I know I’m right. Holy fuck.
Bryce makes it to the main hall and he’s turning away from the Quake’s VIP lounge, away from my team’s locker room, towards the other end of the arching hallway which will take him to the media room or his own team’s locker room.
But the rage inside me takes over and before he can take another step, I’ve got my hands gripping the front of his suit jacket as I lift him off his feet and slam him into the wall. He lets out a woof of air, unintentionally. He didn’t see me coming. And now he’s too busy trying to catch his stolen breath to stop the right hook that lands with a whack on his cheek near his eye.
“What the fuck!” he howls as he reaches for his cheek and lands on the concrete in the very same minute.
I grab the front of his jacket again and haul him to his feet as he tries to break free. “You are a fucking pedophile.”
It’s my voice hissing the words but I don’t recognize it.
“Jesus, Nash, come on! No!” he says and tries to loosen my grip on his jacket. I hear fabric tear, but I don’t let go. I shake him by it instead. “I was apologizing. I was young and dumb and it was entirely wrong. I drank a lot back then. I…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence because I punch him again. This time he doesn’t hit the floor, he stumbles back into the wall, his hand goes to his mouth, and blood starts to ooze from between his fingers.
“I fucking didn’t mean it!” he yells.
“Nash! What the hell!” I feel hands on my shoulders. My brother’s hands. I know without turning around to look. “Stop! Fuck!”
He tries to pull me away but I’m rooted to the ground with rage and it’s like my feet have been set into the concrete. I don’t budge. I point at Bryce, who now has Gabby by his side trying to get a look at his split lip. “You talk to me or her again, ever, for any reason, and I will destroy you.”
“Fine. Christ.”
“Come with me,” Gabby urges. She glares at me but it’s in more of a ‘what the hell did he do’ way and not a ‘what the hell did you do’ way. She says nothing as she guides Bryce into her office.
Crew yanks me backward toward the VIP area. I finally get my vision back, I can see more than just that potential rapist’s face. My dad and mom are at the entrance to the room. Both staring with wide, disappointed eyes. A few other people are frozen at the other end of the hall. A PR intern and an assistant trainer. Crew is yanking me back.
“What the hell was that about?” he demands but I ignore him, my eyes shooting to the end of the hall where Tenley is standing alone, shaking.
I push my brother out of the way and walk over to her. She seems fragile like she's made of glass suddenly. I reach out to touch her, daring only to use my fingertips to tilt her head up so our eyes can meet. "I'm right."
She gives me a tiny little nod.
“You have to tell someone.”
“I did. I told you,” she whispers. “That was enough. You are enough.”
And then she wraps her arms around my neck and holds on like I’m the only thing keeping her upright. Maybe I am. I wrap my arms around her waist and rub her back with my left hand. Turning my head into her neck, I whisper, “I’ve got you.”
“I know,” is Tenley’s response before she tilts her head and our lips connect.
Her lips are trembling but she kisses me with force and I kiss her back the same way. With every touch of our lips and slide of our tongues, the heaviness of the moment feels more like an anchor than a weight.
And it hits me as we break apart and I run a hand down her cheek, pulling her in for another hug, that this is our first real kiss.
Chapter 21
Tenley
I sit quietly in the corner of the couch while Nash sits on a stool, swirled away from the island, to watch his father pace in the space between the living room and kitchen. Avery Westwood runs a hand through his dark hair, which is graying at the temples.
“You’re going to have to give me something, Nash,” Avery is saying. “You can’t assault people, a coach from the opposing team no less, and expect this to blow over.”
“I don’t expect anything to blow over,” Nash replies, his voice calm and steady, unlike my heartbeat which has been erratic since I walked out of the bathroom at the arena and came face-to-face with Bryce Achilles. “I know Coach will find out and I will take whatever punishment he throws at me.”
Avery stops pacing. Stephanie, Nash’s mom, is sitting at the opposite end of the couch from me. She looks worried. I don’t blame her.
“He could suspend you from the team. Bryce could take this right up the league to the commissioner. Then what?” Avery demands.
