When he turns to me again, his expression is serious. “You’re a good man, Silas. A good player. And I’m glad to have you on this team.”
Goddamn it. I’m not going to get emotional in here. I’m not.
“I may not have any legal authority to address what happened this weekend, but I do have authority over my team. Jake is suspended indefinitely and pending a university investigation, will likely be dismissed from the team altogether. All I need is the athletic director’s okay, and I promise you I’ll get that. One way or another.”
I grip the arms of my chair tightly and nod my head. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”
He comes around the table, and I stand to meet him when he holds out a hand. He shakes my hand, firm and quick, and it has all the softness of a cobra strike, but it’s what nearly puts me over the edge.
I swallow hard, nod my head, thank him one more time, and then head for the door.
“Silas,” he calls before I’m all the way out. “Williams told me about the playground. Pretty inventive idea.”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“I sure do hope this game works out for you, son. But if it doesn’t, I think you could make a damn fine coach.”
I close the door behind me with a quiet click, and I let the relief seep through my shoulders.
I swear to God, it’s like the whole team decided to show up for early morning workout today. Torres and Brookes are pretending to watch game film in the lounge area right outside the office, and they pounce as soon as I’m out. Half a dozen more guys slink in from the locker room to hear me give them the news. Coach Oz and even Coach Gallt nod at me as they leave the office and head into the weight room.
It still doesn’t quite feel real when I leave the athletic complex and head for my pickup so I can make my first class on the other side of campus. Then I see a familiar sleek gray number parked next to my rusty piece of junk, and Dylan climbs out of the driver’s side.
The wind catches her hair, tossing it up in this golden column that catches the sun. She crosses to me quickly and huddles in close so that my body blocks some of the wind.
“So?”
“I’m still on the team. No suspension.”
She squeals and throws her arms around my neck, and I lift her up off her feet so I can bury my face in the warm skin of her neck. Whatever tension was still left in me begins to melt away, and I could stay right here forever.
“I knew everything would be okay. I knew it.”
“Carter is suspended, and if Coach has his way, he’ll be cut soon.”
She pulls back and smiles, running a hand along my cheek. “More good things.”
I kiss her lightly and slowly lower her feet to the ground.
“Good things” doesn’t even begin to cover it.
She grins up at me, slips out of my arms, and crosses to lean against my truck. She’s wearing shorts and the same fall-off-your-shoulder shirt she wore the night we met. She gives me a wicked smile.
“What do you say to skipping our morning classes and going for a drive instead?”
“I say get your gorgeous ass in the truck and let’s go.”
I leave the windows down as we drive, so Dylan’s hair blows across my chest and face as the wind sweeps through. But I don’t mind because she’s pressed tight against my side, my arm resting in the cradle of her thighs so I can switch gears.
I don’t go as far out of town as we did last time, but I drive until all the houses and businesses disappear and there’s nothing but green, wide-open space. When I park, I pull a blanket out from under my seat, and Dylan laughs.
“Oh . . . You’re getting better at this.” I lift her up into the truck bed and together we spread out the blanket.
“I do try to please.”
“Now I don’t have to worry about getting all rusty and dirty.”
I sprawl on the blanket next to her feet, and tug her down into my lap. Our legs end up tangled, and she laughs as she tries to get situated.
“Rusty, no. But the other . . . I make no promises.”
Summer is teasing its way into fall, and though it’s warm out, the wind tells a different story. She presses close against me.
The sky is big above us. The countryside stretches out for miles in every direction. And neither of our lives has ever been so complicated. But I don’t feel overshadowed by any of those things. Not with her in my arms.
There’s still her parents to worry about. And she’s got me trying to rope in more guys from the team to help with a new protest about the shelter. I mentioned to Stella that Dylan might be able to help, that maybe she could do something to draw more attention so that the prosecutor would take a more serious look at the case. But she just changed the subject.
I don’t know when life stopped feeling small and started feeling too big, too much to handle, but I know it’s easier with Dylan in my arms.
Me and her together . . . I believe we’re big enough to face whatever comes.
Epilogue
One Week Later
Dylan
I completely underestimated football uniforms.
During the first and only other game I had attended, we’d had a seat high up in the student section, so I’d only really seen these big, hulking gray and red masses. But Silas’s first game back is an away game. It’s only a six-hour drive, so Dallas, Matt, and I make the trip, and we snag much better seats. And oh my goodness, Silas in a uniform is just . . . I don’t even have the words. And the game hasn’t even started yet.
Stella said she had a big art project to work on, and I can tell by the persistent worried look on Dallas’s face (and the way she keeps checking her phone) that she feels badly for leaving her behind.
Stella loves football. Or loved it.
But we have to trust that she knows her lines. And maybe she really does have a project she needs to work on, but if she doesn’t . . . I don’t blame her.
It takes us all a while to get in the groove of being without her, though. Matt tries to fill in, stepping up to play DJ as we drive. But the drive felt . . . just less without her.
“Ryan talked to her,” Dallas says, after receiving a text. “He said she’s really at the studio. He heard her talking to some other students.”
“Good. That’s good,” I say.
Dallas nods. “She’s strong.”
“She is.”
“She’s going to be okay.” I can’t tell whether she’s phrasing it as a question or a statement, so I just repeat the words back to her, and that seems to make her feel better.
Right before kick off we get a mass text from Stella.
I expect pictures! And updates! And if any of those punks suck it up, you guys better yell at them for me.
Dallas smiles, and we send her a picture of the three of us, decked out in Rusk gear, holding up our wildcat claws. Dallas keeps up a steady stream of updates for her as the game begins, and then I get sucked into watching Silas play.
I can’t see his face. But I know by the way he holds himself, the way he moves . . . I know he’s in his element. And I know he’s happy. And I swear I’m so full of pride and joy for him that I’m about to burst at the seams. Or start crying. One or the other.
I could make an effort to understand more about the game, to expand upon the knowledge that I learned last time, but I figure that can wait for another time. Today I just glue my eyes to number twenty-two and watch him do what he loves.
Football grounds him, and I will love football for all my days if only for that very reason.
It’s strange, really, to think how quickly my life has changed. I’m still figuring out what I like and what I don’t (with Silas’s help, of course). And I know I won’t undo a life of pretending in just a week. It will take time. Time to break the habits. Time to form new ones.
But I’m looking forward to it.
I’ve got new friends, new goals, new interests. It’s exciting and overwhelming, but beneath all that . . . there’s
a calm that I’ve never felt before. I no longer feel the need to search for things to do, ways to ingratiate myself to people. I don’t have anything to prove, not to anyone else, anyway.
And Silas . . . he’s technically new, too, but it doesn’t feel that way.
As I watch him move across the field, graceful and strong and fearless, I can barely remember how I felt before him. I try to think back to the way things had been with Henry, but that seems like a different life, a different me.
And everything about those memories is muted and dull.
The team has now moved across the field, and they’re only yards away from the other team’s end zone. I watch Carson hand the ball off to Silas and he pushes through the huddled mass of players, breaking through and crossing the white line painted onto the field, putting Rusk’s first points on the board. I know it was probably incredibly difficult, all those big, bulky bodies in the way, but Silas makes it look so easy.
He’s good at crossing lines. Pushing boundaries.
He pushed mine, and because of it, I can breathe.
I love Silas Moore, and I feel pretty certain that because of that, my life will never feel muted again.
Author’s Note
Injustice is defined as “a lack of fairness, undeserved hurt, or a failure to respect a person’s rights.” For me, injustices always seem to carry with them a certain amount of shock.
Shock that people could behave so reprehensibly. Shock that no one stopped them. And too often, shock at the world’s lack of empathy and pursuit of justice.
It’s strange, isn’t it, how we can continue to be surprised by the world’s cruelty when we have witnessed it time and time again? The first time I thought of the idea for this book, it was on the heels of just such an unjust occurrence. I was moved by the things I saw and read, but nothing moved me so much as people’s reaction to it—the way some banded together to speak out even when there was no changing what happened. Their only hope was to change people’s perspective, to make people notice. I created Dylan’s character that night. Jotting down a few of her thoughts on a sticky note that stayed on my desktop until the story was finished.
And I made a promise to myself then to notice more. To speak more. To care more.
And I make that challenge to you now. Notice injustice. Speak out against it. Care more for those who suffer it. This world belongs to all of us, and it could be you or someone you know who goes unnoticed tomorrow.
And if you’ve been the victim of a violation of your rights, your civil liberties, or your person, talk to someone. Ask for help. You are absolutely not alone.
The sad truth is according to statistics compiled by RAINN (the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network), a person is sexually assaulted in America every two minutes. Sixty percent of sexual assaults go unreported. Even fewer lead to an arrest and prosecution. In fact, they estimate that out of every 100 rapes, 40 are reported, 10 lead to an arrest, 8 make it to prosecution, 4 lead to a felony conviction, and only 3 rapists will spend time in prison. These statistics boggle my mind and hurt my heart. And when the law fails to serve justice, many young women and men turn to their universities for help. And even though 1 in 4 women are sexually assaulted during their time in college, 41 percent of colleges haven’t conducted a single sexual assault investigation in the last five years, according to “Sexual Violence on Campus,” a 2014 report conducted by Senator Claire McCaskill.
I could throw statistics at you all day long, but I think it’s clear that victims of sexual assault are continually and heinously overlooked, blamed and re-victimized, and left without justice.
As readers, as people, we might not have the capacity to change the justice system. But as Dylan says in the book, we can change one person’s perspective at a time. We can notice. We can speak up. We can teach this generation, my generation, that the way sexual assault is viewed and treated in this country is not okay, so that when it is our turn to step into the shoes of political office and criminal justice, we can continue changing the narrative from a place of power.
And more than anything, we can support. And we can empower. We can love.
We can be better.
Acknowledgments
It takes an extraordinary number of people to make a book happen. Most days I barely know which way is up or what time it is or even what month I’m currently in. But even so, I would be even more lost without my family and friends, in particular my father, who’s been so helpful with hashing out the football details to keep the Rusk world as true to life as possible. Any mistakes, of course, are mine. Then there’s my sister Amy, who I can always count on to read for me or give me her thoughts on absolutely anything. And my mother, who listened to me vent and rage and stress about these characters as if they were real people. In fact, she’s there to let me vent and rage and stress a lot. Same goes for Lindsay: I always feel incredibly safe in sharing my words with you, and I absolutely could not do this without you. And thanks to Jen, Mer, Kristin, Bethany, Patrick, Shelly, Michelle, and more for the love and encouragement.
To Amanda, thank you for loving Silas with me, and for always challenging me to dig deeper and do more. KP—oh my Lord, what would I do without you, lady? (I’d be a nervous wreck . . . that’s what I’d do.) Thanks for keeping me sane. And for caring so very much about my THINGS. To Suzie, Jessie, Molly, Kathleen, Pouya, Danielle, and everyone else who works so hard to help my books succeed—thank you! A thousand times, thank you!
Thank you to the incomparable Carmcats! I can say with absolute confidence that putting together this Rusk University Street Team was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made in my life. You all have challenged me and championed me and never fail to cheer me up. I feel like you know and love these characters as much as I do, and for that I will never be able to put into words my gratitude. Thank you: Alana, Amber, Amoolya, Andy, Anabel, Betsy, Christine, Danielle, Elizabeth, Emily, Ethan, Jen, Kaitlan, Katelyn, Kim, Krista, Lucy, Maggie, Megan, Momo, Sara, Stephanie C., Stephanie G., Yesi, and Yvette.
And to all the other magnificent readers and bloggers whom I’ve met over the last few years. Thank you for your hard work and dedication and love. Shout out to a few amazing people I’ve met this year: Misha in Seattle, Leah in Austin, Caitlin in Nashville, and so many more! Thanks also to Jen, Jay, Kathleen, Sophie, Monica, the Chelseas, Molly, Becca, Jamie, and the dozens of authors who keep me sane by dealing with my late night texts, blurbing my books, giving me awesome things to read, and God knows what else. And to everyone who reads these books, you rock! Bleed Rusk Red!
Coming Soon
The Rusk University series continues . . .
What happens when a good girl creates the ultimate college
bucket list and item #1 is to hook up with a jock?
ALL PLAYED OUT
Antonella “Nell” De Luca is the first in her family to go to college, and on a full ride, too. She’s spent years working and studying nonstop to make the most of this chance. But now college is almost over and she’s seriously lacking in friends and a social life of any kind. So, with the help of her friend Dylan, she does what she does best . . . She makes a to-do list. More specifically . . . the Ultimate College Bucket List.
Item #1 on that list? Hook up with a jock.
Mateo Torres is a wide receiver for the Rusk University football team. He’s committed and works hard, but when he’s not on the field all bets are off. He likes to party and do whatever insane thing pops into his head. It’s not uncommon to find him dancing in inappropriate places, wearing inappropriate amounts of clothing, and just being generally inappropriate. If it’s fun . . . that’s all that matters. Because as long as things don’t get too serious, he can avoid thinking about the ex he lost when he put football and his ego ahead of her.
Hooking up with Dylan’s friend, Nell, is absolutely the last thing he should do. She’s quiet and smart and innocent, and too much like the girl he spends all his time trying not to think about. But when he gets a tas
te of her, he’s reluctant to give her up. Being around her almost feels like he’s getting a do-over. A chance to do things right. And he’s the perfect person to help her drop her inhibitions and complete her bucket list.
But as the list draws to a close, they’ll both have to decide if what they have is real or just for fun. Life is more than just lists. And the past shouldn’t rule the present. But can they figure that out before it’s too late?
Spring 2015
About the Author
Cora Carmack is a twentysomething New York Times bestselling author who likes to write about twentysomething characters. Raised in a small Texas town, she now lives in New York City and spends her time writing, traveling, and marathoning various television shows on Netflix. In her books, you can expect to find humor, heart, and a whole lot of awkward. Because let’s face it . . . awkward people need love, too.
www.coracarmack.blogspot.com
facebook.com/CoraCarmack
@CoraCarmack
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Also by Cora Carmack
All Lined Up
Seeking Her (Novella)
Finding It
Keeping Her (Novella)
Faking It
Losing It
Credits
Cover photograph © by Kelsey Kukal-Keeton/K Keeton Designs
Author photograph by Matt Tolbert
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.