The Jock & The Wallflower

Chapter 15: Bryson

Bryson’s POV

Fuck. She was here.

I spotted her the second she walked through the front door with her friend and my entire body went on high alert. She was wearing a black dress that hugged her curves in ways that made my mouth go dry, and her hair was down in soft waves that caught the light every time she moved.

She looked incredible. And she was in my house, at my party, looking like that.

This was going to be a problem.

"Babe, you okay?" Brooke's voice cut through my thoughts, and I forced myself to focus on her face instead of tracking Avery's movement through the crowd.

"Yeah, fine. Just making sure everyone's having a good time."

Brooke followed my gaze and I saw the exact moment she spotted Avery. Her expression shifted, becoming sharper, more calculating.

"Interesting guest list tonight," she said, her voice carefully neutral.

"Carter invited half the school. You know how these things go."

But I could feel Brooke watching me, studying my reaction, and I knew I had to be careful. If she suspected how I really felt about Avery, she'd make her life hell. Even if I broke up with Brooke right now, which was looking more tempting by the second, she'd still find ways to make Avery pay.

I knew how Brooke could be.

I had to play this perfectly. Be the doting boyfriend. Keep Brooke happy and distracted.

Even if it killed me.

For the next hour, I did exactly that. I kept my arm around Brooke, laughed at her jokes, let her drag me around to talk to people. But every few minutes, my eyes would find Avery in the crowd, and each time I looked, she seemed a little more unsteady on her feet.

She was drinking. A lot.

"Bryson, are you even listening to me?" Brooke's voice had an edge to it now.

"Sorry, what?"

"I was talking about homecoming plans. The dance is coming up, and I want to make sure we coordinate outfits."

"Right. Homecoming."

But I wasn't thinking about homecoming. I was watching some college guy I didn't recognize corner Avery near the kitchen, standing way too close, touching her arm while she tried to back away.

My jaw clenched.

"Who is that?" I asked, nodding toward them.

Brooke followed my gaze and her grip on my arm tightened. "I don't know. Some friend of Carter's, probably."

The guy was leaning in closer now, and even from across the room I could see that Avery was uncomfortable. She was drunk, too drunk to properly defend herself, and this piece of s**t was taking advantage of it.

I started to move toward them, but Brooke's hand on my chest stopped me.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"That guy's bothering her."

"So?” she scoffed. “It's not your problem."

I stared at her, trying to process what she'd just said. "She's drunk and some shithead is harassing her. How is that not a problem?"

Brooke rolled her eyes. "Because she's not your girlfriend, Bryson. I am."

As if to prove her point, she pressed closer to me, her hand sliding up my chest in a way that was clearly meant to be seductive. But all I could think about was the way that guy was looking at Avery, the way she was swaying on her feet, the panic I could see starting to creep into her expression.

"Brooke, I need to—"

"You need to stay here with me," she said firmly. "Let her handle her own problems."

But then the guy grabbed Avery's arm, and she tried to pull away, and something in me snapped.

I pushed Brooke's hand away and started across the room.

"Bryson!" she called after me. "Don't you dare—"

I was already halfway to them when I heard Avery say "let go of me" loud enough for people to turn and stare. The guy just tightened his grip, saying something about relaxing, about having fun.

That's when I lost it completely.

"Get the f**k away from her.”

The guy looked up at me with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

"No," Avery said, her words slightly slurred. "Leave me alone. Go back to your girlfriend."

For a second, her words stung more than they should have. But then the guy smirked and said, "You heard her. She wants to stay here with me."

"She's drunk," I said, trying to keep my voice level.

"So what?" He shrugged. "She's having fun."

That was it. Before I could think about what I was doing, I had slammed him against the wall, my arm against his throat.

"When I tell you to get the f**k away from her," I said quietly, "you get the f**k away from her. Are we clear?"

He nodded, and I released him. He stumbled away, rubbing his neck and shooting me looks over his shoulder that I didn’t give a s**t about.

"I didn't need you to—" Avery started, but she was swaying so badly I was afraid she might fall over.

"Yes, you did," I said, and before she could protest further, I scooped her up in my arms.

"Put me down," she mumbled against my chest. "I can walk."

"No, you can't."

I carried her through the crowd, ignoring the stares and whispered comments. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brooke pushing through people to reach me, her face flushed with anger.

"Bryson!" she called. "What the hell are you doing?"

I paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned to look at her, but didn’t say anything.

"Why?" Her voice cracked slightly as she continued. "Why are you always going to her? Why are you always choosing her?"

The question hit me like a punch to the gut because we both knew the answer. Because I loved her. Because she'd always been my world, even when I'd been too much of a coward to admit it.

"Because she's important," I said simply.

Brooke's face crumpled, then hardened into something ugly. "I hate you," she screamed.

"You're drunk," I said, already turning back towards the stairs. "Go home. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Bryson!"

But I was already climbing the stairs, Avery warm and soft in my arms, her head resting against my shoulder. I could deal with Brooke's anger tomorrow. Right now, the only thing that mattered was making sure Avery was safe.

Even though she was protesting, I kicked open my bedroom door and set her gently on the bed. I watched as she looked around with unfocused eyes, taking in my room.

A place she had once been so familiar with.

I got her water. She fought me on it in the stubborn way she always did.

And then I looked at her. Looked at how vulnerable she looked. How utterly sexy and how utterly vulnerable and my blood started to boil.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I could barely contain my rage."Coming to this party, drinking like that, letting some random piece of s**t put his hands on you?"

"I was having fun."

I felt my jaw clench. "That wasn't fun, Avery. That was dangerous."

"Since when do you care?"

I didn’t know why she asked when she already knew the answer.

"Since always, Avery," I said, needing her to hear me. "Always."

"I haven't been in your room in a long time," she said softly.

"I know."

It had been a while since we'd had sleepovers, back when sleepovers meant something different. Something simple. Something innocent. Before everything got complicated.

And sleepovers began to mean something else entirely.

She was quiet for a moment, then her face went pale. "I think I'm going to be sick..."

I got to her just in time, scooping her up and carrying her to the bathroom. I held her hair back as she dry heaved over the toilet, rubbing gentle circles on her back until everything came up.

"Why'd you let me drink so much, Bryce?" she asked when it was over.

A part of me smiled at the way she said my name. "I won't let it happen again, Avy."

She looked up at me with glassy eyes. "I don’t think you’re allowed to call me that."

"Probably not," I said, unable to hide my smile.

"Come on, let me help you."

I lifted her off the bathroom floor and helped her wash her face. She brushed her teeth with the spare toothbrush I had in the cabinet. When she was steady enough, I guided her back to the bedroom.

"Your dress is..." I gestured to the stains down the front.

"Gross," she finished with a grimace.

"I can get you something else to wear."

She didn’t say anything as I grabbed a t-shirt from my drawer. When I turned back around, she was struggling with the zipper on her dress.

"I don’t think I can…" her voice trailed off as she gave up on the dress.

“I’ll help,” I said and she looked up at me before nodding.

My hands shook slightly as I pulled the zipper down, revealing the black lace of her bra, the smooth expanse of her back. I helped her step out of the dress, trying not to look at the matching black lace panties, trying not to think about how many times I'd imagined this exact scenario.

I slipped the t-shirt over her head and guided her to the bed, pulling the covers over her, tucking her in.

"You might be mad about all this in the morning," I said.

"Probably," she mumbled, already half asleep.

I'd deal with that when it happened.

I sat down on the floor opposite the bed, my back against the window, moonlight streaming in around me. I ran a hand through my hair and just stared at her…. Avery in my bed, looking peaceful for the first time since she'd been back.

How long had I wanted her there? How long had I thought about her in this exact spot? How long had it felt like she was there beside me even when I hadn't seen her in years?

I shook my head.

In the two years that she was gone, I had tried to let her go.

Had made myself numb.

But as soon as she had returned, it had all come rushing back. Like everything I'd been suppressing for the past two years came crashing through with a vengeance.

And now my feelings were getting intense. Way too intense.

I was constantly feeling jealous…possessive. I didn’t want anyone near her.

Even though I didn’t have the right.

Maybe I should have switched partners after all. Maybe I should have stayed away, left her alone.

And maybe I was just too damn tired and too damn selfish to care.

Because sitting here, watching her sleep in my bed, wearing my shirt... this was the closest thing to happiness I'd felt in two years.

Even if it was wrong. Even if she'd hate me for it in the morning.

I was keeping this moment. And I wasn't letting her go again.

Not this time.