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“He hates me,” she whispers.
I look to her and wait.
“We were engaged, me and Enoch.” Tears build in her eyes. “We didn’t tell anyone, not even our parents because we didn’t want to worry them. They have all these visions for us, some we shared, but our main one was just... us. We already leased a house just outside Oakland, he’d train during the day, I’d go to school, and we’d have our nights together.” Her last words break off in a full cry and she turns away from me, so I focus on the TV.
Several minutes later she shares, “I ruined everything. He’s hurt, acting out. I think he slept with Giana Fritz to get back at me for...” Her eyes find mine. “We were virgins when we met and were supposed to be each other’s only. That’s what we wanted.”
I pull the paper from my front pocket and walk over to her bed, slowly lowering myself on the mattress near the foot.
She glares at it, her lips trembling. “Please tell me he didn’t see that.”
“He did,” I tell her softly. “He was worried, and he knew about your diary. He took it after the paramedics carted you away.”
“I probably seem like such a selfish bitch, making everything about myself.” Her tears fall angrily. “No one was supposed to see that.”
“But he’s not just anyone.”
“No,” she whispers. “He’s not.” She sniffles, rolling the blanket between her fingers. “I wasn’t... I mean, I didn’t try to kill myself,” she swears. “Everything just... hurt and I wanted it to go away for a little while. So stupid.” Her eyes flick to the ceiling, tears falling down her cheek. “Nobody will believe that, but it’s the truth.”
“They might,” I say quietly, knowing I can’t assure of something that might not be true.
It takes her several minutes, but she shares what she’s been holding in. “The fight with Coach Von? It wasn’t Enoch.”
I try to hold in my frown, because if that’s true, it’s news to all of us.
“I knew something was coming, because he did bust the scoreboard, but he didn’t touch his coach. He can’t even look at him, let alone be in the same place as him. That was his mentor, and I was his fiancée. Can you imagine the pain from such a low blow, because I can’t.” She looks away. “I’m a slut.”
“How do you know if you don’t remember?” I ease, asking an open question since she’s led us to it.
“Because Enoch showed me the photo.”
I shift closer. “What photo?”
“The one of me in Coach Von’s office. We were sitting on his couch... and my dress was on the floor beside it.”
“You don’t remember taking it?”
“I don’t even remember undressing,” she whispers with a shake of her head. “I’m shy, Brielle. Self-conscious. It took me a long time to let go and be... uninhibited with Enoch, and I love him. It makes no sense. One minute I was helping Coach grade papers after school, and the next thing I know, my eyes were peeling open. I was sleeping on the couch and he was where I remember, behind his desk and teasing me for falling asleep.”
My brows furrow. “Grading papers?”
She nods. “I helped him a few times the week before, but I didn’t go back after that. It was the very next morning Enoch broke up with me.” Her eyes hit mine. “I had gone over to Enoch’s after I left the school that night.” She begins to cry again. “I had sex with my man, and apparently only hours after having sex with his mentor.”
I scoot toward her, wrapping her in a hug and she lets me, gripping my arms and crying into my chest.
This is wrong, but I can’t say this to her yet.
We need proof, especially when the truth will ease her mind, while in turn damaging her soul.
She cries for several minutes, and when she pulls back, she looks up at me with a small smile. “Will you find my mom and dad?”
Tears build in my eyes, and I nod.
I guarantee they are right outside, waiting for the moment their baby girl will welcome them in, and as I step out... I find I’m right.
But they aren’t alone.
Royce is there, too.
We send them inside, and the look of gratitude lighting both their faces is one I’ll never forget.
I tell them everything she told me and when I’m finished, I turn to Royce for the hard part.
“It has to be me.”
His glare is sharp and instant. “What has to be you?”
“To get the proof.”
His head tips slightly and then his eyes bug and a hollow, short laugh escapes him. “No. Fuck to the motherfuckin’ no.”
I step up to him, and he stretches his shoulders wide, but the longer he stares, the more he eases.
A growled sigh leaves him, and he lifts his hands to wrap them around my neck, his thumbs under my chin and tilting it up. “He asked you to grade papers after school on your first day here.”
