Page 70 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

“Because right now I want to throttle both of you. Mainly him, though.” I wait a beat. “I’m glad you stopped him.” I can’t quite muster a thank you, though.

Oliver nods once, but a flush creeps up his neck. He turns away from us abruptly and strides over to the shelving on the wall, swiping his arms across the surface. Tools and items go crashing to the floor.

Penn threads his fingers through mine, and I really want to hate him.

Except… I don’t think I do.

“He put me in the trunk.” I touch my throat. “You knew that, though. You said you saw it.”

His gaze hardens. “Yeah, princess. I got here as fast as I could.”

“And I want to know more about this fighting thing,” I add. Since I seem to be pushing my luck getting any sort of admission from them, I may as well ask about this, too.

“No,” Oliver barks.

Penn considers it.

I keep eye contact with him, sucking my lower lip between my teeth. I didn’t bother putting my hair up after class, and he reaches for a lock automatically. He twirls it in his fingers, thinking something through.

“Is that where you got that black eye from before? No goalie gets a black eye in a game unless they’re asking for it. And even then…”

“Walker,” Oliver warns.

“Yes,” Penn says. “We do fight nights after a home game loss. Everyone knows to come here.” He steps into my personal space, his chest and mine nearly brushing.

“Everyone,” I repeat. I have to tip my head back to meet his gaze.

“Everyone who matters.”

“Everyone who pays,” Oliver corrects. “No snitches allowed.”

“First rule of fight club, don’t talk about fight club,” I say.

“Exactly.” Penn snaps his fingers. “But since you now know both the where and the when, you’re welcome to come. In fact, you should be here to root me on.”

“How are you so—normal?” Oliver interrupts. “What the fuck is going on in your head, doll? Anything but air?”

“Of course you’re going to be nasty after your teammate tries to strangle and rape me,” I snap. My voice cracks, though, which kind of ruins my anger. Besides, the best way to get over something is to pretend it didn’t happen.

Penn touches my neck, and I cringe.

“You didn’t feel it,” he says to Oliver. “It was really fucking tight.”

They glare at each other.

I blink back tears, trying to keep to my pretend this didn’t just happen mantra. But it’s really hard when my throat hurts, and my body is still zipping with adrenaline, and I have the urge to break something.

“She’s going to bruise,” Penn adds.

I lean into his side, suddenly done with tonight. He steers me out the door they came through and puts me in his car. He disappears back inside, presumably to get Oliver’s version of events. But it’s pretty cut and dry—they grabbed me. They threatened me.

Then Bear took it further.

My skin crawls. He touched me, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

I check my phone and stare at the texts from L.

L.