Page 18 of Forever Relentless

Noah looked down at his boots and back up at me. “This? This is who I am.”

I’d been angry two minutes ago. Now I was arguing about whether he was flirting with me. I didn’t know exactly when that happened.

“Oh my God, you’re exasperating.” I pushed my hair off my face and took a step forward. “We’re done. You need to leave.”

“Why did they target Mason if Tiffany didn’t name him?” His voice was soft, quiet, but firm.

I almost stopped breathing. He went from flirty-ish to deadly serious in a heartbeat.

“The night she was attacked,” I couldn’t believe I was telling him. “She went to Mason.”

“She was scared?”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

His look was searching. “You don’t know, do you?”

I bit back my anger. “I wasn’t there.”

“Your brother said she was scared, or she was actually scared?”

“Both.” My voice was like steel.

“Why did she go to Mason? Why not the cops?”

I gave him a flat look. “Why did campus police tell the star QB and the national championship-winning linebacker to go back to their dorm the night campus police caught them fighting with their teammates and broke up the fight?”

He smirked, his eyebrows raising. “Right.”

“Right. Exactly.”

“The town police would have listened; they aren’t campus security.”

“Would they?” I held his stare in challenge.

“I want to say I hope they would.”

“Yeah. Hope is a dangerous thing on this campus.” We stared at each other across my apartment. “We done?”

“She went to Mason, but both of them could have said he did nothing. Why didn’t they?”

I broke eye contact, shaking my head and tipping it back, my eyes on the ceiling.

“Do you think it’s that simple?” I asked him, lowering my gaze to meet his one last time. “Do you think they went to Mason’s dorm room and said, ‘Hey, you assaulted this girl, off you go, we want nothing to do with you,’ and he just packed his bags and left?”

“No, I—”

“Do you think they said to Tiffany, ‘Oh, it’s so sad that some fucker raped you. Here, we packed all your shit. Off you go, don’t come back.’ And she went?”

“No,” he growled. “I don’t. I’m asking you what the fuck happened.”

I stopped. I hadn’t meant to say that much.

“And I’m telling you it’s nothing to do with you. You’re in this school, in this program, and nothing you do will change what happened to my brother or to Tiffany. Because, let’s face it, Matthews, you said it yourself — the only person who is invested in your future as much as you are, is you.”

We glared at each other, and I felt . . . awake.

“You told me you’re having trouble with the head coach, well, boo hoo. Whatever I uncover here doesn’t affect you. Players are protected by the NCAA unless they are directly involved. Your coach is a bastard, and I will see him pay. So when I say that all of this has nothing to do with you, I mean it, and, more importantly, you don’t want to be involved.”