Page 172 of Revenge Puck

I’m met with silence as Storm takes the next few moments to scratch the side of his neck.

Silence stretches long enough that I raise my brows.

“What?” I prompt.

He inhales. “I’m really not sure how to tell you this—or if I should be telling Kennedy instead?” He rambles. “This whole situation is so fucked.”

What is he talking about?

I’m not following. “Eh?”

Hehuffsout a laugh that isn’t one of amusement. “Sohypotheticallyspeaking—if someone didn’t realize that someone else didn’t know something, what would happen?”

I wish he was making sense.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “Say what you want to say.”

This fucking guy.

“Don’t hate me.” He cringes, ball sac most likely a shriveled mess inside his shorts. “I might have accidentally sort of told Juliette about the Declan thing?”

I stare at him.

“The Declan thing,” I deadpan.

“You know.” He switches tactics. “TheBaileysituation.”

I close my eyes.

Press my fingers to my temples. “God dammit, Storm.”

“I know, I know.” He groans. “I’m the worst.”

The humor in the moment doesn’t mask the sick feeling crawling up my spine.

Because this isn’t funny.

Not even a little.

“Look,” he says defensively when I don’t immediately respond. “I figured she already knew! I mean—come on. You catch your teammate with your girlfriend, then you start screwing his sister? It’s not exactly subtle, Bishop.”

He’s not wrong.

He royally fucked my plan to tell her first!

Again—not his fault.

“Fuck!” I explode, launching my helmet across the locker room. It smacks into a row of stalls and bounces to the floor. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

Heads snap up.

I couldn’t give a shit.

Storm doesn’t flinch. He patiently waits me out, arms crossed, giving me space like I’m a ticking fucking time-bomb he doesn’t want to piss off any further.

“You done?” he asks carefully, one brow raised.

“No,” I snap.