“Hey, Bridge.”
“Hey, you! So, still coming over this afternoon?”
A moment of panic reared inside her. “Are you telling me I can’t stay?”
“No, not at all! You’re more than welcome. I can’t wait to hear all the gory details. Like just how mad at you is Bast Durand? Do his eyes flash that delicious blue or go dark when he’s angry?”
“No, they turn green like the Hulk.” Pepper sighed. “I just need to get away from my dad’s place for a bit. He’s furious with me, and it’s making things really tense.”
She had her luggage in the car and planned to stop by Rebels HQ on her way to Bridget’s to let him know she was getting out of his hair for the foreseeable future. Just seeing her face reminded him of how awful she was, so she’d fix that the best way she could. Exit, stage left.
Hatch pounded his little fist, trying to get a puzzle piece to fit where it shouldn’t.
“Hey, buddy, don’t try to force it.” She took the cardboard out while musing on how she was the wrong puzzle piece in her family. The one who didn’t fit.
“You watching Theo Kershaw’s kid again?”
“Yep.” Pepper smiled as Hatch turned the piece around. “So smart, H-man!”
“So what’s their marriage like? Do you think he plays away?”
Pepper rolled her eyes. Bridget was the worst gossip, always trying to get juicy nuggets out of Pepper because of her proximity to pro-athletes. “I don’t know a thing about their marriage, but from what I can tell, it’s perfect.”
“Aww! I love hearing that. I would not throw Theo Kershaw out of bed for eating cookies, ya know?”
“I do know. You never stop talking about it.”
Bridget plowed on. “Well, he’s so hot, but Bast Durand is in another league entirely. I wonder if he’ll get back with Marina Morgan. I heard she broke up with Brian Costa.”
To her shame, Pepper had done a little research on Bast and come across several pics of him with Marina from before his wrist injury last year. They’d looked positively golden together, a true supercouple. People like that just fit so well, and Pepper should really have known better than to think she could flirt with a guy like Bast Durand in a bar and not suffer some consequences.
By the end of that meet-disaster, the guy had not liked her. But somehow she’d called that and raised the stakes to true hatred with this latest effort. Nice job, Rowdy.
“Hey, I need to go. Hatch is getting into all sorts here.”
Sorry, little guy! He was completely involved in his puzzle and behaving like an angel, so it was unfair of her to make him the fall guy. “See you later this afternoon?”
“Of course. Text me when you’re on your way. And Pep, don’t worry about it. It’ll all blow over.”
She wished she could believe that. But as bad as she felt now, she suspected that Bast had to be feeling a whole lot worse.
10
His head hurt. So fucking much.
Which, given the amount of bourbon he’d downed last night, really shouldn’t be a surprise. But his wrist was only throbbing today instead of shooting shards of pain down his arm, so he counted that as a win.
Sitting up in bed, he waited for the dizziness to subside, then stumbled zombie-like out to the living room. His sweats lay on the floor where he’d kicked them off about halfway through the bottle. A T-shirt lay in shorn rags, meat scissors beside it. Because he couldn’t find real scissors and he had thought cutting the tee off was better than trying to peel it over his head.
That decision courtesy of three-fourths of the bottle.
His phone was on the sofa, its screen riddled with notifications. Missed calls, left voicemails, a parade of sympathetic text messages.
To hell with them.
Uncharitable, perhaps. People were being kind, but he’d been through this before. He’d used that experience the best way he could—as a means to re-connect with Reid and put his father on blast. Quit being an asshole, Dad, and I might let you talk to me.
And it had worked. He and Reid were closer than ever, and he and Henri had recognizable boundaries. He wondered how this latest injury would change the dynamic.
Coffee was probably the best solution, but he wasn’t sure a sober Bastian Durand was the better option right now. In the kitchen, he pulled open the cupboard and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels. He’d already drunk the good stuff, but he wasn’t looking to appreciate a single sip. The goal was to stay smashed so he wouldn’t think about anything else.
Pouring a couple of fingers, he recoiled slightly as the fumes reached his nostrils. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. While he considered that, his phone vibrated with a text.
Hudson
Hey, Bast, I’m guessing you’re not up for visitors. Let me know if you want to talk.
He and Grey had trained together during the summer while Reid was traveling with Kennedy, and had become close. The kid was pretty sensitive so Bast really should text him back and let him know all was good. Before he could do that, a text came in from Dex O’Malley, another of his new teammates. Nice guy, O’Malley, a devil for the ladies.
O’Malley
Fuck, man, hope you’re okay. This might cheer you up.
He’d attached a photo of himself with … was that the blonde from the game? The one with the Bast tattoo on her tits?
Through his bleary, hungover gaze, he squinted to confirm that yes, indeed, that was her. With O’Malley. How was this cheering him up again?
O’Malley
I might have given her your number.
Your fucking welcome.
It’s spelled “you’re,” dickhead. That was all he needed. Sure, he’d noticed her before the clash … there it was again, that slither of discomfort down his spine, the feeling he’d fucked up. That his focus might have been elsewhere as he skated off for the break.
But that didn’t mean the mascot was supposed to charge into him like a rampaging elephant.
Bast
Stop giving out my number.
O’Malley
*wink emoji*
He pushed the glass of JD aside and reached for the Keurig cups, only to be interrupted by the intercom. He’d instructed Pete that he would not be accepting visitors until further notice, so that noise was enough to rile him up all over again.
The buzz repeated. He picked up the phone. “Pete, what did I say about—”
“It’s me.”
Reid. “Managing the door today, bro?” His voice sounded like a frog was spawning tadpoles in there.
“You haven’t been answering your phone. I need to come up.”
“I’m not home.”
Reid sighed. “C’mon. Talk to me.”
Bast shut his eyes, but all he could see was her. Pepper Calhoun and her hazel eyes and gorgeous lips, close to tears because he’d hurt her feelings.
He was the victim here!
And just thinking that word—victim—was enough to shock him out of his haze. “Tell Pete I said it was okay.” He hung up the phone.