Page 67 of Boots & Scars

Fuck, I shouldn't have kissed her.

She deserved better, someone good, someone whole. But, God, it was the best thing I’d ever been given. Her lips were soft, so different from the rough edges of my life.

Now, I hated her for it. She was only doing this because she’d imprinted on me like a duckling on its first moving shadow. She'd go off and find someone else, eventually. Move on easily. And I’d be left behind, because deep down I knew I didn’t deserve her. Eventually, she’d see that too.

The next morning, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Dean Walker:Meet me at my office.

I groaned, scrubbing a hand over my face. The scars tugged slightly with the motion, a familiar reminder of past mistakes and battles lost.

Everly stirred beside me, her face peaceful in sleep. For a moment, I allowed myself to watch her, memorizing the lines of her face, the way her hair splayed out on the pillow, knowing time was fleeting and this was all pretend.

I slipped out of bed quietly and dressed quickly before leaning over to brush a kiss against her forehead.

“Hey,” I whispered as she blinked awake. “I gotta go meet Walker.”

Her eyes were still heavy with sleep but held concern. “Will you be back soon?”

“Yeah.” I forced a smile. “But you need to get out on the ice today. I haven't forgotten, killer."

She nodded slowly, but worry lingered in her gaze.

“Promise me,” I pressed.

“I promise,” she said softly.

With one last look at her, I left the house and made my way to Walker’s office. The morning air felt crisp against my face. My footsteps echoed through the mostly empty corridors of the admin building, each step bringing me closer to whatever confrontation Walker had in mind.

Walker’s office sat at the end of a long hallway, its door slightly ajar. Inside, it was cluttered but organized in a way that only made sense to him. Stacks of papers teetered on the edge of his desk, and bookshelves lined the walls, filled with binders and trophies that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. The room smelled faintly of old leather and coffee, a blend that hinted at long hours spent behind that desk.

He looked up as I entered, his eyes sharp and unreadable. “Sinclaire” he greeted, motioning for me to sit. His expression didn't give anything away, but I knew this wasn't a social call.

“Walker,” I acknowledged, taking a seat opposite him. “What’s this about?”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me for a moment before speaking. “You know damn well what it’s about.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Look, if this is about Everly?—”

“It is,” Walker said, his voice cold and unyielding. “Tell me why I have a frat kid in the hospital with cracked ribs, a swollen face, and who just woke up from a medically induced coma.”

I clenched my teeth, the memory of that night flashing through my mind. “What do you want me to say?”

Walker’s gaze bore into mine, unrelenting. “I assume you had good reason?”

“What did he say?” I asked, my jaw tightening.

“Not much since he can't actually talk,” Walker replied with an edge to his tone. “But witnesses say you came barreling into the frat house, looking for him, and the second you saw him, you started throwing punches.”

“I won’t apologize,” I stated flatly. “The fucker deserves more.”

“Cooper,” Walker said, his voice softer but no less intense. “Tell me. I had a few reports…” He clenched his teeth, clearly struggling with the words. “Campus police informed me that Everly reported… Is it true?”

My fingers curled into fists at the mere mention of her name in this context. I nodded slowly, unable to keep the fury from my eyes.

Walker exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a headache. The room felt smaller suddenly, the air thick with unspoken tension.

“You understand this puts us all in a difficult position?” he said finally.

“I do,” I admitted, though my anger hadn’t lessened. “But I’d do it again if I had to.”

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