Chase

Gin sets a pillow on my lap and then gingerly lowers her head onto it, curling up and closing her eyes.

“I’ve still got a headache,” she murmurs. “Even with all the medicine they gave me at the hospital.”

“Just relax,” I say, carefully brushing the hair away from her face.

One side of her face is swollen and purple with bruises. Every time I look at her, my stomach turns in disgust. I’m not just angry at Jack this time. Giving him a black eye isn’t going to help.

I want to kill him. I feel an even deeper rage toward him than I do my father. Jack didn’t just beat Gin. He tried to rape her. If she hadn’t somehow fought him off, she would have been sexually assaulted in the locker room I’d been standing in just a few minutes before.

It’s been a hell of an evening. Gin’s mom took her to the hospital, and the tests, treatments, and police interviews took a couple hours. I sat in the waiting room with Lauren, Raj, and Michelle, where Lauren gave me a death stare the entire time. Our principal, Mr. Schilling, and our assistant principal, Mrs. Metz, stayed outside Gin’s room the whole time to be there for her and her mom.

Things are going to change now. I got that from the look on Mrs. Metz’s face when she asked me to go to a conference room for a few minutes as we waited for Gin to be released. Mrs. Metz’s eyes swam with judgment and determination as she asked me about the Sweet Sixteen.

I told her everything. As far as I’m concerned, all bets are off. There’s no such thing as brotherhood or loyalty between Jack and me anymore, or any of the other guys who’ve been part of those parties.

I’ll own the consequences for what I’ve done. In a way, it’s a relief. I’ve been condemning myself over it, but I know I can’t even begin to move on until I feel the full weight of what’s sure to come.

Maybe I’ll get kicked off the team. Hell, our entire football program could be suspended. But so be it. I can’t think long-term right now. Who gives a shit about protecting my college prospects after what happened today?

My phone blew up with texts all evening; some messages were people mining for information, but others were people saying Jack had taken things too far.

“How are you feeling?” I ask Gin.

“I’m okay,” she says softly.

She’s been the one comforting her mom and me, instead of the other way around. I knew Gin was strong, but tonight, I’m finding I didn’t know just how strong.

When Mr. Schilling told her she’s excused from school for the rest of the week to heal, and the next week if needed, she shook her head.

“I’ll take tomorrow off,” she said. “That’ll be enough.”

Mr. Schilling cleared his throat and tried again. “I think at least the whole week, though, don’t you?” He looked at Gin’s mom. “Seeing you like this could be disturbing for other students.”

“It should disturb them,” Gin said. “Sexual assault isn’t just words on a pamphlet, you know.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” her mom said. “But you weren’t raped, right? Not at all? Because if you were—”

“No. I clawed the shit out of his dick and balls, so they should be out of commission for a while.”

Mr. Schilling looked horrified; Mrs. Metz couldn’t hold back a smile. I’d never been prouder of another person in my life.

Jack is a lot bigger than Gin, and he’s a hell of a lot stronger. But somehow, she found a way.

When I caught Jack earlier, I got in some good hits. He got me back once in the jaw, but I broke his fucking nose.

“I never imagined I’d be here,” Gin says from my lap, her words slightly slurred from the medications she’s on.

“I’m gonna break Jack’s nose again after it heals,” I mutter.

“No, I don’t mean that… I’m fine, Chase, really. Relieved. And tired. I mean…I never thought you’d be here…on my couch, with my head on your lap.”

I smile down at her. “Yeah, me either.”

“Do you know?” she murmurs, looking at me expectantly.

“Do I know what, Ginger?”

“That I’ve had a crush on you forever. Since before junior high?”

She wouldn’t tell me this if she weren’t so loopy from the hospital drugs. But there’s something about seeing her this way, so vulnerable, that makes me feel like now it’s me who has a crush on her.

“I know now,” I say, lightly running my fingers over her hair. “And it’s a mutual crush, just so you know.”

“But not before,” she says so softly I almost can’t hear her. “Before…you didn’t even know I existed.”

“I was an asshole,” I admit. “But I see you now, Gin. Trust me. I see you even when I’m not looking at you.”

A smile curls up the corners of her lips as she closes her eyes.

“I’ll tell you a secret in return,” I say.

I’m pretty sure she’s nearly asleep, so I keep stroking her hair, thinking about the way to say this. But it’s one of those things there’s no easy way to describe.

“My dad beats my mom,” I finally say. “I’ve never told anyone that. It’s the dirty secret in our house. He hits her when he’s drunk, when he’s pissed off…when it’s Tuesday. He doesn’t need a fucking reason. And when I saw what Jack did to you, I thought about my mom. About how I wish she was as strong as you, to go to the police.”

Gin’s still and silent, so I don’t think she heard me. But then she shifts a little, finding my hand and weaving her fingers into mine.

And we stay like that as she falls asleep. I drift off myself, and when I wake up close to midnight, I carefully slide out from beneath her head, cover her up, and brush a soft kiss over her lips before letting myself out a side door, locking it behind me.

I never thought I’d be disgusted to be seen in a Roper football jersey, but today, I am. It’s Friday—game day.

I tried to quit the team yesterday when I dumped my jerseys on Coach Carter’s desk at lunch. He told me he didn’t accept and would send a freshman over to my house to return them that night. That meant nothing to me and I wasn’t planning to play, but Gin convinced me to.

She told me that my walking onto the field every Friday night for the rest of the season is like her walking back into school Wednesday morning with her face bruised and swollen. It was proof that we won’t be brought down by all this—that we’re stronger than that.

So here I am, dressing for a game against Mercer, hoping Jack can see from my glare across the visitors’ locker room that I’d rather kick his ass than the other team’s tonight.

I can’t fucking believe he’s playing tonight. That’s the reason I tried to quit the team. He was arrested for battery and sexual assault, but his parents bailed him out and he’s still allowed to come to school and be on the team until his case is settled. Only in Roper.

Innocent until proven guilty, Coach Carter said. Bullshit. I saw Gin’s face after what happened, and I saw Jack’s. That fucker is guilty, and he deserves to be in jail.

The school district is working with the police department, and they hired a security guard for Gin while she’s at school. Her mom hired another one for when she’s not at school.

I can’t believe it’s come to this. Gin’s endured so much, all because of my brilliant fucking idea to give her that rose.

She keeps telling me it’s not my fault, that change is painful for some people. Girls have been coming up to her at school and telling her they’re sorry for not supporting her before and that they do now.

It’s something.

“Get your heads out of your asses, boys!” Coach Carter yells. “It’s game time. We have to leave all the drama and baggage in this locker room. Out on that field, we’re one. We’re a team.”

I narrow my eyes at him, because rape isn’t “drama.”

Now that I’m seeing things through Gin’s eyes, I get it. The things we’d say and do to excuse our shit behavior. The glossing over it by our coach, parents, and even teachers. That whole “I don’t want to know” attitude.

All of it—bullshit.

When it’s time, I put my helmet on and lead the team onto the field. It’s not for them, I remind myself. Not for my worthless father. Not for myself. I’m here for Gin. If she can get through what she did, I can sure as hell do this.

We have a rocky start, to say the least. Everything just feels off tonight. I’m not paying attention to pre-snap reads. I’m sluggish and unfocused. It’s all I can do not to drop the fucking ball, plow into Jack, and smash my fist into his already-smashed-up nose.

Gin told the cops it was her who broke his nose so I wouldn’t get in trouble. Jack didn’t say different. And everyone in school thinks she’s a badass.

Mercer scores on us in the first quarter. No matter how loud Coach yells in my face, I just can’t make myself care. The whole “win at any cost” attitude is what got us where we are, and I’m done with all that.

But then they score again in the second quarter. Some of my throws are good, some are off, but none of them is enough. We’re down 14-0 at the half.

Our side of the stands is deathly quiet as we jog past to the locker room. I sink onto a bench and bury my face in my hands.

“What in the actual fuck is going on?” Coach Carter kicks over a folding chair, and it clatters loudly over the tile floor. “It’s like watching a fucking powder-puff team!”

“I can’t catch bad throws,” Jack says, throwing his arms in the air.

I scowl at him. “You can’t seem to catch good ones either.”

“Chase, you’ve got no reason to be making bad throws tonight,” Coach says. “This is Mercer. Fucking Mercer. They’re probably having a circle jerk in their locker room right now over this score.”

I sigh heavily, the desire to win ingrained deep inside me, like it or not.

“My ribs are sore as shit,” I say. “And my shoulder. The line doesn’t seem to give a shit about protecting me tonight.”

Coach turns to the offensive line players. “If any player in this room wouldn’t lay down on the field and let a motherfucking semi run over you to protect Chase, get out of here right now. I won’t tolerate you letting personal bullshit get in the way of this team.”

No one moves.

“Sorry, Chase,” Sam Stockwell says. “I left you open in the second quarter, but it wasn’t on purpose.”

“Get. Your. Shit. Together,” Coach says. “All of you.”

We come out strong in the third quarter, scoring right away. I’m imagining Gin is watching from the stands, cheering for me. We tie the game at fourteen at the start of the fourth quarter, but Mercer kicks a field goal and takes a 17-14 lead.

Time seems to stop near the end of the game. My shoulder is so sore that I overthrow a pass and Jack dives for it, but it bounces off his hands and gets intercepted.

And then as the clock counts down to zero, I have to watch from the bench as the other team snaps one play and the quarterback takes a knee. My heart is in my throat as the scoreboard timer hits zero.

Zero.

It’s over.

We lost.