Page 50 of Body Check
Just when I’m about to dive into the water, the swimmer from lane eight calls my name. I look over to see JT Norris hopping out of the pool and heading toward me. I wouldn’t really consider us friends, but he and I have been friendly when we work out in the early mornings or stay late to run drills in the evening. I’d like to think we’ve built a certain rapport, or at least have a fair amount of respect for each other’s game, but he’s also Mickey’s best friend. That means this conversation could go either way, and the look on his face right now isn’t hostile, exactly, but it’s sure as fuck not friendly.
“Wagner,” he says, coming to stand next to me. We’re nearly equal in height and build, so he looks me directly in the eye when he utters his next words. “Look, I’m not the one to tell someone who they should or shouldn’t date, believe me, so I’m not here to tell you to keep your distance from Birdie. I know from experience that it just doesn’t work.”
“So why the hell are you here?” I ask, not really caring that I’m probably provoking one of the few guys on the team that I actually had a decent relationship with. I’m equal parts pissed and frustrated, so if JT’s got something to say to me, he can fucking say it.
Instead, he holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m definitely not here to get a black eye so you, Mickey, and I can look like triplets. Stand down, Wagner.”
I relax my shoulders a fraction of an inch, but that’s all I’m willing to give right now. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture, Norris, unless you want to tell me why everyone on this team gets to have an opinion about my relationship. That’s some bullshit right there. Bridgette’s happy. That’s all that should matter to you guys.”
“Ultimately, that’s all that does matter,” he concedes. “But you’ve gotta know that she doesn’t just have one brother on the team, she has about twenty. We’re protective of her and we want what’s?—”
“You want what’s best for her,” I say, finishing my teammate’s sentence. “I get that.” My words are clear and calm, but the rest of me is damn near boiling. Clenching my fists and my jaw, I count backwards from ten so I don’t do something stupid that results in another facial injury to a teammate. Back in the locker room, I gave Mickey a pass. He’s hurt and betrayed, and even though I think he needs to get the fuck over himself and realize his sister is a grown-ass woman who can make her own damn decisions, I saw something in Coach’s office that told me there’s more going on with him than being an overbearing sibling. Bridgette told me the other night that he needs some time to feel his feelings, and though I don’t really like it, it makes sense. “But answer this question for me. How much of a dick do you think I am? And how little do you think of Bridgette that she’d put up with a dumbass such as myself?”
JT sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “That’s not it at all. But you’ve got to admit that?—”
“I don't have to admit shit,” I tell him plainly. “But I’ve got nothing to hide, so here it is. Bridgette’s it for me. I knew it the moment I saw her. And when we started talking, there was no going back. We dated for a solid fucking week before I even knew her last name was Mikalski because that never even mattered to me. We didn’t do the whole small talk thing. I’m not good at it, and she’s so fucking captivating, I could listen to her talk about anything all damn day. We had good conversations. And when we didn’t talk, it was just as fucking good,” I say, not caring about the cringey look on his face. He might consider himself her brother, but he’s the one who started this conversation.
“I don’t need to hear about?—”
“Don’t you? Because it seems to me you fuckers don’t understand that Bridgette’s an adult, just like the rest of us. In fact, she’s even more of an adult. She’s got her shit together more than anyone else I know. So please tell me why you think she’s so damn helpless that she needs a fucking squad of big brothers to keep her man in line? Believe me, she’s more than capable of getting that job done all on her own.”
“I get it,” he says, putting his hands up. “More than anyone, I really do. But there’s a reason Mickey and I are protective of her, okay? You haven’t met the family yet, but when you do, you’ll see. The way her mom judges her? The way they treat her? It’s unreal. I’ve been there for enough holidays and breaks to know it was toxic as hell. That’s why Mickey wanted her here. He hated that he wasn’t there as a buffer. So, just put yourself in his shoes for a second, ok? He finally gets his sister out of a bad environment, and then he finds out she’s with you—a person who’s only ever antagonized him. His gut reaction was to think you’d do the same to her. It’s what she's used to after all.”
“The fuck I would,” I say, doing my damnedest to rein in my anger.
“Then prove it. You say you’re going to treat Bridgette right, then I’ll believe you. But I’ll also be watching.”
We stare at each other for a minute before he turns his gaze to the clock on the wall. “Take care of her,” he says, patting me on the shoulder and then walking out.
Taking care of Bridgette is all I want to do. I just need everyone to get the hell out of my way so I can do it.
21
Dutton
When my workout is over, the first thing I do is text Bridgette. We may be in the middle of a shitstorm, but that doesn’t lessen my desire to be with her.
Dutton: Feel like coming over when you’re done with work?
My bet is that she’ll want to meet up on neutral territory or at her place, and I won’t say no to either offer. But now that Mickey and the rest of the guys know about us, there’s really no reason to hide. And if we keep sneaking around just to avoid pissing anyone off, that just doesn’t sit well with me. It’s like admitting they’re right.
And they’re not. They’re wrong as hell. Not just about me and the lengths I’ll go to to take care of my girl, but also about Bridgette. She’s stronger than they give her credit for. Hell, she’s stronger than she gives herself credit for.
I’m fresh out of the shower and throwing on sweats so I can head to the dining hall to grab some dinner when my phone vibrates.
Bridgette: Yeah, I do. My last client should be here soon, and she usually takes about an hour. Sound good?
Dutton: That sounds perfect.
There’s no one I know in the dining hall, so I eat my baked chicken and roasted chicken in solitude, and that’s just fine by me. I’ve had far too many people in my face lately, and I don’t want to be a grumpy asshole when I’m hanging out with Bridgette, so it’s probably good that none of my teammates are here to piss me off.
An hour and a half later, I’m sprawled out on my bed wearing sweats and reading about corporate strategies. I’m also trying to stay awake. This shit is boring as hell. I swear my eyes are half closed when I hear a soft knock at the door. Bridgette peeks her head in, and that’s all it takes. I’m wide awake.
“You should have texted. I’d have come down to meet you.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I am capable of walking up stairs without an escort. I don’t even have to use the handrail.”
I crack what I hope is a smile as I walk toward her and wrap my arms around her. She’s still wearing her coat, but I’m impatient. “I know exactly how capable you are,” I tell her. “But if I walk behind you, I get to watch your ass the whole time.”
