I keep my distance, eyes locked on the back of her head, scanning for anyone stupid enough to step in. When she slips through the doors of the league headquarters, I let out a breath. She’s inside. She’s safe.
I should head home. I don’t. I go to the gym.
Milton’s already there when I walk in, sitting on a bench tying his shoes. He looks up, brows shooting up when he sees my hands.
“Jesus, dude.” He stands. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Traffic,” I say, brushing past him.
He snorts. “Traffic doesn’t do that to your knuckles.”
I glance down. The skin’s split, raw, dotted with someone else’s blood and mine. I grab a towel off the rack, wipe half-heartedly, then toss it aside.
“Handled something,” I mutter.
Milton’s gaze sharpens. “Scorpions handled something or Korbin handled something?”
“Just me.”
He waits. I dig out tape from my bag and start wrapping my knee. I don't really need to, but it gives extra support when I skate hard. He doesn’t move, just stares at me until I relent and tell him what happened.
“Some asshole cornered a girl outside the league building,” I finally say. “Didn’t like the look of it.”
Milton exhales. “So you rearranged his face.”
“Seemed fair.”
He almost smiles. “And the girl?”
“She’s fine,” I answer, too fast. His eyes narrow, catching it. I sigh. “It was Bayleigh.”
That gets him. “Lincoln’s Bayleigh?”
I nod once.
“Fuck,” Milton breathes. “She okay?”
“Shaken,” I say. “But yeah. I followed her to the league offices. She went inside. She’s good.”
He nods, jaw working. There’s a beat of silence.
“You gonna tell him?” he asks.
I know who he means. Lincoln.
I grab my water, take a drink to stall. Every part of me wants to say no. But that image of her pinned against the wall won’t leave my head. Neither will Lincoln’s stupid soft look any time her name comes up.
“Yeah,” I say. “He should know.”
“Good,” Milton says. “For once, you’re not being a complete jackass.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He huffs out a laugh and heads for the weights. I hang back, pull out my phone, stare at Lincoln’s name.
This shouldn’t be my job. I hit call anyway. He answers on the second ring. “Yo. You alive? You were supposed to?—”
“Ran into your girl,” I cut in.
