The penalty box door slams behind me, and the sound echoes in my skull. I drop onto the bench, chest heaving, knuckles throbbing from the punch I landed on Mitchell. The crowd is roaring, the refs are yelling, the announcers are losing their minds — but all I hear is the pounding in my head. Lena. Someone is messing with her. Someone is trying to break her. And I’m stuck in a box like an i***t while she’s back home dealing with all of it. I run a hand through my hair, tugging hard.
Everything I’ve done, being there for her, helping her heal, trying to protect her, and someone is still getting to her. Still messing with her head. Still trying to ruin everything she’s worked for. And she didn’t tell me. Not because she doesn’t trust me. Because she didn’t want to distract me. Which somehow
