Page 188 of Fake it ’Til Fall

I keep going.

“They didn’t. One of them laughed. Said her name. Said things no one should say about anyone, let alone a woman who was about to have her whole life turned into locker-room currency.”

The rain hits the windows harder now.

“I hit him first,” I say. “Then the other one came at me. Then the assistant coach tried to pull me off. By the time someone started filming, all anyone saw was me putting two men on the floor and shoving a coach into the wall.”

Daisy’s eyes shine.

I hate that too.

“I could’ve explained it,” I say. “Would have, if she wanted me to. I told the league I’d testify. Told her father. Told my agent. If she pressed charges, I’d say exactly what I heard. Names. Words. Everything.”

“But she didn’t want to be part of it,” Daisy says.

No judgment.

Just understanding.

“No.”

Daisy closes her eyes.

I stare at the donor table because it’s easier than looking at her when she’s seeing me like this.

“She had already had enough taken from her,” I say. “So I shut up. Took the suspension. Took the headlines. Took the anger-management tour and the interviews and the think pieces about whether men like me should be allowed back near the sport.”

I swallow.

It does nothing.

“They called me violent. Unstable. Dangerous. Maybe they weren’t completely wrong. I used my fists because that’s what I had. That’s what I knew. I’m not proud of that.”

Daisy opens her eyes.

“But I’m not sorry I stopped them from laughing—or from posting the video.”

Silence.

That’s the whole room now.

Rain. Puck breathing. Daisy watching me.

I expect her to look at me differently.

She does.

But not the way other people do.

Not careful. Not afraid.

Like something in the room has finally been named, and she hates that I had to carry it alone.

“You protected her,” Daisy says.

“I hit two guys.”

“You protected her,” she insists.