my certainty. “I need to keep a closer eye on her. That way, when she slips up, I’ll be there.”
“And how exactly are you going to do that? Last I checked, she couldn’t stand to be in the same zip code as you.”
I shrug, but my mind’s already spinning. “I’ll figure something out.”
He shakes his head, taking a long pull from his beer. “I hate that this is happening to you. You don’t deserve it.”
I clap his shoulder, managing a half-smile. “I appreciate it.”
Instead of joining the guys, I retreat to my room and pull out my phone. Deep down, there’s a part of me that wonders if I’m too blinded by my emotions to see Holland clearly.
What if I’m wrong?
All I know is there’s an irresistible force between us that I can’t fight. I can still remember the way she dropped her guard enough for me to catch a glimpse of the real Holland Tate. At the time, it scared the hell out of me. I told myself it was best to bury the uncomfortable feelings she roused and walk away.
Now, here I am, right back where I started. A tangled mess of regret and attraction with a few added layers of anger and suspicion. She’s camped out in my head, and no matter what I do, I can’t evict her.
When I scroll through my messages with FragileLikeABomb, I feel that same pull, that same twisted sense of connection. The way she gets under my skin. It’s different from Holland but somehow just as intense.
It doesn’t make sense.
I reread our latest exchange, wondering why her words always strike such a familiar chord. She knows things I’ve never told anyone else.
Things I can barely admit to myself.
My fingers hover over the screen before I type.
Me
What do you think it takes to really trust someone? How do you know when they’re being real with you?
Maybe I’m asking because Holland’s denial has me questioning my instincts. Deep down, I want to believe her. I want to believe she wouldn’t strike out and hurt me so publicly.
Her response is cautious, like she can sense my mood.
FragileLikeABomb
Trust is messy. People lie, even when they don’t mean to. Sometimes it’s about protecting yourself… or someone else. Why do you ask?
Her words hit a little too close to home.
She’s right.
Sometimes it’s all about self-preservation.
Me
What if lying is all you’ve ever known? What if you’re just trying to keep things together?