“Didn’t know you cared, Goalie,” Philips adds.
“I don’t,” I growl, slamming Korbin’s locker. “But she doesn’t deserve the shit you’re saying. You don’t even know her.”
I stalk to my own locker, the anger boiling too hot to slow down. I shove gear into my bag without bothering to strip down properly. My pads are suffocating me, the weight of the day pressing on my chest, so I rip them off—chest protector first, then shoulder pads, yanking each piece like it personally offended me. They hit the bench with a heavy thud. Everything else stays on except my skates, which I unlace fast, swapping them for my boots.
“So, are you Brooks’ bitch now, too?? He too scared to come back in here and fight his own battles??”
Of course, the fuckhead had to get the final word. If the attention isn’t on him, he has to find a way to shine.
“No, he’s not here because I’m saving your useless excuse of a life. He’s ready to fucking kill you, and I’d be more than happy to sit by and watch him do it.” I step closer to him. “I’d take joy in watching you curled up in a ball on the floor, crying like a baby as he whoops your ass. But I’m thinking about the team, something you don’t do. Without him or me, you won’t win the next game.”
I turn, pick up mine and Korbin’s bags, our sticks, and head outside to the truck. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, on his phone. I hesitate for a minute, wondering how he got into the truck, before remembering the magnetic box we keep inside the bumper.
I drop the bags and sticks in the truck bed and head around to the driver’s side.
Korbin looks over at me when I slide into the driver’s seat, his gaze cold, as if he’s looking right through me as I start the engine.
The entire ride home is full of silence.
After getting some breakfast and then showering and changing, I sit down on my bed with my phone. Korbin went straight to his room when we got home, and I could hear him talking on his phone when I went upstairs. From what I could hear, I knew the conversation was with Lincoln.
When I open my phone, I see a message waiting from Lincoln. Not a personal one, or even in the thread he has with me and Korbin. It's the one he made with Bayleigh. It’s just one new message. She hasn’t responded.
I can only imagine how bad this is for her. What’s her brother doing? Saying?
Lincoln: How you holding up? The team giving you guys shit about me and Bayleigh?
Me: I’m good.
Me: But yeah. Mainly Philips. But he and most of the guys are assholes. I handled it. Korbin not so much. I stepped in so he wouldn’t have to deal with them. I’m not going to stand for them talking shit about her or my brothers.
Lincoln: I figured. He told me you kicked him out of the locker room. Thank you for that. He doesn’t need to get into a fight.
Lincoln: And thank you for having my girl’s back.
I stare at the screen; his girl. Lincoln called her his girl. But could she be mine too? How bad is this shitshow for her? Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull up Bayleigh’s contact, and I start a message thread between just the two of us. My thumbs hover, one last chance to rethink what I’m doing before I start typing.
Me: Hey. I’m sorry about all the crap online. Don’t listen to it. You didn’t do anything wrong.
Me: It’s Milton btw.
I won’t lie, I looked at some of the photos and comments, but I had to stop. The more I saw, the angrier I got. The comments about her infuriated me. She was being made into a villain, and there was nothing being said about Lincoln. I mean, not that Iwanted to see any shit about my brother, but it still feels a bit unfair in the scheme of things. It’s not like Bayleigh was on a date with an actual Scorpion. Like me. But it’s still surprising that the comments don’t mention Linc anywhere.
Worry festers inside of me and I flip back over to the group chat, noting she hasn’t responded. I see she’s read the messages, but there is nothing. No text or emojii or any sort of response to clue me into how she’s feeling. Then I switch to the one with just me and her. Same thing. Read, but no response. No bubbles dancing, showing she’s even typing.
Should I not have messaged? Am I being too forward? I start to panic.
Then a reply pops up.
Bayleigh: Thanks. I saw from the other message that they’re giving you and Korbin trouble. I’m sorry. I never meant for our date to become what the media is making it out to be.
Me: Nothing I can’t handle. Trust me, being a hockey player, there’s always something bad. Especially with the team I’m on.
Bayleigh: Still, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause problems for you or Korbin. I know how hard it must be for him with Lincoln and I going on a date. I know how Benton feels about it.
Me: Don’t apologize. You didn’t cause the problem. They did. The tabloids need to learn that we’re real people, and not to publish false shit for the headlines. And well, my team can kick rocks.
There’s a long pause before her next message.
