by Shauna Allen
I swallowed and looked down at my blank notepad. I met his eyes, impressed by his courage. “No. In most cases, there is no statute of limitations on that type of child abuse in the state of Texas. It did happen here?”
He nodded.
“You said when you were eleven . . . how many years ago was that?”
He seemed to calm some now that I was asking pertinent questions for his case and not offering pity. “Fourteen years ago.”
I began writing furiously as my legal brain kicked in. “Who was it? Do you know a full name?” I knew in most cases, family members were the culprit, but I didn’t want to assume.
“Oh, I remember everything,” he said bitterly. “It was the guy I idolized above everyone that summer. My baseball coach, Larry Sanders.”
My eyes snapped up to his. “Larry Sanders?” My heart thumped painfully against my ribs. He’d coached my brother. The thought of his access to boys sickened me.
“Yes. He molested me five times before I quit the team.”
I held back the bile that rose in my throat as he laid out, in disgusting detail, what exactly he’d endured at the hands of someone he trusted.
“Did you say anything back then? To anybody?” A fourteen-year-old case of molestation would be hard to prove when it was just his word against the coach.
He shook his head sadly. “No. I was too ashamed.” He peered up at me. “I still am, but I’m taking my life back. He did that. He did that to me and he deserves to pay for it.”
“Okay, Mr. Price. I will start looking into what we can do. My assistant has your contact information, so I’ll get back with you soon.” I paused for breath as I suddenly felt light-headed, but strangely right. This was exactly why I was leaving the firm. To help people like Jason Price. “Now, I should let you know that I’ve resigned here at Chaseman and Moretti and I’m moving to a different, smaller firm. I’d be happy to represent you in my new office, but if you’d like to stay here, I can refer you to one of my colleagues.”
I held my breath and waited.
He shook his head. “No. I’m comfortable with you.”
I smiled and stood, offering him my hand again. “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to go through that, but I’ll do my best to help you.”
“I appreciate that.” He and his wife stood and made their way out.
I slumped back in my seat and stared blankly out the window. How could ugliness like that exist in the world? I felt a world of pity for Jason, the little boy. Visions of my brother at that age, five years older than me, filtered through my mind and I did rough calculations. It would’ve been possible . . .
No.
I yanked up the phone without thinking anything through. My brother answered his cell on the fourth ring. “Rach?”
“Hey, West.” My voice trembled.
“What’s up?”
I inhaled a big breath. I was treading the line of lawyer-client privilege here, but I wasn’t sure how to stop myself. “Didn’t Larry Sanders coach you when you were little?”
He paused and I could see the confusion marring his brow. “Uh, yeah.”
“And he was nice to you? Nothing . . . bad . . . ever happened? Right?”
“No. In fact, I barely remember him. I only took baseball one year because I sucked, remember? I spent more time on the bench than playing and Mom finally let me quit.”
“Oh. Good.” My breath whooshed out of me. “That’s good.”
“What’s this all about, Rach? Why are you calling me in the middle of a workday to ask about something like that?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, praying to finagle my way out of this now. “I can’t really say. I’m just glad nothing . . . I’m happy you’re okay.”
“Okay.” I could still hear the confusion in his voice.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later. I love you.”
“Love you, too, Sis.”
My heart warmed at his words and we hung up. I dropped my head into my hands as adrenalin continued to course through me.
Then, in a flash, the most horrid thought occurred to me. Without another thought, I grabbed my purse and ran out of the office.
I did not stop until I pulled up in front of Jack ‘Em Up. My Audi skidded to a stop in front of their open garage doors and I leapt out.
My heels clicked loudly on the concrete floors as I ran inside, my eyes searching.
“Whoa, hey,” Blake intercepted me as I nearly ran into him. He steadied me by my upper arms. “Where’s the fire?” The humor dropped from his eyes once he looked at me. “Rachel? What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Trace?”
“Trace?” He looked utterly confused. “You’re not here for Jesse?”
“No! Where is he?” I was beginning to feel desperate.
Jesse and Micah strolled out of the office and simultaneously froze when they saw me. “Rachel?” Jesse said, his voice laced with concern.
“I need to speak with Trace,” I said again. “Now.”
The man I was looking for ambled out of the office behind them, a soda in his hands. “Hey, Rachel, what’s up? You looking for me?”
“Yes.” I bypassed a very confused looking Jesse and tugged Trace back into the office, shutting the door. I faced him, my hands now shaking. God, please, no . . .
“Trace. I’m breaking about a dozen laws by being here and risking being disbarred, but I don’t . . . I have to . . .” I paused to catch my breath.
“Hold up a sec. Nothing could be that bad.”
I met his golden-green eyes. “Yes. It can be that bad.”
His brows turned down. “What?”
Taking a fortifying breath, I held his gaze. “Doesn’t Ryder play Little League?” My gut churned as his face morphed from blank openness, to shock, to fear.
“Yes. Why?”
“I recently came into some information . . . please don’t ask me for details . . .”
“What information?” His voice rose as if he was feeding off my panic.
My gaze darted to the vinyl chairs behind him, worn with cracked gray seats. “Who’s his coach?”
His head tilted as he regarded me strangely. Obviously trying to figure out what this was all about. “Brian Rogers. Why, Rachel?” He took a step in my direction. “Is there something I need to know?”
I blinked as relieved tears pooled in my eyes. I really loved Ryder and the thought of him being around a monster had put me into a full-blown panic. “So, not Larry Sanders?”
His eyes widened. “No. Not anymore . . . He started with Coach Sanders last year, but his Parkinson’s got too bad so he had to give up coaching . . .” The door swung open mid-sentence.
“Hey, guys—” Jesse interrupted, his blue eyes wide as they darted between us. “What about Coach Sanders?” He focused on Trace as something seemed to click, all color leaving his face. “What’s going on?” He faced me. “Rachel?”
“Uh . . .” I stuttered, wondering if I left things at this if I had succeeded in easing my conscious and honoring my client’s privacy. “It’s nothing. It’s fine.” But was it? How many boys had this happened to? I felt dirty and I hadn’t even done anything.
Jesse swallowed thickly. “Trace. Can I have a minute with Rachel?”
Trace nodded, his face still a bit confused. “Sure.” He slipped out quietly, clicking the door closed behind him.
Jesse sighed and leaned against the edge of the desk. I watched as he seemed to compose himself, but I wasn’t sure why. I think I’d done a pretty good job of keeping a lid on all this. Ryder was safe and I was free to proceed with legal action with the Prices.
His head still hung, Jesse lifted his impossibly blue eyes to mine. “Has something happened? Did Sanders . . . is everything all right?”
I reached out to touch him, to reassure him, but he pulled away. Hurt, I studied him. “Everything is fine. I came after seeing a client today who . . . look, I can’t say more. I’ve already said enough.�
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He rolled his lips between his teeth as if biting back words or fury, it was hard to tell. After a long moment, he nodded once and straightened. “Fair enough.” Then he slammed out the door and I watched him march through the shop and outside.
I was still in shock when he revved his motorcycle violently and whipped out of the lot without a word or backward glance.
What. The. Hell.
Jesse
I could not fucking breathe.
My world was tilting in on its axis and the blackness and shame were threatening to consume me. I had to get away. So I just rode and rode until I found myself in a town I’d never heard of before. I felt my cell phone vibrating in my back pocket, but I ignored it. I just couldn’t . . .
Rachel didn’t need to spell it out, it was obvious by the bit of conversation I’d overheard and her pale face. Coach Sanders, that disgusting fuck, had hurt someone else. Maybe lots more. And I hadn’t done one thing to stop him.
Nobody loves a dirty little boy like you . . . they’ll all know you liked it. Didn’t you?
Thank God Ryder hadn’t been touched, but how many other boys had after me? Why hadn’t I been strong enough to just tell?
I slammed on my brake and skidded to a stop on the side of the highway, sending gravel flying precariously. My cell was vibrating again. I yanked it out with a growl.
U OK baby? I’m worried
Rachel’s text taunted me. God, what a fucking farce my life was. I wasn’t worthy or strong. I was a damn joke.
I didn’t reply. Instead, I tucked the phone away and glanced around me. Dusk was just settling in, bathing the sky in pinks and purples and oranges. It reminded me of something I’d read in one of my books, but I couldn’t place it right then. Out here, the traffic was light, the air clear. A minivan buzzed by, but other than that I was virtually alone.
I rubbed a sweaty hand along my thigh, contemplating what to do. I just wanted to run and never look back. Maybe then the demons that haunted me would wither away and die.
But that would never happen.
No matter where I went, I’d never be able to outrun my ugly truth.
Now, not only was I dirty and tainted, but by my own pussy ass actions, I’d let the terror continue. I was a coward.
I bowed my head as hot tears burned my eyes, quick and fierce.
My phone buzzed yet again. “Fucking, hell!” I drew it out and turned it off, but not before I saw Rachel’s next text: Don’t ignore me . . . I won’t let you . . . I luv u
As much as the horizon beckoned to me, I spun around and headed back. As it was, I’d be lucky to make curfew. Lopez would give me absolute hell.
I roared into the apartment parking lot at two ‘til ten by my watch. I parked and uncoiled from the bike, stowing my helmet. As I rounded to go inside and drown myself in a bottle of whatever we had stocked, a small figure emerged from the darkness.
She was the last person I wanted to see right now. My heart was barely tethered to my body and I could not lose my shit. Not now. Not in front of her. “You didn’t have to come,” I ground out.
Rachel simply stared at me, her dark eyes endless. “Are you all right?”
“Sure.” I tried to side-step her, but she grabbed my arm.
“Jesse Joyner, don’t you lie to me. It doesn’t flatter you.”
I spun on her, all my rage and hurt and despair firing through me on all cylinders. “Just go home, Rachel. I can’t. Not now.”
Her face softened. “I love you. You know that, right? No matter what this is, I still love you.”
I bit back the curses and tears, knowing both would wound her. Even now, I’d do anything to keep her safe. Even if it was from me. But as she stared me down, love and compassion radiating from her, I caved. “Yeah, I know,” I admitted. “I’m just—”
She cut me off by smashing her mouth to mine in a violent kiss. I stood rigid as she assaulted me, until I just couldn’t anymore. On a pained groan, I clutched her to me like a lifeline and dove headlong into her. Our kiss spiraled from passionate to explosive as we clashed tongues and teeth and her hands raced over my back, holding me tightly.
On a ragged breath, she drew back and tucked her face into my neck. “Have you eaten?”
“What?” I glanced down, not expecting her random question.
She peered up at me, still holding me around the waist. “You look like total shit. I’m assuming you didn’t eat.”
She knew me well. I shook my head. “Nah. Not hungry.”
Breaking away, she tugged my hand. “Come on, baby. Let me feed you.”
“And then what?”
The ghost of a smile whispered across her lips. “And then nothing. We’ll work this out.”
If only it was that easy.
But I did need to get inside, so I let her lead me to the door. She gave Micah a little wave as he looked me over. “All good, dude?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Sorry about today. I’ll talk to Blake tomorrow.”
Micah nodded and left Rachel and I alone. She faced me. “Go get a shower. I’ll fix you something to eat.” She shoved me toward the bathroom, not giving me the chance to argue. And, honestly, I was too exhausted to.
After a hot shower, I padded back to the kitchen in just my flannel pajama pants, towel drying my hair. I found Rachel with her hair bundled on her head and her feet bare, stirring something on the stove that smelled heavenly. She turned when she heard me enter the kitchen. “Hey. Feel better?”
Not really. “Yeah.”
She smiled and pointed to the table. “Sit. I hope soup and grilled cheese is okay. You didn’t have much in the pantry.”
“That’s great. Thanks.” I sat and she served me a big bowl of tomato soup and a gooey sandwich cut into fourths. I felt like a kid.
She tucked herself into the chair across from me and watched as I took a bite. “You’re not eating?” I asked.
“No. I ate before I came over.”
“How long were you outside waiting for me?”
“Not long.”
I could tell by the flicker of her gaze that she was lying. I’d worried her and I never meant to do that. I reached across the table and covered her hand. “I’m sorry.”
Dark, pained eyes met mine. “What happened?”
I shook my head and returned to my dinner. She let me sit in silence as I finished eating. Afterward, she picked up my dishes and plopped them into soapy water. Overcome, I stood and wrapped my arms around her from behind. I brushed a kiss to her nape. This was my shit and I was so sorry she was suffering with the brunt of it.
She spun in my arms and cupped my face in her hands, her eyes pleading.
“I don’t think I can . . .” My words were a pained whisper.
She kissed my chin. My temple. “Yes, you can. I’m here. I’ll catch you, protect you, love you. But you’ve gotta trust me, baby.” She held my head firm, making me look her in the eye. “Trust me.”
Trust.
Something I hadn’t fully invested in since that summer. I leaned down until our foreheads were touching and squeezed my eyes shut. If I was going to freefall here, I didn’t want to witness the disgust, or worse yet, pity, in her eyes. “I was ten . . .” I began, haltingly.
She waited patiently, her caresses on my back soothing.
“I was acting up in school. Mom thought I needed an outlet. She signed me up for baseball . . .”
Rachel sucked in a breath. “No.” The word was a pained whisper.
“I was only ten, Rachel.” I faintly realized tears were falling hard and fast, but all of a sudden, it was like a dam burst and I couldn’t stop the words if I tried. The entire sordid affair spilled out of me like vomit, purging me. “I should’ve . . . I couldn’t . . .” I broke down and sobbed and she clutched me to her chest like a mother.
“You did nothing wrong, Jesse. Not a thing. You were a scared kid and he took advantage of you.”
I let her words soothe me as the tears dried up. I peere
d up into her eyes and saw the last thing I expected. Love. Acceptance.
Not pity or even outrage. Just simple love. For me.
“I never thought about the ramifications of keeping my secret, Rachel. Not once did I consider that he’d hurt other kids. If I had, maybe I would’ve said something. Maybe I could’ve prevented . . .”
My words died off as the pain threatened to suck me under again.
“No,” she said. “You can’t blame yourself for what he did.” She tipped up my chin. “Maybe speaking up would’ve stopped him. Maybe nobody would’ve believed an overactive, imaginative child, or maybe he would’ve said you lied and gotten away with it. There’s no telling and you can’t go back now. Only forward.”
“What am I supposed to do now?” I pleaded, my voice high and pained.
She hugged me tighter. “Speak up. You were a victim. There is nothing for you to be ashamed of. Not one damn thing.” Her gaze darted away. “A man and his wife came to me today. He wants to press charges. If you’re up for it, maybe you can join him. Maybe there’re others.”
“Oh, God, Rachel.”
She shushed me with a kiss. “Do not own this, Jesse. Just stand up.”
Could I do that?
As I thought of the other kids on my team that year, every other kid after me, of Ryder, I realized that yes, I could. I would.
Rachel
My heart was literally breaking.
Of all the painful things that I could’ve imagined Jesse suffering, I never would’ve imagined that. It made me physically ill to think about.
I made it through holding him as he cried, his tale of anguish, his palpable pain. Working on ‘take care of him’ mode, I fed him, held him, then tucked him into bed. He begged me to stay for a while, so I let him hold me until his even breathing let me know he was finally asleep.
I brushed a kiss to his cheek and slipped out. Then I finally let the hurt wash through me as I wept. And wept. And wept.
I made it home through my tears, determined to help Jesse through this, as well as any other victim I could.
First thing the next morning, I called Jason Price from the office. He’d lived in Baybridge his whole life, so he knew most everyone, including most of the kids from his baseball team. I asked him if he felt comfortable contacting them to see if there were any other abuse survivors among them. He agreed and by the end of the day, I had four calls from more victims of this Coach Sanders. Who knew how many more were out there? I was utterly disgusted.
