And even then I still wasn’t allowed to go because I had a poor attitude or some shit like that. Mom finally appeared as a witness for the defense, and just before nine o’clock I got sprung. Headed to the tracks, but by that time nobody was around. Tried texting a few people, but nobody replied. Walked into the woods, practically tripped over Grace’s body sprawled next to a railroad tie, surrounded by beer bottles.
Her underwear was around her ankles.
Thought she was dead. Jesus, I was sure of it. I panicked. I shook her, shouted at her, and she moaned. I tapped her face, shook her some more. Her eyes opened, silver clouds, and then they popped wide when she focused on me. She started crying, and then she puked. She begged me to take her to the hospital. What could I do? I thought she had alcohol poisoning or something. But she said she was raped, and then everybody looked at me like I was the guy who did it.
“Zac,” she said.
I almost hurled. No way. There’s just no way. But the hospital called the police and her parents. Her dad showed up with some trophy wife. Then her mom arrived, and the three of them screamed and cried while Grace was processed for evidence.
I called Zac.
“She says I did what? No way, man. She came on to me. She was totally into it.”
He proved it to me with that video he showed me. I guess I wasn’t enough because he put it on Facebook. I can’t get the image of Grace moaning and panting out of my brain. It’s like thirty seconds long, but I only watched about five. Five seconds were all I could handle.
I don’t have a thing for her anymore.
Zac got there first. They only went out twice, and I thought it was over. Done. No chemistry. Whatever. Thought I’d make my move since it didn’t work out. But now that they did it, I can’t.
Guys don’t move on a friend’s woman.
The cops talked to me, to Zac. To Jeremy. To Grace’s friends, Lindsay and Miranda, and anybody else at the party that night. They said Grace was drunk, stumbling and sloppy drunk. Zac had his hands all over her, and she never complained. Miranda said Grace was flirting with Zac. At some point they’d disappeared together. Nobody was sure when. Everybody fled when somebody thought they’d seen a patrol car.
Except Grace.
A horn honks. I climb into the passenger seat and nod to my dad. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He rolls his eyes. “So how many lockers did you clean?”
“Stopped counting when I hit twenty.” I yawn. “I still smell the cleaner. Stuff’s foul.”
“How’s your head? Any dizziness?”
I hesitate a moment. “Yeah. Had a bad headache, and Grace gave me some pain reliever and half her sandwich.”
“Grace who?”
Crap, why did I say her name? He’s never gonna let this go now. He’ll start the lecture about teen drinking and how lucky I am that he decided to ground me that night. “Collier. She got in trouble too.”
“Grace Collier? Isn’t that the—” He turns right on red when we reach the street.
“Yeah.”
“How is she doing?”
Not the question I’m expecting. I check out his expression, and he seems concerned instead of outraged. “Um. Okay, I guess.”
“You guess? You just spent the whole day with her. You didn’t ask?”
No. I didn’t. Because I don’t want to know.
We cruise down Main Street. “Ian, did you talk to her at all?”
“Yeah, Dad, I did. I thanked her for helping me.”
“That’s it? You never asked how she’s been doing since…since that night?”
“No, Dad, I didn’t, okay? I don’t talk to Grace, not after what she said about Zac.”
“Ian, there are two sides to every story.”
“Yeah, I know. I just don’t believe hers.”
We’re quiet for a few blocks. Dad brakes for a red light. “You weren’t there. How do you know what really happened?”
“Because I know Zac, Dad.” I slink low in my seat, impatient for the light to change so I can escape. It finally turns green, and Dad turns left into our neighborhood.
“You know Tracy and Al, right?”
I nod. They’re like my parents’ best friends. Their daughter, Amy, is the same age as Claudia, my oldest sister.
“Years ago before you and Valerie were born, Tracy was married to somebody else. Joe. We met at the playground, hit it off, and started hanging out so the kids could play together.”
Holy crap. Al’s not Amy’s dad? I never knew this. I stare out the passenger window, wondering how many bones I’ll break if I jump out.
“One night we had just put Claudia to bed when someone starts pounding on the door. I mean pounding with fists. I grab my bat, head downstairs, open the door, and find Tracy standing there in a bloodstained nightgown.”
What fresh hell is this? A new spin on the lecture series?
“I’ll give you the condensed version. Joe beat his wife. For a year, one solid year, I hung out with these people. Went to their house. Had them to ours. Never saw a single hint that Joe had this kind of temper. Or that Tracy feared him in any way. Not a single clue. That’s what I told the cops when Tracy had Joe arrested.”
Dad pulls into our driveway, cuts the engine, opens the door. That’s it? What’s the point of all this?
“So what happened?”
“They let him go. And the next time it happened, Tracy needed surgery to repair the damage.”
“I don’t get it. Why are you telling me this?”
I follow Dad up the walk to the front door. “Just that you can’t know somebody unless you live with them to tell what they’re really like. Zac’s your friend, and it’s great that you want to be loyal to him. But you don’t really know what he’s capable of. So don’t be so quick to judge Grace, okay? Even if it wasn’t rape, that boy still left her in the woods, alone. That’s got to say something to you, Ian.”
I look down at my shoes. “He was scared, Dad! Everybody freaked out when they thought the police were coming. He panicked. That’s all.”
Dad’s quiet for a long moment. “Maybe. But I’d sure think twice before I let him date one of your sisters.”
I fly upstairs to my room. I don’t want to hear another word. Zac didn’t rape anybody. They were just messing around. They had too much to drink, and things went too far. It happens. Grace will get over it.
I flip on my computer, check in with my crew. Jeremy’s status says the team is meeting at Pizza Hut at 7:00. I grab some clothes, duck into the bathroom, and shower off the stench of disinfectant.
• • •
“Yo, Russell!”
I spot Jeremy’s wild red hair in the middle of a group of my teammates sitting at a bunch of tables shoved together in the corner of a Pizza Hut and head over.
“What’s up, man?” I high-five Kyle Moran, one of our attackers, a tall, skinny guy with a Mohawk, and drag over another chair.
“Ian, what the hell happened with Mr. Jordan?”
“You didn’t hear, Kyle? Ian’s scrubbing lockers,” Jeremy slings an arm around my neck, rubs his knuckles over my head. I laugh and elbow him in the gut, hoping like hell nobody asks me about Grace.
I shouldn’t have worried. Zac slaps Jeremy’s arm away from my head. “Dude, are you mental? Concussion.”
“Sorry, man.” Jeremy immediately goes serious.
Our server arrives and sets a few baskets of breadsticks on our table. Conversation and laughter stop for a few seconds as we check her out. She is hot—I mean off the charts. Blond hair in a long braid down her back, tight T-shirt showing off some very nice assets, and a smile that’s a little shy, a little sexy. Her name tag says she’s Addie. Jeremy’s jaw practically smacks the table. Kyle’s eyes dart right to her tits. And Zac’s running his hand over his hair, messing it up the way chicks seem to like it.
When she walks away, ass wiggling just right, our table erupts in a series of groans, sighs, and an Mmmm from Jeremy.
“Ba
ck off, boys. That girl is mine.” Zac stares after her and grins.
“No way, McMahon.” Kyle shakes his head, the points of his Mohawk blurring. “Up for grabs,” he says and lunges for a breadstick.
“I wouldn’t mind grabbing some of that,” Jeremy says and squeezes the air to demonstrate.
“Like you have even half a shot,” Kyle retorts.
“And you do?” I ask.
“Boys, that’s a real woman, not CGI. You wouldn’t know what to do with her without a console.” Zac shakes his head, amused.
Kyle’s laugh booms across the restaurant. “Bet she likes my joystick!”
“That’s what she said,” Jeremy says and snickers. Jeremy’s still stuck at age thirteen.
“Dude, the key to scoring with a chick like that is to show her what you can do for her—not to her.”
A chorus of laughs rises up like a wave. “Oh, class is in session, guys! Professor McMahon is gonna school us!” Matt Roberts shouts from the other end of the table and pulls out his wallet. “Twenty says you don’t even get a phone number.” He slaps a bill to the center of the table next to the breadsticks in a tiny puddle of moisture from the pitchers of soda.
There’s a split second of hopeful glances, and then everybody’s pulling out money, with three betting against Zac. Not me.
I never bet against Zac.
“Okay, here are the rules.” Matt leans in. “All you have to do is get her to make a date with you.”
Zac scoffs. “Please.”
“Here she comes. Here she comes.” Jeremy shushes us as Addie and another server approach our group loaded down with trays of deep-dish supremes and stuffed crust. The other server, a curvy brunette, locks eyes with me. Zac leans back in his chair, angles his body toward Addie, cocks his head, and pins on the smile—the one that says, “I know what you like, and I can give it to you.”
Trust me, it works.
Addie ignores him.
Undaunted, Zac tilts his head to…read her name tag. I roll my eyes. “Addie. What’s that short for?”
She looks down at him, doesn’t smile. “Addison.”
“Pretty.”
Now she smiles. Here we go.
“So, pretty Addison, how old are you?”
“Old enough.”
Jeremy’s Whoa is quickly shushed by an elbow from Kyle. Zac leans forward, puts his hand on Addie’s back, rubs it up and down. She doesn’t slap him away, so I figure he’s in.
“Me and my guys are celebrating. Our lacrosse team went undefeated this season. The title game’s next and after that, tournament. It’s kind of like an all-star game, and…well, I got picked.”
I try not to snort at his false modesty. Everybody at the table was picked.
“So why don’t you help us celebrate?”
“Sure. Few more pitchers of soda?” she asks sweetly, and I wonder if Zac realizes he’s just been asked how old he is.
“Not what I had in mind.” He stands slowly, his hand still rubbing her back, eyes never leaving her face. “I was thinking you…me…a nice quiet drive over to the beach…watch the sunrise.”
Oh my God, it’s like watching a magician at work. Zac’s tall—about six-foot-two. When he stands, Addie has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact, unaware that he’s totally invaded her personal space and is close enough to kiss her. Genius.
“Um. That sounds nice.”
“Is that a yes?” Zac presses, and the entire table holds its breath.
“Uh. I’ll think about it.”
And the entire table exhales.
Zac leans closer, whispers something in Addie’s ear that has her blushing and smiling and nodding. When she walks away, Jeremy is the first to crack. “Come on, bro! What’d she say?”
Zac kicks back, hooks his hands behind his head. “You heard her. She’s thinking about it.”
“Well, what did you say?”
Zac grabs a slice of deep-dish and just shakes his head. “Okay, Russell, let’s see if you can do better.” He jerks his chin toward the other server helping Addie. Was kind of hoping nobody noticed the way she looked at me. But I nod, clear my throat, smooth my hair, and stand up. She’s over at the salad bar now, wiping up the pieces of lettuce and bacon bits and crap that tried to escape their bowls.
“Hey,” I say and smile.
She looks up, looks away, smiles at the vats of dressing and mutters a “Hey” back.
“What’s your name?”
The girl, a tall brunette with braided hair, laughs once. “Not Addie.”
I hold out a hand. “Hi, Not Addie, I’m Ian. Nice to meet you.”
She laughs again but for real. “Very funny.” She turns to look at me full on. “Okay. My name’s Jessica. But you can call me Jess.”
“Nice. You still have to call me Ian.” I move a step closer. “I’ve only got three letters, but I guess you could call me E.”
She flashes me a wicked smile. “So what’s the bet?”
I blink innocently. “What bet?”
With a smirk, she wipes up a salad dressing spill. “Oh, come on. I know there’s a bet. What do you have to do?”
Busted. With a sigh, I come clean. “Get your phone number. It would really help if I got yours before he gets Addie’s.” I toss my head in Zac’s direction.
“Done.” She takes a pen out of the pocket of the apron tied around her hips, grabs my hand, scrawls a number across my arm.
I raise my arms in a score gesture, and the guys at the table go wild. “Thanks, Jess.”
“You’re welcome. You can also call me. That number’s real.” She flicks her cloth at me, grins, and walks into the kitchen.
I return to the table, a pro among mere minor leaguers. And we stuff ourselves with pizza, breadsticks, and soda. Halfway through the meal somebody smacks the back of my head.
“Hey, little man. Staying out of trouble?”
I whip around, ready to freaking strangle my sister, while the entire table hoots with laughter. She just ruined my life with that damn nickname. “Go away, Val.”
Matt’s eyebrows go up, and he says something to the guy next to him who answers, “Sister.” Matt’s smile widens. “Pull up a chair. Hang with us.”
Valerie gives us her best Yeah, right expression. “Uh. No.”
Thank God.
“Go away, Val,” I repeat.
Zac holds up his hand. “Ian. You should be nice to your sister. She’s beautiful, funny, and just watching out for you.” I stare at Zac, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at my sister. There’s a gleam in his eye—the same gleam that tells me he thinks she’s hot.
My mouth falls open. Oh my God, Zac doesn’t just think she’s hot. He’s trying to charm my sister. She smiles at him—a real smile, not one of those irritating smirks she saves up for me.
“That’s right. Listen to your friend, Ian.”
Jesus, I’m in a parallel universe.
Zac stands up. “Here. Sit and eat with us. I can get another chair.” He flashes the smile, and I shove my pizza away.
Valerie holds up her hands and shakes her head. “Can’t. Just meeting some friends and we’re off. I saw Ian and had to say hi.” She leans over, plants a noisy kiss on my cheek, and I want to tear the long hair from her head strand by strand.
“Got one for me?” Zac holds out his arms. Valerie walks right into them and kisses his cheek. Jesus. I can’t believe she fell for that ploy. I shake my head and see Addie watching the drama with a sad, shocked look on her face.
“Zac.” I clear my throat. “Addie’s watching.”
The grin flees, and Zac steps away from my sister, reclaiming his seat. “Good to see you, Valerie. Say hi to your parents.”
“Sure thing. Later, little man.” She winks at me.
I swear I will get her for this. I don’t know how, and I don’t know when. But I will get her.
Everybody watches Val walk to another table, where her friends are waiting—Cassie and Gina. I’ve m
et them a few times. They’re pretty cool and don’t treat me like a pimple on the ass the way Val does.
“Dude. Your sister is smokin’,” Jeremy says with a whistle.
“And off limits.” I remind everybody at the table.
Including Zac. Or maybe especially Zac.
We eat like zoo animals, talk trash about the team that placed second, and avoid all talk of Grace Collier. When the bill arrives, Kyle grabs it. “Son of a bitch.”
“What?”
“He did it. He fucking did it.” Kyle shows us the bill.
Addie’s phone number is written across the top. I grin as I pocket my winnings. Maybe with Addie’s number handy, Zac will stay away from my sister.
Chapter 9
Grace
Monday morning.
Again.
The days just run into each other—water down a sewer.
I drag myself out of bed. I’m in no hurry to get to school to serve my self-imposed sentence. In no hurry to see Ian. I thought it was bad seeing that look on my friends’ faces. And on my parents’.
But seeing it on Ian’s? Oh, God, it was like a fist to my stomach. He was there! He saw me, took me to the hospital when I woke up, bleeding and sick. How could he believe that was consensual? The answer dances inside my brain, but I refuse to let it lead. I know he’s Zac’s friend and teammate. I know they have their little guy code, that whole bros before hos thing. I know it and yet—
I stop the thought spiral that’s only going to bring me to the bottom of a box of tissues and straighten my shoulders¸ hold up my head. I will not cower. I won’t back off. And I damn well won’t let Ian Russell know how much he hurt me.
I pull crap from my closet. A T-shirt, comfortable yoga pants—both are black—and stare at my favorite pair of black boots. I wish I could wear them, but not sure they can resist the heavy-duty cleaning supplies I have to use. The Bride is always offering to take me shopping at places that sell twinsets and flowy skirts because my dad hates how I dress and she wants to show him how cool she’s being to me. Kristie doesn’t know this, but I might have liked those things if she wasn’t in the frame. My dad can’t keep it zipped, so now she’s family. That doesn’t mean I have to like it or her.