Pain & Redemption

by Kat Kenyon

  “Ffff, I…”

  “Son, you’ve hit teammates and been in a fight with someone on the soccer team. You’re volatile in practice and let’s just say, you’re hanging on by the skin of your teeth. Now, in some instances, I appreciate your reasoning. But, Tyler, you aren’t the kid I saw six months ago. You’re still delivering on field, that’s why you still have a chance. Appreciate it. It isn’t the end of the world, plenty of people have things to work out. As for your classes, we’ll get you extra help. I know how much Rayne was helping all of you.” Coach Mills leans back in his chair. “I get the impression all my men miss that girl.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, Coach, they do. And it’s my fault she isn’t around anymore.” I’m not going to hide from this. No more hiding from my fuckups.

  “Maybe, son, but we all screw up in life. The question is, do we handle it like men? Do we grow from it?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Will you now?” His eyes are unflinching as they lock on mine, piercing, expectant.

  “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  He smiles, slaps his hands on his thighs, leans across the desk, and hands me a card. “Good. You have an appointment in an hour. You’ll be missing tape review, so you’ll do it on your own time. Be the man and leader I need you to be.” He gestures toward the door. “Now get the hell outta my office.”

  • • • •

  This is a terrible idea. I’m sitting in this chair and staring at the idiot therapist. The fake vanilla and lavender scent annoys me. It’s cloying and clings to the air, irritating me rather than relaxing me.

  “Let’s talk about how you started playing football. Your dad played football too, right?”

  She smiles expectantly like I should be excited to talk about this. She’s talking about shit I do not want to talk about. My childhood is irrelevant. Why my dad’s a dick seems pretty useless to the problem at hand.

  “He was on the team. He didn’t get to play. He’s still pissed about it like a douchebag asshole. Other than that, I don’t know why.”

  Lisa Vaan sighs and leans back, her smile now gone.

  I don’t know what she wants from me, I mean, how should I know why Dad is a dick? How do I feel about it…Really, what does it matter? Dad will never impact my actions again, and with Mom backing me up finally, and a little help from my granddad, I don’t need to give a shit what he wants. He’s a non-factor as far as I’m concerned. I want to talk about Rayne and how to help her.

  Today’s entire therapy session pisses me off and her goddamn “homework” assignment is dangerous for everyone. I don’t see how this is helping me. Instead, her homework is going to lead to a fight. One I’m not backing down from this time.

  Coach Mills and Mom demanded I do whatever the therapist says, but it always leaves me postal. Today, she wants me to call and talk to Dad. The same father who has left more messages threatening to cut me off. So, instead of ending practice feeling some relief, I want to hit something because I have to make the call and send my crazy therapist a “report” email.

  Not to mention, being in another ice bath after practice isn’t helping my mood. I’m beat to fuck, waiting for the trainer to tell me I’m done. A walking battlefield of physical bruises and mental landmines, the mess that is my life litters the landscape of my mind, from my family to my girl, and fucking Robert Frost.

  Yes, seriously. A poet is on my shit list today.

  My writing class had us read and turn in a paper on a poem and I pulled “Fire and Ice.” I feel every line of it. The destruction of my world ending in my desire and her hate. I’ve perished twice but it sure as hell doesn’t suffice—Not for me.

  I’m not giving up, but I know I have to get my act together for both of us. And I will. I’ll get it together and be what she needs and maybe, just maybe she’ll give me another chance. At least that’s what I’m hoping as I sit freezing my balls off.

  My world’s ended in ice without her. She won’t talk to me, she won’t look at me, she hates me. She’s icing me out. Dismissed.

  I preferred her passion, our fire. All of it ended because of my fear. It’s a harsh thing to realize it’s all on you. That you blew it.

  That I failed.

  “Time.” Our trainer taps the side of the cryo bath and nods to the door. I’m up and out of the freezer with a towel around my waist fast. These baths are necessary because they help with muscle fatigue, but they aren’t fun, and I’ve had too many of them lately.

  Walking to my locker, I get the feeling I’m not alone. The sense of being watched feels like a breath on my skin, but there’s nothing but closed lockers, bins, and standard equipment. It looks empty, yet that crackling energy trailing up my spine telling me someone’s here is as strong as a bullhorn ringing in my head.

  The idea I’m being toyed with leaves my hair standing on end. I’m too tired for this shit as I open my locker. I don’t have the energy to play hide-and-seek.

  Fuck ’em.

  It’s an uncomfortable feeling, and they’ve earned a bitch slap for playing games. The hazing and bullshit have leveled off, but some guys still push their luck. I’m in no mood, and pulling stupid shit now is asking for a beatdown.

  Therapy hasn’t made me sweet.

  It’s late, and I want to get back to the football house. As I’m pulling up my pants, I feel someone behind me. My fist clenches instinctively, ready to teach the person behind me about boundaries.

  But when I turn, I’m face-to-face with my first mistake and my heart drops, pounding into my twisting stomach.

  Valerie knows I want nothing to do with her, not since she pushed me after the game in Oregon. The trainers say I had a concussion, but it’s still my fault. That doesn’t mean she’s blameless. She knew I didn’t want her then, and she knows I don’t want to see her now.

  I see her the same way I see Shay. Enemy.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  She’s in a closed locker room, standing too close, in a tiny dress with her tits hanging out. I can see what’s going on in her head and it is. Not. Happening. I haven’t touched anyone since Rayne walked away and I’m not going to start now.

  “I wanted to talk to you and the front desk let me know the room was clear.” Val brushes her blond hair back with a grin. She thinks it’s sexy, but it isn’t. Not anymore. It feels desperate.

  Why didn’t you notice that before?

  Slamming my locker, I step past her. “You don’t come into a men’s locker room to talk. And you know I have nothing to say to you.” Slipping my T-shirt over my head, I nod to the door and reach for the socks sitting in my bag. “So, get the fuck out.”

  Girls have been hitting on me daily since news of my breakup hit the social media sites. They’ve been vicious about Rayne and no matter what I post, they’re horrible. No one listens to what I say, but I keep saying it.

  It was my fault.

  I don’t want a hookup, blow job, hand job, kiss, or sympathy. I want nothing from any of them. What I want, only one person can give.

  Breaking into my thoughts, Val’s whine grates on my nerves. “It’s not my fault you don’t have a girlfriend anymore! Why won’t you talk to me? I’m trying to help you right now.”

  “Seriously?” I look up and stare at her.

  She lifts her chin and looks down her nose as I sit on the bench.

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be serious?” Uh, because she’s a screaming psycho. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. You wouldn’t talk to me any other way, so here I am.”

  “Dressed to talk?” I nod dismissively at her, pulling on my socks.

  Smoothing her dress down her hips, she smiles. “Dressed to make a point.”

  Shit!

  “Dressed to leave. I don’t want you. I don’t want to talk to you. Not before, not now. Everything that happened between you and me was a fucking mistake. That’s on me, but that means I’m not gonna repeat it,” I say, tying my shoes.

  She�
��s making me nervous. I’m not going to touch her and I’m not giving her a chance to touch me.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” she complains, as I grab my bags and bolt for Coach Mills’ office. I know he’s there. He’s always there and I need someone to help me. This isn’t normal. I need witnesses.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Ty?” Her voice rises an octave as she follows behind me, and I can almost taste the crazy leaking into the air.

  Stable girls don’t pull this shit. Coach is always warning us to watch out for the girls who track us too closely, who are too interested too early, and damn if Coach wasn’t right.

  I know the closed door means to knock, but I don’t. Grabbing the knob, I push through his door without warning, letting out the breath I’m holding when I see three of the coaching staff inside. They’re startled and annoyed, but Coach sees what’s behind me and his eyes widen.

  “Coach, could I have a moment?”

  “Yeah, son.” He waves me in and stares at Val. “Young lady I have no idea what you think you’re doing back here, but unless you have something to ask me, you need to get out.”

  I don’t turn around. I have no desire to see the nightmare I escaped from.

  Chapter Six

  Rayne Mathews

  I’ve been sitting in the dean’s waiting room for over a half hour. It’s quiet except for the rapid clicking of the secretary’s keyboard and the faint breathing of myself, Kinnerk, and Tate.

  They didn’t have to come, but they both insisted. I think she actually got mad when I suggested she stay at the dorm, and Kinnerk says it’s his job as my RA, so they’re both waiting with me for these assholes to make up their minds.

  I’m glad they’re here, especially since I can feel what’s coming. It’s been four days. Four days since Gabe got his hands on me again. Four days since Tegs and Tate saw him hit me, my head hitting the wall the second time. Since Tegs had to carry me out of the building bleeding and take me to the campus clinic to get checked out.

  I needed five stitches in the back of my head, and because the report was called in by the doctor on duty, campus police had to take our statements seriously this time. With the knots on the back of my head and the monster black eye, it should be hard to dismiss this as just me being overly sensitive. Yet, I’m being hauled in for a “discussion” by the administration. Everything feels wrong about this. I have witnesses and injuries, so I shouldn’t need to be here. That tells me he’s going to get off.

  We should have been in the office twenty minutes ago, but I’m still startled when the door finally opens. Tate’s hand closes over my shaking ones. In the doorway, the men’s soccer coach stands to shake the dean’s hand. When he sees me, he drops his head and races out.

  I knew it!

  “Miss Mathews.” The dean beckons me toward the office, his eyes narrowing when I stay in my seat.

  “No, sir, just say it out here. You’re letting him off even though he attacked me. Again.”

  The dean’s secretary looks up, a look of surprise and discomfort crossing her face, the soft clicking of her keys silenced as she stops to watch.

  “Miss Mathews, these matters should be discussed privately. If you would—” I can almost see him cranking over ideas on how to shut me down.

  “No. This isn’t private to me. You’re keeping him even though he’s assaulted me twice on campus and harassed me all semester. Because what, he’s a star soccer player? I’m sure if I check, his dad donated money too.”

  The dean pinches the bridge of his nose, but his lips press together in a hard line.

  “He’s been ordered to stay away from you. Obviously, he isn’t capable of being around you and behaving. He’s to stay away from your dorm, your key buildings, and stay fifty yards away from you.”

  I stand, my body feels like a vibrating speaker threatening to blow from the pressure. Tate grabs my shaking hand, Kinnerk stands at my back and yet I feel…alone.

  “When he puts me back in the hospital or kills me, it’ll be on you.”

  Shock flashes across the dean’s face. For a brief moment his hand rises, palm facing me as if trying to calm me down, but it falls to his side suddenly.

  The whole thing makes me sick. I don’t wait to hear what else the son of a bitch has to say. I walk out of his office and out of the building.

  I knew better than to think anything will change. He never gets held responsible for anything.

  I give up. He’s coming no matter what.

  Not waiting for the elevator, I race down the emergency stairs, and away from the building, but I don’t get far.

  Kinnerk and Tate are on me fast. Kinnerk knew he was a threat, so did Tate, but I never told either how serious the past incident was with Gabe. I’d only told Director Mason, Bay, and Tyler. But, even what I told them isn’t the full picture.

  Kinnerk’s more furious about the administration not kicking Gabe off campus than not being told my whole story and hugs me tight, then takes off to tell Director Mason. He wants a plan. Not that it’ll help.

  Not so with Tate. She’s pissed. She hugs and shakes me, telling me I’m a bitch for not trusting her. Gabe should die and she’ll kill him for me, are just some of the things that pour out of her mouth as she practically screams at me, tears pouring down her face.

  And all I want is Ty. Which just makes me angry at myself.

  I still miss Tyler.

  As soon as we get back to the dorm, I text Bay. I know I shouldn’t, I should leave him in peace, but I need to dance. I know I’ve already worked out and done classes, but pent-up aggression and hurt needs release and the hardwood is my space.

  He answers on the second ring and agrees to take me to an empty practice room in Dixon. I press end for the call, knowing I only have a couple minutes before he shows up.

  Like I’ve done for days, I head to the bathroom to cover up the black eye for the third time today. The swelling isn’t great, but it’s better. Fortunately, stage makeup is one of the skills years in dance taught me, and it covers black eyes. Unless you are really looking at my face, you can’t see, especially since I’ve been letting my hair fall over my face and making sure to look away from everyone.

  Looking in my own eyes, I repeat, “You can do this.”

  I have to do this. I’ll focus on the good parts of every day and keep myself busy and safe.

  When a knock on the door lets me know Bay’s arrived, I gather all my stuff. It’s time to learn last-minute choreography. I can always use the practice.

  • • • •

  Days later, I’m still using every moment, filling it full. My knowledge of the routine is solid, and now I just need to make it look good.

  I’m pouring sweat. I don’t know how long I’ve been on the hardwood, but I’m still spinning inside, so, not long enough. Day after day I try to make myself do all the things I’m supposed to do, and check marks line my to-do list.

  “Rayne, when’s your performance?” Bay asks when I pause to reset the eight count. “Have you eaten?”

  “Next week, and yes.” I lean down and wipe imaginary lint off my leg. Stretching my leg behind me, I get into position, muscles hot and tired, but locking movement into my body’s memory.

  Five, six, seven, eight.

  “I think everyone is coming. You hungry yet?”

  He’s broken into my silence a few times. Which is fine I guess, but it’s getting more persistent, more frequent.

  Dropping my arms from position, I sigh. “No, I’m not hungry. Bay, do you have something you wanna say?”

  My blue eyes meet his jade ones. A crease between his brows has grown each day he brings me here and now it looks like a canyon.

  “I’m worried about you.” His sigh matches mine as the textbook he’s been reading hits the floor.

  This is the fourth day in a row he’s dropped his life to help me, and I’m grateful, I am, so I bite my tongue, waiting for him to finish his thought.

  “You’ve
had me bring you here all week and I know you’re here more often than that. You’re losing weight. You’re not looking healthy, or…” A black look crosses his face before he adds, “I’d like to kill your ex, but you won’t let me, and you won’t let me tell—”

  I cut him off fast. “You better not tell anyone!”

  The last thing I need is anyone else getting involved. It wouldn’t change anything and would just add to the pressure.

  I’m barely holding off the team from being all over me now. Mike and Kevin caught me a couple of times, making me feel guilty as hell. We got close, and they’re angry that they’re being punished for something they didn’t do. Which is fair. I’m just trying to decide who to trust, who I can be close to without putting people in the middle. I just can’t deal with their anger on top of my own shit.

  “Rayne!” His hurt and worry are clear, dragging me back to one of my best friends.

  “Bay, I’m just trying to get ready for a performance. A big one.”

  The lie feels like dust in my mouth, and he isn’t stupid. He knows it. Shaking his shaggy blond hair. It’s grown out over the months since school started, falling around his face in waves, and his bulk has increased significantly, but it’s his weary tone that is the biggest change.

  “Okay, but when you wanna talk…”

  “You’ll be the first to know.” Rescuffing my leather toe, I notice I probably need a new pair of dance slippers. These are wearing out.

  “Rayne.”

  I don’t want to discuss the pain in my head from hitting the wall, the ache in my cheekbone from getting hit, or the hurt in my scalp from where he pulled out my hair, leaving missing sections. I don’t want to talk about the terror of knowing he’s coming for me, or about the gaping wound Ty’s absence left.

  Where I miss him.

  Where I need him.

  Where I still cry every night.

  Where all the pain and fear demand I run…but I can’t.

  He said he’d come, but I can’t tell him.

  He’s not mine.

  “I hear you,” I say, giving him a weak smile and glancing away before I can see the worry or pity in his eyes.