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)
“Are you Bridger Sanderson?” he asks, his voice quivering with nerves.
Bridger sits up a little straighter, his brows lifting in surprise. “Yeah, that’s me.”
The boy’s eyes go wide as he bounces on the tips of his toes. “I knew it! You play for the Wildcats, right?”
“That’s right,” Bridger says, his tone warm and easy.
“Could you… could you sign something for me?” He holds out a crumpled napkin along with a pen, his expression hopeful.
With a chuckle, Bridger takes both items. “Sure thing. What’s your name?”
“Charlie,” the boy says, his voice barely above a whisper.
As Bridger scribbles on the napkin, I sit back and watch. There’s something about the way he interacts with the kid that throws me off balance and has everything softening inside me. He’s kind and genuine, without a trace of his usual cockiness.
Charlie practically vibrates with excitement when Bridger hands back the napkin. “Are you gonna play in the NHL next year?”
The question hangs in the air for a second too long.
Bridger leans back, his smile dimming just a bit. “As much as I’d like to do that, it’s not in the cards for me, bud.”
Charlie’s face falls, and I feel a pang in my chest.
Bridger reaches out and taps the boy’s shoulder gently. “But who knows? Maybe someday. Are you gonna keep cheering on the Wildcats through the playoffs? We could sure use the support.”
The boy nods and his grin returns. “I just know the team is going to make it to the Frozen Four!”
“That’s the plan.”
As Charlie rushes back to his table, clutching the napkin like it’s a prized possession, my attention returns to Bridger. He’s staring down at the table, his fingers tracing the condensation on his water glass. For the first time, I realize there’s so much more to him than I allowed myself to believe.
I lean back in the booth before picking up the paper straw wrapper and folding it accordion style.
Bridger’s quiet, his gaze far away as he absently taps a finger against the edge of his glass. For a guy who’s usually so quick with a sarcastic comment, his silence feels heavy.
“If you’re not playing hockey next year,” I ask, breaking the stillness, “what are you going to do?”
With an exhale, he runs a hand through his short, dark hair. “My uncle owns a marketing firm in Chicago. He offered me a job last summer after I interned with him. I actually enjoyed the work, and being around family will be nice.”
“That makes sense,” I say softly. “You’re creative and pretty good at coming up with ideas.”
“Careful, Tate—two compliments in one night? People might start thinking you actually like me,” he says wryly.
I shrug. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
His lips quirk, but the humor doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not my dream job, but I need to get the hell away from my father. And that’s one way to do it.”
The heaviness of his words sinks deep into my chest and reminds me of what I witnessed in the locker room. On impulse, I reach across the table and clasp his hand in mine. His gaze drops to where we’re now connected, and for a moment, I wonder if he’ll pull away.
It’s almost a surprise when he doesn’t.
The warmth of his fingers permeates mine, making me aware of the intimate gesture.
“What about you?” he asks, his voice quieter. “You’ve got another year left, right?”
I shake my head. “No, I’ll graduate after my summer courses are complete.”
His brows lift. “That’s impressive.”
“The heavy course load has been a killer, but I need to graduate and get a job.” The corner of my mouth lifts slightly. “A different job.”
He leans forward, closing some of the distance between us. “You don’t like working at the Envy Room?”
“It’s not that,” I say quickly. “I actually don’t mind it. The money’s good, and Randi’s a great boss. We’re like a family there. And I’ve never really had that.” My fingers tighten slightly around his. “It’s always been just me and my mom, so it’s kind of nice to have a group of people looking out for me.”
His chin dips once as his gaze remains fixed on me. “Yeah, I get that. It’s what the team has always felt like for me.” His brow furrows. “At least, it used to. Before all this bullshit with the messages started. Now, I don’t know who to trust. I look at some of the guys in the locker room and I can’t help but wonder if they’re behind it.”
The pain in his voice slices through the very heart of me. I chew my bottom lip before blurting, “Can I tell you something?”
His gaze sharpens, his attention fully locked on me. “Sure.”
I suck in a deep breath as my pulse picks up speed. “At first, seeing those messages made me happy.” When his brow arches, I rush on, the words tumbling out in a jumble. “It felt like karma, you know? But now I feel like shit for taking pleasure in your pain. Trust me, that’s not something I thought I’d ever say.”