CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Becca
I refuse to cry for the rest of the night. I don’t deserve the release that tears will give me. This is all my fault, after all. If I’d just stayed professional. If I hadn’t been such a fool to let Rob in my door. If I hadn’t accepted the tea. If I hadn’t written in my journals. If I’d changed my passwords.
If. If. If.
There are so many ifs. They haunt me. Not that it matters. It isn’t as though I can travel back in time and do it over.
I skip class the next day, knowing I won’t be able to focus. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling until a driving need for the bathroom forces me up.
Football is Cole’s life. It’s his job. It’s his way of getting a college education, and I’ve just ripped that from him. Sudden, boiling rage fills me. I want to find Rob. I want to scream at him. I want to rip his face to shreds with my nails.
I feel so betrayed. Violated in a way that goes beyond physical.
I also feel simply naive. I never expected Rob to do something like this. Did he really hate me so much? Was this simply revenge on his part? What had he been thinking when he drugged my tea? That’s one of the things I don’t understand. How long has he planned on hurting me? How long had he had that drug in his possession, whatever it was? And what will I do if it shows up in my blood work?
The questions are driving me crazy, and I pace my apartment in frustration. I grab my car keys and head toward the door, then stop. It isn’t because I’m afraid of him or his temper. It’s because I know it’s useless, and I’ll end up clawing his eyes out or running him over with my car. In a fit of temper, I can tell him what an ass he is. I can tell him that this has hurt me more than he could ever realize. It won’t matter. It won’t change anything. And he would most likely enjoy watching me suffer.
Because I can’t stop myself, I open my phone and flip to the social media pages for the college to see how bad the fall out is. It’s bad. From one article, Cole has been tried and convicted in the court of public opinion. The local news has picked up the story and there are reporters outside the stadium. My heart squeezes. A television news station shows a reporter sticking a mic in Cole’s face as he walks to the stadium.
“Mr. James, is it true that you use anabolic steroids illegally to enhance your performance?”
I hold my breath, waiting for Cole to punch the man, but he doesn’t. He just looks achingly beautiful as he holds his head up until he’s safely inside the door.
Another reporter accosts Cole’s coach, who sidesteps with a “we are investigating” statement. It’s a complete and total mess.
I toss my phone on the couch and take a long shower, wishing I was able to open up my head and wash all the misery away as easily as I wash my body.
Unable to stay in my apartment another second, I dress in jeans and a baggy sweater and head to my car. I already know where I’m going. But when I’m there, I’m disappointed to see Cole’s car is gone, so I drive past, wondering where he is. I drive by the stadium and don’t see his car there either.
Where is he?
It’s growing dark by the time I pull into Mia’s apartment building lot, but just stay in my car, staring at the lightly falling snow. Now that I’m here, I don’t even know if I want to get out. I’m not sure I’m up to talking. Not up for looks of sympathy. Of censure?
I try not to think about Cole and what he’s doing. He must be going through hell. A hell I put him in. I wonder if he’s sorry he met me. I can’t blame him if that is the case.
Leaning forward, I rest my head on the steering wheel, too tired to even sit up straight anymore. The weight of devastation is sitting heavy on my shoulders, and I’m not sure how long I can continue to hold it up. I have to set things right, though I’m not sure how I can do that. With a long exhale, I pull out of the parking lot. I’m not ready to talk to Mia. I just want to go home. No, not home. I can’t stand the idea of the sterile environment and being alone.
I begin driving again, going slowly along the snowy roads, lost in the distraction of turning left and right. I drive by my apartment, but only to see if Cole’s car might be there. It’s not. I keep going, wondering how far my half tank of gas will take me. Not that there are many places to go. Besides Mia, I really don’t have many friends, and not anyone I’d trust as much. Being so driven and focused on school has its problems. Its drawbacks. Now that I need to be out of the house, I realize I don’t have a huge social circle to rely on or even a local haunt. My days have been consumed with study and networking. In my drive to not end up like my mom or dad, I’ve created a bubble of isolation. And while my dreams haven’t changed, maybe my way of achieving them needs to.
When I pull into the parking lot of the dive bar in which I first met Cole, I’m not really that surprised. Doing a quick scan of the parking lot, Cole’s car is nowhere to be seen, but I still feel drawn to the place. I open my car door. It’s as good a place as any to hang out.
Besides, I want a drink. I want to be around people, but not necessarily anyone I know. As I walk across the crunchy gravel, I tell myself that if Cole is there, I’ll leave. But I know that’s bullshit. I’ll stay because I want to see him. Because I can’t stay away.
I take a seat at a table in the corner and order a gin and tonic from a passing waitress. It doesn’t matter what I drink. I can’t even taste it. It’s strange to sit in the relatively quiet bar. The first time I was there, the first night I was with Cole, the crowded bar had been loud with music, tittering laughter, and clanging glasses. Now, there is soft music playing in competition with a television, but only about seven patrons are scattered around. It’s still early, so maybe more people will come in, but I’m not sure I want to stick around and find out.
My thoughts are interrupted by the waitress, who sets a glass of champagne in front of me. I’m confused. I haven’t ordered anything besides my barely touched gin and tonic.
“It’s from the guy at the bar, doll,” she says with a wink.
My head snaps that way. Is it Cole? Did he come in while I was mired in my sludge of self-hatred? But he isn’t there. Just a great big guy who’s sneering at me.
The guy raises his own beer and yells across the bar. “You’re Becca, right? Cole’s curse?”
Did I hear him right? No one has ever looked at me with such hatred.
I rummage through my little purse and toss a ten-dollar bill on the table to cover my drink, then slide from my chair, intent on getting away from this testosterone bull on two legs.
“Where’re ya going, you little lying whore?” the guy slurs, taking another long slug of his beer before standing up. “On your way to ruin another man’s life?” He opens his arms wide. “Well, look no further… you’ve ruined mine too.”
I blink. What is he talking about? I don’t understand. Who is this person? This hulk of a man?
“I d-don’t k-know…” I swallow hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughs, a sound that holds no humor. “You don’t know anything about an article in the school paper? You don’t know anything about destroying a man’s career? Or didn’t you think about that when you wrote your little story? Was it just breaking news to you?” Another harsh bark of laughter. “Didn’t it occur to you that if you point your finger at one person, the finger is pointed at everyone? That now the entire team is under a microscope?”
Oh, god. I see the rage in this man’s face. He’s a football player too. He’s using steroids. He’ll be tested. And he’ll fail the test. Lose his position. Lose his scholarship. And he blames it all on me.
Is that what Cole told him? Told the coach and the team?
My heart hammers in my chest as I realize what this means.
Yeah… Cole had been sweet to me last night, but in the cold light of day, he recognized my role in his ruination. He hates me. Blames me. And he has the right to.
“I’m sorry.”
How many times have I said those two words in my head. I mean them, but the rage on this guy’s face only grows.
“You’re sorry, huh? Isn’t that sweet.” He looks around at the small crowd of people. “She’s sorry. Everyone hear that? This little slut is sooorry for ruining my life.”
A spark of anger fires inside me. It’s a tiny spark, but I hold onto it.
“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated and used drugs to enhance your performance, you wouldn’t be sitting here nursing a beer,” my mouth says before my brain can stop it. His face grows red, but so does mine. I’m sick of this. Sick of everything. I’ve lived my life playing by the rules, trying to be a good person and failing. “Have you looked in the mirror lately and noticed that you’re the one sticking a needle in your arm? You’re the one buying drugs because you don’t have what it takes to be on the field without them?”
I’m on dangerous ground now. I know it, but I can’t stop.
He takes a step toward me. This huge man bearing down on my small frame the same way he would do on the field with some equally huge guy. Fine. Let him come. I’m sick of this.
“You little bitch. I’ll—”
I kick him in the balls and his next word ends on a shriek. But even as he bends over, grunting in pain, he’s reaching for me, has me by the arm before I can flee. I’m yanked against him, smell the stink of sweat and beer. And fury.
“I’m going to make you pay,” he mutters, his hand tightening on my arm, spit flying into my face. “Your ex was right. You are a little slut. You use people and then toss them away.”
My ex? Rob?
I wipe my face with my sweater, trying to understand. The pain in my arm is excruciating, nearly sending me to my knees, but I need to know what this is about.
“What did Rob tell you?”
He sneers, but before he can answer, he’s pulled off by another big hulking guy. The bouncer from the door.
“Wait!” I yell as he’s dragged away. I run after him. “What did Rob tell you?” I grab the bouncer’s arm. “Please. I need to talk to him.”
The big guy gives me a hard look. “Then do it outside.”
The football player is tossed into the snow, staggers and falls to his knees. I grab his arm, try to pull him up, but he’s too heavy. He shakes me off, and I land on my ass.
“Tell me,” I scream, scrambling back to my feet. I don’t care how big he is, how mean. I need to know what Rob has to do with this. I have to know everything.
The football player pushes himself to his feet, staggers sideways and I take some of his weight, nearly crumpling again. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone, puts his thumb on the button and it comes to life. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters and pushes me away. God, the guy is strong. I nearly go flying to the ground again. “You want to know what pretty boy has to say?” He scrolls for a minute, then thrusts his phone at me. It says the messages come from “concernedNYfan123.” It’s a gmail account. Anonymous. With shaky fingers, I scroll through the messages:
ConcernedNYfan123: Sorry, man. I tried to stop her. Bitch set you all up.
Troy: Who the fuck is this?
Okay. The big guy beside me’s name is Troy.
ConcernedNYfan123: It doesn’t matter.
Troy: What the fuck are you talking about?
ConcernedNYfan123: Read this.
There’s a link to the article. I don’t click it. I already know what it says.
Troy: What the fuck?
ConcernedNYfan123: I know. She’s fucking me and your QB. Found the drugs and spilled your secrets.
There’s a picture attached. It’s of me. Naked from the waist up, asleep on my bed. A shiver goes through me. Rob took nude photos of me after he drugged me.
Troy: I don’t have no secrets. Article says nothing about me or rest of team. What’s your deal?
ConcernedNYfan123: She’s planning to take all of you down. Watch your back. Piss test probably coming your way.
Troy: Fuck you, man.
I screen shoot everything and forward it to my phone, which vibrates in my purse.
With shaking hands, I give the phone back to Troy. “I didn’t do that,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t do that.”
He snorts and glances back to where the bouncer is still standing in the door. “Figured you’d say that. Who you going to point the finger at? Santa’s elves? Are they the culprit?”
I’m not out of danger, I realize.
“I forwarded those messages to my phone, so you have my number now.” I pull out my phone and quickly type. His phone vibrates. “You now have my address. Give me twenty-four hours to prove I didn’t do this. After that, you know where to find me.”
I hear a door click shut and look at the club to find the bouncer gone. He must have decided that everything was okay since the two of us were now talking.
Troy follows my gaze and grins. “Just you and me now, huh? What’s your plan now, sweetheart? You going to try to fuck me too?” His lip curls into a sneer. “Do you get off on this?” He takes a step closer. The rage is back, even stronger than before.
I’m frozen. I can’t move. I’m trapped in that spot. The man isn’t as tall as Cole, but he still towers over me, and he’s much heavier. He seems bigger because of his rage. I can’t take my eyes off his face, but I know if I looked, I’d see that he’s clenching his fists too.
It would have been a good time to run. Or try to. He’s big so he might be slower than me. Fear tingles in my legs and rushes like ice water down my spine as adrenaline kicks in. Yes, I need to run, but I can’t seem to move. My heart pounds against my breast bone so hard, I think it might bruise the muscle. He’s going to hurt me. I can feel his spit hit my face from his raging breath.
Maybe I’m rooted in place because a part of me thinks I deserve this. My guilt is a heavy weight around my neck. But mostly, I can’t move because I’m so terrified.
Then it happened. The man screaming at me raises his hand. I want to close my eyes. I don’t want to see it coming. It’s going to hurt so bad. But I just can’t. I can’t even blink or look away. Everything slows and moves at a crawl.
The blow never comes. The big guy stumbles, his head snapping to the side. Cole appears then, standing behind him, hands curled into fists, teeth bared. The man staggers, clearly dazed from a blow to the side of his head.
Cole shoots a look at me, all fire and rage, but something else too. Something I can’t name. It both excites and scares me. “Becca,” he says, his voice low. “Get behind me.”
I must have hesitated; everything feels so surreal.
“Now!” he barks out, and this time, I obey, kind of. Instead of moving behind him, I stand by his side.
“Cole, let’s go,” I say and grab his arm. My voice isn’t convincing though. It’s weak and scared.
I still feel trapped, stuck in a nightmare. It won’t stop here, I know it. Cole can beat this guy until he’s hamburger, and it won’t stop the players and even the fans from coming after me. If Rob sent that message to Troy, he’s probably sent it to a number of players. He’s made sure that everyone thinks I’m the one who has destroyed the team and their winning streak.
I wonder if Rob sent those pictures to Cole too? If he taunted him with lies.
“Cole,” I say again, less mousey this time. “Let’s go.”
He’s too far gone, I can tell right away. His eyes are glassy and red-rimmed, and he’s shaking all over. “Turn around, asshole,” he growls at the guy still holding his head.
Troy turns, rage shimmering all around him.
There’s going to be a fight. An ugly one.