Page 70 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)

“He keeps calling her from a private number,” I add.

“Excuse me?” Evan frowns.

I throw my hands up. “I know! As if Wren doesn’t have enough things to worry about. I know we’re watching her, and we’ve got her back, but honestly. When will it end? The nightmares have pretty much stopped. But she didn’t bother to tell either of us about this caller—”

“How does she know it’s him?” he questions.

“She answered the first call. Ignored the rest.”

He grunts.

We arrive at the field just as the team is finishing their practice. I point out Brad, a tall, very average douchebag. We stand and watch for a long moment while my anger climbs slowly.

The more I analyze him, the more I know Wren was wasting her time. But that doesn’t negate the fact that she trusted him, and hecheated.

The coach heads off with a few players, disappearing around the only permanent building for the practice field and heading in the direction of campus. Brad and another player are picking up small orange cones on the field.

I stride toward him, leaving Evan rushing after me.

“Do you have a plan here?” my best friend whisper-yells.

“Yep.”

No time like the present to throw caution to the wind.

“Stone—”

“Hey,” I call. “Tall, dark, and asshole.”

Brad straightens. He recognizes me, and a split second later, he realizes what I said. It’s obvious from the sheer annoyance that takes over his expression.

But here’s the thing: guys like Brad whatever-his-last-name-is deserve to rot in Hell. How the fuck could he see someone like Wren Davis and think she’s not worthy of all the love in the world? How could he look at anyone else when he hadher? Much lessfucksomeone else.

“What’s up, Foster?” Brad asks. “You seem like you have a stick up your ass.”

I clench my teeth and ball my fists.

I’m ten feet away.

Then five.

Evan grabs for me, but his hands slide off my shoulder. “Stone, no—”

I punch Brad as hard as I can.

In the nose.

Pain radiates down my arm, familiar and new—not quite as masked by game-day adrenaline as during hockey fights. But it’s worth it, because the slimeball folds like an accordion. There’s blood coming out of his nose, and he otherwise doesn’t move.

Evan stops beside me, belatedly gripping my arm.

And I didn’t even get to warn him to not call Wren anymore.

We stare down at him, and the soccer teammates start yelling from across the field.

I glance at Evan and shrug. “Too late.”

Ah, well. Brad didn’t stand a fucking chance.