The Year We Hid Away by Sarina Bowen Read Free Book Online

will not be responsible for your tuition check going astray next year.”
    The truth of my situation settled like a weight on my chest. I was never getting out from under the things that my father did.
    Allegedly did.
    Probably did.
    God.
     
    I didn’t run out the door right after that phone call, even though I probably should have. Instead, I began Googling “compelling a testimony” and “children of the defendant.” I didn’t have a clue whether the law required me to talk to my father’s lawyers, or whether I could be put on the witness stand. And there was nobody I could ask who would tell me the truth.
    My phone rang again, and I picked it up the way you handle a poisonous snake. But the incoming call wasn’t from my mom or a lawyer. It was from Bridger.
    “Hello,” I said, my voice husky.
    “Stalker! Where are you? Sick?”
    I cleared my throat. “I’m okay. There was some… family drama today. I wasted a lot of time on the phone with my mom. But it’s no big deal.”
    “Huh,” Bridger said. “I wonder how you’re going to get the notes for today’s classes?”
    “Bridger,” I smiled for the first time that day. “Maybe there’s someone who will be nice enough to help me out with that?”
    “Are you missing lunch, too?”
    “I guess so.”
    “That’s no good. I’m bringing you a sandwich. What kind should I get?”
    “You don’t have to do that,” I stumbled on the words. But of course, I wanted Bridger to bring me a sandwich. What a swoon-worthy idea.
    “What do you like? I’m not in line yet, so just give me a genre. Turkey? Italian?”
    “Get whichever sandwich special looks good,” I said quickly. “And a cookie wouldn’t go amiss.”
    “I’ll be there in ten,” he said. “The Turner first years live in… Vanderberg, right? You can show me the guitar thing you were talking about last week.” He ended the call.
     
    For the next twenty minutes, I ran around tidying up my room. The common room was in decent shape, but I had to make my bed and kick a bunch of Blond Katie’s clothes under hers.
    My phone buzzed with a text from Bridger. KNOCK KNOCK.
    I ran down the stairs and opened the entryway door. “Hi!”
    He walked in, a take-out box in his hands. “Hi, stalker.” His green eyes studied me. “Are you okay?”
    Damn. I should have tidied myself up as well as the room. The way he stared, my eyes were probably red.
    “Sure,” I said, my voice as bright as possible. “Come on up. Thanks for bringing lunch.”
    And then he was actually walking into my room , something that had figured prominently into several of my recent fantasies. I very nearly sat down in the common room, but it occurred to me that one or both Katies might show up at any moment. And I didn’t want to compete with them for Bridger’s attention, because surely I’d lose. So I walked right through the common room and into the bedroom, just as casually as if guys followed me in there all the time.
    Bridger didn’t seem to find that strange. He tossed his coat down and sat on the foot of my bed, setting the take-out box down on Blond Katie’s trunk. “Let’s eat.” I sat on Katie’s bed, to make things a little less weird. He popped open the box. “It was chicken and avocado day,” he said.
    “Score.”
    “Exactly.” He spread a napkin on his lap. Then he took two sandwich halves and passed me the box.
    “Ooh, stick-tap for remembering to bring chips!” I said.
    He looked up quickly, a smile on his face. “You’re welcome.”
    That’s when I realized that I’d used a hockey reference. A stick-tap was the sort of thank-you that only another player would understand. Crap! My mother had put me off my game today. And I’d almost blown my cover the first day we’d met, too, when I’d recognized Bridger’s name from the team roster. “It was nice of you to bring lunch,” I said.
    “It’s nothing,” he said, his voice gruff. “Are you going to be okay? Is it anything you want to