“It’s happening,” I whispered.
He nodded.
Mateo’s arm was still around my shoulders, and I liked the circles his thumb traced on my collarbone.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
“I won’t let him hurt you again, but it’s okay to be scared.” He tucked me in closer. “I was scared when Alex was shot.”
I turned to look at him. “Of course you were.”
“I thought he was going to die, and the last thing I’d said to him was something mean, like he’d never understand me, or something like that. But then he made it.”
I patted his hand. “I’m glad.”
“Will you…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“What?”
He ducked his head. “I’m the king of bad timing here, but will you be my date for the wedding? For Alex’s wedding?”
“Of course.”
That cutie-pie dimple creased his cheek, and he pressed a kiss to my temple. He started singing, his voice low and steady. “Where it began…”
It took me a verse or two to recognize Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline.” But when he got to the refrain, he sang, “Sweet Jessica.”
How was I smiling on a night like tonight? I pressed into him and inhaled his sandalwood scent.
When he finished the song, Mateo prayed softly in Spanish. I tensed into a ball of fear, and it seemed like neither of us breathed for five minutes. The front door to Elyse’s house finally opened, and a tall, dark-haired man emerged. I knew that body. My heart kicked up, and I inhaled sharply.
“Wait a minute.” Mateo squinted out the window. “Hey, he’s in handcuffs!”
I blinked, then noticed Blake’s arms tight to his sides as Officer Whitworth pushed him toward the police car. Toward us. I froze.
“Look at me.” Mateo cupped my chin. “Tinted windows. He can’t see in here.”
I shuddered. “O-Okay.” People streamed out of the house, watching Blake being hauled away. He held his head high, like the arrest was merely an inconvenient mistake, which infuriated me.
You can’t hide what you did any more, Blake. What had Mateo called him? Suave Swimmer Shithead. Not so suave anymore, asshole.
Blake glanced at the SUV before the officer pressed down on his head to put him in the car. Good riddance.
Once the police car left, Josh and Elyse bounded toward us. Josh’s eyes were bright as he opened the car door next to me.
“Fuckin’ A, we got it!”
I looked to where he pointed—a glass in an evidence bag held by two more campus police officers talking to Johnny. When had they arrived?
“You got the drink?”
Josh high-fived Elyse. “We got it!”
“We’re awesome like that.” Elyse smirked.
“So we know it was spiked for sure?” asked Mateo.
“Had to be. Blake lunged for it when the cops crashed in,” Elyse said with a wicked grin. “But Josh tackled him.” Her grin faded when she looked at me.
“Where’s Mackenzie?” I sat up. “Is she okay?”
“The EMTs are with her,” Elyse said. “She’s sleepy and disoriented.”
My hand covered my mouth.
Mateo stared at the house. “I don’t see an ambulance.”
“They came around the back,” Josh said.
I looked at Elyse. “Will you go with her to the hospital? I’ll be there when I can.”
“You got it.” She hesitated, then leaned into the vehicle to hug me. “I think we need to talk.”
I sniffed. “We do. We will. Thank you so much.”
She let me go.
“You’ll be okay, Little Monroe,” Josh said as he hugged me, too.
I think he’s right. I’d expected to feel intense shame with so many people finding out about the rape. Instead, I felt relief. I could breathe again, knowing Blake wouldn’t hurt anyone tonight.
Elyse turned to walk back to the house.
“Hey, I’ll go to the hospital with you.” Josh fell into step beside her.
“Interesting.” Mateo watched them return to the house. “Is Elyse single?”
“Yeah, but doesn’t Josh have a girlfriend?”
He smiled. “He was moaning the other night about not having one decent date his entire college career.”
Johnny appeared at the open car door. “They’re booking the perp at the campus police station.” He turned to look at curious students who’d left the house, some of them now walking toward the SUV. His gaze landed back on me. “I want to stop there before he lawyers up. You’ll stay in the car, but I have a few words for Mr. Morrell. Is that okay with you, Jessica?”
My lips parted as I blinked at him. I didn’t know how to answer.
“What will you say to him?” Mateo asked.
Johnny stepped closer. When he took my hand, my nose burned with impending tears. He’d just added my roommate to the list of important people he’d saved. “You don’t want to report what happened to you, right?”
Through my blurry tears, I watched a guy approach us, but Karen stopped him from coming closer. The guy was a swimmer who lived with Blake. What would my team think if they heard about the rape? They’d never forget it. Never look at me the same. Something I’d had no control over would haunt me for my college years and beyond. It had already stolen almost two months of my college career.
“No.”
Johnny nodded. “But you don’t want him to do this to anyone else.”
“That’s my worst fear,” I sobbed.
Johnny nodded. “Mine, too. I’ll ensure that won’t happen, okay? Give me some time alone with him.”
I shook away my tears. “Do it. But then I need to see Mackenzie.” A spiral of anger tightened in my belly. How dare Blake try to hurt my roommate? I didn’t know what Johnny was going to do, but I hoped he’d beat the shit out of him.
He squeezed my hand and closed the door. He and Karen bounded into the front seat, and we sped off.
“Turn off your comm-link when you go in there,” Karen said quietly.
“No.” Johnny’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “It’d put Mateo at risk. We need an open line to the backup agents.”
I chewed on my lip. “You’re not going to get in trouble for this, are you?”
Johnny looked at Karen but didn’t answer.
“No, Johnny.” My shoulders seized, and Mateo took my hand. “Don’t do it. I’ll, I’ll report the rape.”
“You won’t have to. It’s all right. It’s my honor to do this for you, Miss Monroe.” He pulled into the police parking lot and hopped out.
I watched him jog into the station.
After a minute or two, Karen removed her earpiece. She twisted to look at me. “Do you want to hear this?”
I glanced at Mateo, whose soulful eyes blinked back at me. “Up to you,” he said.
“Okay.” I laced my fingers through Mateo’s and braced myself as Karen adjusted something on the earpiece. She rested it on the seat between us. I hadn’t realized the audio could be amplified like a speaker.
Through the earpiece, I heard what sounded like a steel door close.
“The perp’s probably in cuffs, in an interrogation room,” Karen explained.
“Mr. Morrell.” Johnny’s voice was crisp. “I’m with US Secret Service.”
Fainter was Blake’s voice. “You can’t be here.”
“Oh, but I can.”
“I’m not talking to you without my attorney.”
“Good, because I don’t want to hear your bullshit lies and excuses. I’m the only one talking.” Johnny paused. “You’re done hurting women, Morrell. You’re done with drugging them, raping them. And how do I know this?” There was a rustle, then his voice lowered. “Because no matter what happens in court after tonight, I’m going to track you the rest of your life. My Secret Service friends will help me. You even look at a woman wrong, and we’ll take you down. You won’t know where we are, but we’ll be there. It’
s what we do.”
“Fuck you,” Blake said.
“Fuck yourself, you pompous asshole.”
Mateo’s eyes widened, and I was equally surprised. I’d never heard Johnny drop the F bomb before.
“You destroy lives just to get off,” Johnny continued. “You probably never think about it again, unlike your victims. They never stop feeling afraid. They will never be the same. They will question themselves, blame themselves, hate themselves, all for something you did. You’ve skated scot-free for years. No more. You’re the one this will stay with now. You’ll be the one on edge, always looking over your shoulder. You’ll never be free of the shame and helplessness. How does that feel?”
Blake either said nothing or we couldn’t hear him.
“Your raping and pillaging days are over, my friend. And, as they say, may God have mercy on your soul. ’Cause I sure as fuck don’t.”
There was a thumping, maybe a pounding on a door, and Karen drew the earpiece back toward her.
“Dios,” Mateo said.
Dios indeed. What a night. I slumped against the car seat and closed my eyes. Tears leaked out the corners. But I wasn’t crying from fear or loss this time.
“You’re shaking again,” Mateo murmured.
My eyes opened, and when I smiled, Mateo seemed surprised.
“It’s all right.” I let out a long breath, letting go of the past. “They’re happy tears.”
His smile was tentative at first, then grew wider as he realized I was okay.
We were okay. I lunged to maul him with triumphant kisses.
“Whoa!” He laughed as I pushed him against the seat. I covered him with insistent kisses, and his mouth surged against mine, hot and honeyed. His fingers pulsed through my hair.
I vaguely heard the driver’s door open and Johnny chuckle, probably at the sight of our make-out session in the backseat.
“Guess she liked what you told the perp,” Karen said.
Guess so. Lightness filled my chest as I hovered over Mateo. I was free.
Chapter 18
DANE’S PIERCING WHISTLE blasted my eardrums, but I felt too excited to complain.
Jessica was swimming the two hundred individual medley in her first dual meet, two weeks after Blake’s takedown. When she swam the breaststroke leg, her lead increased even more. Then her powerful freestyle strokes, sleek and strong, propelled her home through the water.
She finished the race, and I looked up at the scoreboard.
“She’s lane four,” Dane said, helping me make sense of the numbers.
“Is that a fast time for her?”
“Anything under two minutes this early in the season is great, so yeah.”
She placed her hands on the deck and pulled herself out of the pool. Water gushed down her body as she removed her swim cap and shook out her hair. Beneath her black suit, her toned legs went on for days. What would it feel like to have those legs wrapped around my body? I fanned my face with the meet program. Was it hot in here?
Next up was a short sprint—only two lengths of the pool—and Jessica’s teammate Emma won the women’s event. It appeared to be a strong freshman class for Highbanks. The men’s fifty freestyle was about to begin when Dane and I looked at each other.
“Was this—”
“—the fucker’s event,” he answered.
I swallowed. But there was no super-tall shithead behind the blocks. Blake’s coach had kicked him off the team once word of his arrest got out. He was charged with second-degree assault for spiking Mackenzie’s drink—thank God she was fine. Even though the charge seemed solid, especially since the police had found a vial of tranquilizer in Blake’s pocket, Johnny had initially told me Blake planned to fight to stay at Highbanks. His situation had changed when two field hockey players came forward with accusations that he’d drugged and raped them last spring. The news had sickened me, but hadn’t been a total surprise. Blake had hired a good attorney and was out on bail. According to Johnny, he’d left for his parents’ house in Nevada.
After the men’s fifty freestyle, there was a break in the meet. I turned my attention to the ongoing competition in the diving well while Dane texted Lucia, who was in Minnesota for a volleyball match. As a Highbanks diver executed about ten flips and three twists off the high board, I got a text of my own:
Get your ass over here.
I grinned. Itch didn’t mince words.
No can do. She still has breaststroke left.
Get your mind off her boobs
and haul your buns over here, son.
We had our first gig tonight, and Itch wanted to rehearse more, but I’d decided not to miss another swim meet. Besides, we were ready. Jessica had listened to our playlist and said we sounded awesome. But I had one song planned that she hadn’t heard yet.
Need to save my voice for tonight.
Your voice is fine, Mariah Carey.
He knew I couldn’t stand her voice.
Be there soon, Jock Itch.
It’s only our entire music future, Feo.
Grr. Why did Spanish for ugly have to rhyme with my name?
About an hour later, Jessica prepared to swim her second individual event—the two hundred breaststroke. She stood behind the blocks, stretching and shaking out her muscles. Perched on one leg, she reached behind her and tucked her foot to her bottom to stretch her quad, then exchanged feet to stretch her other leg. She clasped her hands together behind her and bent over, her hands pulsing over her head. Her obvious flexibility took my mind in naughty directions.
“Go, Jessica!”
I looked behind me to raise my eyebrows at Karen.
She seemed to blush. “What? There’s nothing wrong with cheering.”
Next to her, Johnny smirked.
Dane unleashed another ear-torturing whistle.
“Dang, Dane!” I tugged my earlobe. “I need my hearing for when Fitch counts me in tonight.”
He shrugged. “Nobody says you have to sit right next to me.”
When I scooted away, my agents shifted behind me. But that brought me closer to a spectator who started snapping photos of me with his phone, so I slid back next to Dane. “At least teach me how to do that whistle,” I said.
His smile was smug. “Take your pinky fingers.” He drew his pinkies toward his mouth, making a V with the point near his lips. “Fold the front part of your tongue back, and press your fingers on your tongue. Then blow, baby, blow.”
I watched him fold his tongue and insert his fingers. The piercing noise he created still made me jump.
“Now you try.”
My brow furrowed, but I folded up my tongue and stuck my pinky fingers over the fold. My first try barely produced a squeak, which made Dane laugh.
“Cállate.” I tried again, this time with my fingers angled more to the side.
“Better.” He nodded.
I was determined to get this right. Before my third try, I breathed into my belly and pushed my fingers together. The screeching whistle that exploded startled even me.
Jessica’s gaze darted up to the stands, and when she saw me lower my hands from my mouth, she grinned. Her thumbs-up sign made me proud.
Dane thumped my back. “Well done, Teo—you’re a natural. Should’ve predicted that with your singer pipes.”
My tall girlfriend stood heads above her competitors as she stepped up on the block. The crowd quieted before the start. Once the beep sounded, she rocketed into the water and emerged ahead of everyone to take her first stroke.
“She’s got an awesome underwater pullout,” Dane said.
“What’s that?”
“Here, watch this.” He pointed to the other end of the pool, where she turned and pushed off underwater. “In breaststroke, the underwater pullout is when you take one pull and one kick before you surface. I made sure Jess’s legs are really strong, so she crushes her walls.”
“You trained her?” I asked.
He nodded. “Back in my high school gym,
I used to set her for hours. Her coordination’s shit—she could never get a good hit—but all those jumps really help her off her walls.” His chest puffed out.
I watched her torso rise and surge forward with each stroke for eight lengths. She was so powerful, so fluid, so elegant in the water. It was no surprise when she touched the wall first, about five seconds before Pittsburgh’s top breaststroker.
I megaphoned my hands around my mouth. “Way to go, Jess!”
She looked up at me and waved. She barely seemed winded.
Seven hours later, she was the one cheering for me. We’d just finished playing “Hey, Chica,” and the small crowd gathered to see us produced an impressive volume of claps and cheers. Jessica raised her fist and shouted “Yeah!” before high-fiving Elyse. Mackenzie was also there, hanging out with Dane, Josh, Emma, and Kaylee. Johnny stood to the side of the stage, surveying everyone, with Karen and the backup agents stationed around the club.
I grabbed the microphone. “Thanks for coming out tonight! We’re Sugar High.”
“Woohoo!” someone yelled.
Next on the play list was a song I’d written a couple of years ago: “You Steal Me.” When we got to the refrain, Fitch went nuts on the drums.
You break me
I’m broken
You take me
I’m token
You steal me
You feel me?
You steal me
Fucking steal me
I couldn’t believe people were dancing. To my music. To a song I’d written. I’d never felt so high—I never wanted the song to end. But when it did, the cheers whisked away my insecurity like insulin flushing sugar from my blood.
“That’s Ryne Fitcherson on drums!” I turned and gestured to my bandmate, who boosted his Cubs hat high to acknowledge his fans.
We started our rock version of “Let it Go,” and I watched people’s faces light up once they recognized the fairy-tale melody. Their laughter seemed to enliven their dance moves. But I frowned when I looked at Jessica and saw a guy grooving next to her. He’d swept up his brown hair in a little bun. Who the hell was that? Oh, no—it was Man Bun! I almost botched the lyrics as I watched their interaction. Was he flirting with her? Was he gay? The way he shimmied his body next to hers kept me guessing.
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