“He was bothering you?” Meeting my step-sister’s gaze, my eyes bore into hers, and she gave me a small nod.
“Fuck.” I raked a hand through my hair, trying to rein in the anger I felt coursing through my veins. Thatcher was supposed to be my problem. Mine and the team’s. He was never supposed to go after Hailee. But that shit was on me and I’d deal with it.
One way or another, Thatcher would get what was coming to him. Even if I had to bide my time until the season was done.
My fist curled against my thigh, anger radiating deep inside me. Fucking Lewis Thatcher.
“I’ll get the drinks in,” Asher said cutting the thick silence. Everyone seemed to inhale a breath as they were collectively waiting for me to get my shit together. I met Cameron’s heavy stare. Concern shone in his eyes as he silently warned me not to do anything reckless.
But this was me we were talking about.
And when it came to Lewis Thatcher, the temptation to go across the river and cause a little chaos was usually too hard to resist.
“I’m good,” I said, my eyes flicking past him to Hailee and then Felicity. Her eyes snapped to mine, narrowing slightly.
“I’ll go help Ash.” I walked away, barely able to stand the knot in my stomach. “Hey.” Leaning on the bar next to Asher, I gave him a tight smile.
“Hey, you okay, man?”
I grunted some inaudible reply.
“This shit with Thatcher is getting hairy,” Ash went on, “You should have seen him with his hands on Hailee. I thought Cam was going—”
“He touched her?” My jaw clenched.
“He was just trying to get a rise out of Cam. I managed to get Fee out of there before one of his guys...” he trailed off, watching me intently.
I knew what he was doing and I didn’t like it.
“Anyway,” he said when I didn’t take the bait. “Cameron held it together. I’m not sure we’ll be able to show our faces around there anytime soon though. Tate, the owner, wasn’t too impressed.”
“You know I haven’t stepped foot in that place for almost two years, right?”
Asher shrugged. “I’d forgotten how cool it was.”
“Cool, really?” I fought a smirk. “You’re fucking weird sometimes.”
“Fuck you, man.” He shouldered me. “You have a plan, right? To get Thatcher back for pulling that shit with Hailee? I know she told Cameron not to do anything, but he can’t just get away with it.”
“And he won’t,” I ground out.
“Well you know I’ve got your back.” He slung his arm over my shoulder just as Jerry brought our beers over.
“You two ain’t cooking up no trouble, are you?” One of his bushy brows rose.
“Nothing you need to worry about J.” I winked and the old man laughed.
“Seen that look one too many times. Just remember you got a load riding on the next couple of games. Don’t go screwing up what could be a perfect season.” His eyes slid to mine.
As if I’d ever let that happen. We were going all the way this year. Anything less was simply not an option. We’d lost out to Rixon East last year and it had fucking stung. But this year, State was ours. We were five for five. Another two wins and our ticket to the play-offs was in the bag.
We gathered up our drinks—beers for me and the guys, and sodas for the girls—and headed back to our table. Mackey and a couple of the other guys had joined us, and he’d wasted no time in turning his charm on Felicity.
“So, Flick. Is it okay if I call you Flick?” he asked around a suggestive smirk.
I slid into the booth, taking a long pull on my beer.
“You can call her Felicity, jackass,” Asher piped up, smacking him upside the head.