Page 45 of For the Boys
He was beaming at her, and her breath caught.
I would give anything to have him always look at me like this, she thought.
The Monday after Thanksgiving, Berkley sat studying for her finals when her phone buzzed on the table in front of her. The readout showed Brent’s name.
Brent: Hey you :)
Berkley: Hey yourself!
Brent: What’re you up to?
Berkley: I’m studying, or I’m trying to!
Brent: Oh I’m sorry Miss Smarty Pants. Excuse me for wanting to talk to you.
Her friend Harper poked her head over Berkley’s shoulder, her sleek dark hair tickling Berkley’s cheek.
“Brent? Wait, is this the new boy? Tell me everything.” Harper’s slightly slanted eyes widened. Harper Park was one of the only other women in their male-dominated sports law classes, so she and Berkley had quickly become friends. Harper was the daughter of a Chinese immigrant father and Florida born and raised mother. She’d attended college at the University of Florida before moving to Michigan to attend law school.
Berkley flashed Harper a grin and quietly delved into the tale of how she’d met Brent, leaving out what he did for a living. It was still surreal to her that she was spending time with a professional hockey player, though they hadn’t been able to see much of each other since the loft party thanks to their busy schedules. He had yet to take her on a proper date, and she was getting antsy.
Because of how grueling it was, law school had a way of bonding people, but she and Harper weren’t what Berkley would call friends. With that in mind, she omitted the parts about being drugged and her more negative, self-conscious thoughts about the relationship. By the time she finished, Harper was looking appreciative.
“Let me see a picture!”
Berkley unlocked her phone and scrolled through her camera roll, looking for a picture they’d taken at Mitch’s loft a few weeks ago. They were standing in a corner, Brent’s head bent toward hers while she smiled up at him, probably in response to something he’d said.
“Damn, girl.” Harper whistled low. “He is sexy.”
“Don’t I know it,” Berkley said with a smirk as she tried to turn her attention back to studying.
Unfortunately, her brain had other plans, and her thoughts turned away from contracts and toward Brent.
It had been six weeks since he had messaged her on Instagram and turned her life upside down. The revelation that he and his teammates had taken care of her, Amelia, and Kimber the night of Kimber’s birthday had really thrown her for a loop.
It had bothered her for months, not being able to remember how they had gone from The Backdoor to the Renaissance Center hotel. Giant pieces of the night were missing. She closed her eyes tightly, willing her brain to dredge up any sort of solid memory from that night. Her efforts were rewarded with nothing but flashes: the dance floor, a table of friends and a round of shots, blurry faces and heavy limbs, losing the contents of her stomach in the toilet, clammy skin, chilled hands and feet. Then nothing.
Until waking up in that giant, cloud-like bed in a hotel room overlooking the river.
She was incredibly thankful Brent had been the one to take care of them that night. The more she learned about him, coupled with what she already knew, the more she realized Brent truly was a good man. Although she didn’t know Cole enough to make a decision on his moral compass either way, the fact that he had helped Brent spoke volumes.
She wasn’t sure how Parker had gone from knight—or Warrior—in shining armor to douchebag in a polo shirt, but she didn’t particularly care. She would never give him the benefit of the doubt. He could give one of his kidneys to someone in need and she would still consider him a predator.
She took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, and let it out slowly before turning back to her notecards, one final thought on the subject drifting through her mind:
Brent can never find out what Parker did to me.
Chapter Nine
Brent
After holding out as long as he could after seeing Berkley at the loft, which proved to be only a few days, Brent found himself pacing his living room, listening to his phone ring with an outgoing call.
He was equal parts terrified and excited about her answering.
It rang and rang and rang, and just when he was sure her voicemail would pick up, she said, “Hello?”
He winced, completely unprepared to reach the actual woman and not the tinny sounds of her voicemail. “Hey, Berkley.”
