The Virgin Diaries: The Complete Series

by Lauren Landish

  I hang up my phone, dropping it to the pavement as I sprint harder. I use both arms and force my breathing into a rhythm as I close the gap quickly, tackling him from behind.

  “You motherfucker,” I growl as we roll on the ground. He gets a punch in to my face, but I quickly pin him down, ripping off his mask. I’m not surprised. “I fucking knew it.”

  “I–I didn’t mean to hit her,” Jake stammers, holding his hands up. “I was going after you!”

  “You mistook a five-foot-four girl for me because of what? A team jacket?” I ask, my voice dripping with fury as I yank his shoulders up with a fistful of his shirt. Before Jake can respond, I punch him in the nose, enjoying the satisfying crunch of his bone under my blow.

  Jake tries to fight back, but my rage has inoculated me to pain. Instead, I hammer him again and again, smashing his face with all my might.

  “I’m sorry!” Jake howls, his eyes already getting puffy from the blows.

  “Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” I rasp, every instance of him undermining me on the field, trying to get me hurt with wrong signals, almost running me over with his car, and most of all, hurting Norma, riding me hard and giving me an ugly desire to destroy him.

  I’m staring down at him in disgust when suddenly I hear a scream. “Zach!”

  It’s Norma, and her obvious cry of pain pierces through the hot fire of my anger. I scramble from the ground, needing to get to her, but I yell back, “Don’t you fucking move. The cops are the way.”

  He tries to crawl, belly dragging the dirty ground, but I know he won’t get far.

  I crouch next to Norma, brushing the hair back from her forehead. Her eyes meet mine, utter agony and incomprehension mixing in equal measure. “Fuck, Zach. It hurts so bad. Why?”

  “It was Jake,” I tell her, putting a hand on her shoulder to keep her still. She keeps trying to sit up, but I can tell by the way her leg is lying, she shouldn’t be moving. “He meant to hit me.”

  “Why?” Norma repeats, her own pain making her not understand. Instead of trying to explain any more, I hold her, letting her pour her agony against my chest.

  “I’m so sorry, Norma. The ambulance should be here soon,” I tell her as the sound of the siren gets louder.

  Norma sobs, her tears soaking my shirt before the ambulance and cops arrive. Unsure what the hell’s going on, they let me ride with her to the hospital, although I do notice that a cop car follows us as well.

  The whole time, I apologize to Norma, who’s crying and whimpering with every bump in the road. She whispers through her pain. “How bad is it?”

  I glance over at the paramedic, who seems unsure. “I don’t think it’s that bad, but we don’t know for sure. I think it’s a clean break, but they’ll get X-rays and everything at the hospital.”

  “Even if it’s broken, don’t worry,” I tell her, putting on my best face. “We’ll rehab together, Brat, and you’ll be kicking ass in powder puff before next season.”

  That at least gets Norma to sniffle and smile a little, though it’s more of a grimace. “There is no powder puff football at our school.”

  I give her hand a little squeeze, trying to force a smile at her. “Then I’ll start a league, and you can be the star player.”

  When we get to the hospital, Norma has to roll into an exam room to get checked out and the nurses stop me at the door, saying that they need room to work and will come get me soon.

  That’s when the cops start by getting me into a conference room. I try to answer their questions as honestly as I can, but my brain’s running a hundred miles an hour while at the same time, it seems to be going in slow motion.

  “So you hit the girl, then—” the one cop, a detective with a permanent ‘fuck you’ scowl on his face, starts.

  I shake my head, trying by sheer will alone to not jump out of the chair and yell at him. “No. Jake hit Norma, and I chased him down. Norma’s my girlfriend. Why would I hurt her?”

  “Well, why would this Jake fellow hit her?” he asks. “Is this some love triangle gone wrong?”

  Before I can argue, there’s a big commotion and a man in a custom-tailored suit comes in. Behind him is a cute girl I’ve seen Norma with in pictures. So if this is Arianna, then he must be . . . “I’m Liam Blackstone. Zach Knight?”

  I nod, and the cop looks like he’s about to pop a gasket. “Mr. Blackstone, I’m sorry, but—”

  “Zach is done talking,” Liam says, handing the cop a card. “Here’s my attorney’s card. Mr. Knight has nothing to say until he gets here.”

  The cop grumbles, then nods. “Fine. Mr. Knight, you’re not under arrest, but don’t leave the hospital just yet.”

  He leaves, and in the muted hospital silence, Liam and I study each other.

  He tilts his head, appraising me, and I’m not sure if he’s going to find me lacking, especially considering tonight’s happenings. He must find me acceptable somehow, though, because he continues, “Who hurt my sister?”

  “Jake Robertson. He’s my backup quarterback on the team and has been gunning for me all season. He tried to involve Norma today, but we didn’t dream he’d do something like . . . this.” My voice breaks, and I plop back to the chair, my head buried in my hands.

  “Robertson . . . I know that name,” Liam growls after a moment, his fists bunching. Liam might be about fifty pounds lighter than me, but he looks like he could handle himself well. He’s certainly built well enough. “Where is he?”

  “Probably getting treatment too. I nearly curbstomped him after I chased him down and caught him,” I admit. “Might have charges coming my way because of it, actually.”

  Liam shakes his head, pulling out his phone. “Not when my lawyers are done. Arianna, could you go out to the lobby and get with the doctors and see if you can get an update? I’ll talk with the campus cops. I want every security camera in the vicinity of the football complex pulled and one of our lawyers with the cops when they go over it. Tonight. Oh . . . and Zach should probably call Coach Jefferson. I figure he’ll want to know as well.”

  Arianna nods before stepping out. Liam dials a number, and his conversation is brief. “Dad? It’s Liam. Norma was attacked at school by Jake Robertson. Yes, that Robertson. Figured you should know. I’m at the hospital. I’ll give you an update as soon as I hear something, but get here when you can. ‘Bye.”

  Liam hangs up and then looks at me. “So . . . rumor has it you’ve been seeing my sister.”

  I stand up, offering him a hand since this is crazily our first time to meet, though I feel like I know him from Norma’s stories about her big brother who always made time for her. “I’m more than seeing her, but yes.”

  He shakes my hand, squeezing harder than need be, and I squeeze back. We have a bit of a staring contest and then he asks, “How much more?”

  I let go of his hand and give him a nod. “I think I’ll discuss that with her first. But she’s the most important thing in my life.”

  “Even more important than football? You’re supposed to have a pretty bright future on the field,” he says doubtfully.

  I nod, clearing my throat. “Even more than football, and I don’t say that lightly.”

  He smiles. “All right then. Let’s see what my brat of a sister is up to.” I flinch and he notices. “What?”

  I know my face must be turning pink because I can feel the heat. “Uhm, that’s what I call her. Brat.” His eyes narrow, and I rush to explain, “But it’s a . . . term of endearment.”

  He pales, then chuckles. “And I will never call her that again. All you, man.”

  It’s awkward as fuck but also feels like some spark of male connection was just forged between us. I don’t think we’re ever going to play Never Have I Ever or some shit, but I think we could probably grab a beer sometime. After this mess is done.

  About fifteen minutes later, the doctors come and get the two of us. Norma’s still in an exam room, her left leg in a Velcro splint, but she’s smiling as
the curtain opens. “Hey . . . Arianna told me you two talked. That must’ve been awkward.” Her voice lilts at the end.

  “Hey, Little Sis,” Liam says, taking her left hand. “They have you on the good stuff?”

  “I’m flying high,” Norma agrees. She squeezes Liam’s hand, then looks at me. “Zach . . . ohmygawd, I’m so sorry.”

  I shake my head, tears threatening at the corners of my eyes. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I should be apologizing to you, Norma. This whole fucking thing is my fault. Jake was after me.”

  Norma forces her tossing head to still, eyes meeting mine, and for a second, I think she’s lucid. But then she singsongs, “Fuck, you’re so pretty. I love you so much. Did you know that? I love you, Zach.”

  I can’t help the grin that splits my face, and Liam shrugs. I chuckle, bending down to tell her, “I love you too, Brat.”

  “Ooh, yeah . . . I’m your Brat. Hey, do you think when they let me outta here, you could tie my hands behind my back again? Or—oh—maybe over the hood of the car again? Yeah, that!”

  Liam clears his throat, his cheeks blushing now. “I, uh, think I’ll step out for a minute. Check on Arianna’s progress on her to-do list.”

  I lift one shoulder, some version of an attempt at ‘sorry, man’ for his having to hear that. Something tells me that while Norma won’t remember this conversation at all, Liam and I are never going to forget it. Though he’s probably going to remember being mortified at his little sister’s sex life, I’m going to remember it as the first time we said I love you.

  Norma

  A few days later, after a quick surgery to reset the bones in my leg, I’m finally home, albeit with a clunky cast that reaches from my toes to just below my knee.

  “You’re actually tough as steel now, Sis,” Liam tells me teasingly.

  “The metal they used is actually . . . ti-tan-iuumm,” I sing loudly and badly. Liam busts out laughing and I grin back.

  “When’s your next appointment? Do you need me to take you?” He already has his calendar app open on his phone like he’s going to add my appointment to his to-do list. But I know he’s already got the appointment listed there because he’s Liam.

  “No, Zach said he’d take me. Doc said I’d need a check this week to make sure nothing’s changed since I was discharged from the hospital and then another follow-up in four weeks, and then hopefully, the last one two to four weeks after that when I get my cast off. Then, the fun of physical therapy starts.” I shudder a bit at the memory of my orthopedic surgeon telling me that the real work of healing started on my first day of PT and that it was going to be hard and painful, but absolutely necessary. “Zach already said he’ll work with me on that too. I think he’s got some vision of us being workout buddies. Like he’s going to cheer me on for every rep of toe point and flex, and then I’m gonna fall into his arms, grateful for his time and patience. I’m expecting it’s going to end up with me whiny and bitchy about how hard it is and him smacking me and telling me to ‘suck it up, buttercup’ in some growly amalgamation of every football coach he’s ever had.”

  Liam opens his mouth and then promptly clacks it shut, his eyebrows going high.

  “What?” I ask, curious of what just ran through his mind.

  He shakes his head. “I was going to make a joke about you liking it when he smacks you, but then I remembered your drug-induced tell-all and decided I didn’t really want to know any more details than you’ve already over-shared.”

  I blush, mortified at the things I apparently was spouting off, loudly and vehemently, when I was medicated. Liam hasn’t teased me too badly, but Zach has given me so much shit for it that I threatened to never let him tie me up again. But when he’d mimicked my high voice, ‘I looove it when you tie me up, Zach . . . can you do it again?’ I’d eventually laughed and given in because I was telling the truth and I do love it. No need to punish myself for my mouthiness, not when Zach can do that for me.

  “Yeah, maybe it’s best that we skip those jokes. I’m friends with Arianna now, too, you know? I might know a little more about my brother than I’d like to.”

  We meet eyes, silently agreeing to never speak of this again. “So, the game starting?”

  “Yes, the game. Let’s watch the game,” I say. Liam hits the kitchen for a few drinks, a bottle of beer for him and a Coke for me since I can’t mix anything stronger with my medications.

  Sitting on the couch, just the two of us, reminds me of our younger days when a teenage Liam would voluntarily give up his Saturday mornings to watch cartoons with a younger me. It’s not the usual cartoons and movie marathons we once had, but watching my man play the game he loves with Liam by my side is a nice progression.

  When the Ravens win the conference championship, we’re both yelling so loudly that my neighbor downstairs bangs on the ceiling. We try to quiet down our celebration, especially since I know the poor lady is going to have to deal with me stomping around clad in a cast for the next two months. No need to start off on the wrong foot now. I grin to myself at the stupid joke . . . the wrong foot.

  Hours later, I almost have to pinch myself at the vision in front of me. Actually, that’s not a bad idea considering these pain meds pack a wallop of a punch. Maybe I am hallucinating. “Ouch!” I say. “Nope, not a dream, I guess.”

  Zach reaches for my hand, stopping me from pinching myself again just to be sure. “Why the hell are you pinching yourself, Brat?” Liam clears his throat, and Zach rephrases, “You okay, Norma?” He gives Liam a mildly apologetic look, but I can tell he’s not the least bit sorry. It’s just what he calls me and I like being his brat. God knows, everyone at this table knows what a pill I can be.

  I look around the table at the people surrounding me, the ones who put up with my shit willingly and lovingly. Zach’s question means every eye is on me, and I meet each one with a smile. Zach, Liam, Adrianna, Dad, and Mom. “Just so glad you’re all here. It means a lot,” I say, choking up. Tears threaten at the corners of my eyes.

  Liam groans. “Fuck, you broke her, dude. She never used to cry before you. She’d just smack talk us all about not having anything better to do on a Saturday night than crowding around her tiny ass table.”

  His outburst makes everyone laugh a bit, breaking the spell and giving me a moment to compose myself. I grin through the drying tears. “I’d like to think maybe he fixed me more than broke me, but if you’d rather me go back to busting your balls, that can be arranged. In fact, Arianna was just telling me the other day—”

  “No,” he interrupts, and Arianna laughs, shaking her head and clearly mouthing, ‘I told her nothing.’

  Dad’s voice is a bit louder than need be, but it does the trick, getting everyone to quiet down about things that would probably make Mom’s socialite crowd faint. “So, Zach, tell me about the game, the team. It seems the drama didn’t interfere with the win.”

  Zach straightens, unconsciously sitting taller. He’s relatively comfortable with my dad after they both spent the last few days sitting by my hospital bedside, but I think there’s always that little spark of fear when a guy talks to his girl’s dad. “The team was a bit shook up, understandably, but we pulled together and did our best. Coach Buckley had my back on offense, and Coach Jefferson kept the whole team solid. We’re proud, not just of the win today, but of the way we played as a whole.”

  Dad grins. “Damn fine interview answer. Guess my daughter’s been coaching you on what to say to reporters too?” He looks to me proudly.

  But Zach corrects him. “No sir, Norma’s a damn smart girl and has definitely helped me out with school and so much more, but I’ve been talking to the press for years. I know what to say, and if I didn’t, Coach Jefferson would’ve held me back from ever seeing a microphone.”

  My dad smiles at the bold answer.

  “Hey, speaking of school . . . what did Coach say about his meeting with the dean? Everything got a bit crazy and I never heard, or if someone told me, the
conversation washed away with the pain meds,” I ask Zach.

  Zach grimaces. “It was bad, honestly. Professor Ledbetter lost her job since she wasn’t tenured, and taking bribes to change a student’s grades is a pretty serious offense. She admitted she did that early in the semester but got cold feet, and my later work was more correctly scored, but she did change all of my papers and quizzes to their appropriate grade. At least she still had copies to do that with. I easily have a B-plus, might even that A I’ve been wanting if I ace the final essay.”

  “I’ll help with that! Not like I’m doing much else, sitting here for the next few days. Oh, and thanks for getting my paperwork from my professors, Arianna. Most of it can all be done online. My math professor even offered to let my study group leader film the lecture so I could watch it at home. But there’s always those few things that need to be handed in or returned old-school-style on paper. I should be able to stay pretty caught up, though, and not affect my grades too much.”

  Arianna smiles. “Happy to help. Don’t you have an article to write too, though? That’s going to be a big chunk of work, so don’t overdo it.” Her motherly words are sweet, and judging by the look on my mom’s face, she approved of this message of over-restraint. She probably asked Arianna to say it since I’d begged her to chill after the fiftieth time she’d tried to force me back on the couch. A mother’s love. Can’t live without it . . . can’t live with it, sometimes, I think faux-sourly. Truth is, my mom has been a pillar of support, and there were some moments before surgery that I really just wanted my mommy and she was right there by my bedside, soothing my fears away like moms do.

  “I do need to work on the write-up. Trey, he’s the newly-promoted editor, stopped by while I was in the hospital to see if I wanted to write it or have someone else do it. I demanded the assignment, of course,” I say, throwing my hands out to the side as if there’d been any chance I would turn that opportunity down.

  Trey seems like a nice guy, but when he’d come by to introduce himself as my new boss, I’d been surprised. Apparently, Erica resigned as editor, though legally, she didn’t do anything wrong. She wasn’t involved in Jake’s plans, but her sex-induced loose lips were a catalyst, and she’d burned some bridges with the administration, our paper staff, the whole football team, and Coach Jefferson. I think she mostly wants to just finish out her senior year with as little attention as possible, but she did send me a text that simply said, I’m so sorry.