Page 136 of Breakaway Hearts

“I’m over it,” I assure him. “But I still played with them for fun, went on the ski trip to Fulton’s family cabin…some people were jealous and called me the team’s little mascot, others labelled me the most prolific puck bunny at St. Anne’s, but I didn’t even kiss any of them until our junior year.”

Even spin the bottle, I’d say it was like kissing my brothers, so I got exemptions or didn’t play.

“First time Trevor took me out, he asked my mom and everything.” I was a smitten idiot, but I look up to see how Owen is taking it. Trevor hated when I talked about other guys who weren’t on the team, which I thought meant he really liked me.

“It was never official. He never asked me to be his girlfriend, or to be his date to the Spring Formal, but he wouldn’t dance with anyone else. Didn’t even really flirt, at least not when I was around. He was my first, and honestly, he made it better than you’d expect for a seventeen-year-old.”

Owen must think I’m nervously babbling. Probably wondering why I’m telling him, but it feels important to explain.

“He often had parties when his parents went out of town. I’d help him hide the China, then put everything back the way it was. I was one of those boring goody-two-shoes who didn’t drink because I wasn’t legal…I was also afraid of not being in control, but I never mentioned that part.” I don’t even think Jason knows that it started long before that night, when I had my wisdom teeth removed and lost a huge chunk of my day. I hated that feeling.

“When Trevor offered me a drink, I told him I was good, but he said he made it for me special, not a drop of alcohol. It was that old orange drink they used to have at sports day? Not sure why they discontinued it, but his mom had a huge stash of the powder, and it was my favorite drink.

“We went upstairs and made out, but I started feeling dizzy not long after he unzipped my dress. It was like there was a fog and it took everything I had to keep my eyes open.” I pause, remembering the thoughts in my head when I realized what was happening. “I knew I’d been roofied; I grew up with warnings about leaving your drinks unattended and all those cautionary tales. But I wasn’t as afraid as I should have been. It sucked, but I thought it was lucky it happened to me, when I was with someone I trust, rather than one of the girls who came alone, who wouldn’t have anyone to make sure nothing bad happened to her.” I take a deep breath, but warm tears coat my cheeks as Owen holds himself back from reaching for me.

“He didn’t look surprised. He looked like he was expecting it, and I remember thinking it made no sense, that I’d come up here to have sex with him, he had no reason to drug me…but then some of his teammates came in with older guys I didn’t know. They cheered when he lowered my dress and took off my bra. He leaned close for that, and whispered that it was okay, that I wouldn’t remember anything.”

Owen lets out a curse that sounds like ‘What the fuck?’ but I can’t stop, can’t dwell, can’t make this take any longer than it has to.

“Apparently, sharing with your teammates is tradition.”

“No it fucking isn’t.” Owen is barely containing his anger, the apology written all over his face.

“For some of the guys at Berwick, it is.” I sigh. “You don’t remember what happens when you’re roofied, so I held onto that. I repeated it to myself like a mantra while they left me lying on the bed, stomach and breasts exposed, while they hyped each other up and…had fun.” I take a series of breaths, because I don’t want to cry, I want to get this out, so I never have to say it again. “I kept waiting to pass out, to not feel it…but I felt everything.” I look at Owen. “And I remember, not that I knew it then. I tried to disassociate, because even as I saw it happening, it didn’t make sense that he would do that to me.”

Owen’s fists are clenched, and the fury on his face should scare me, but I press on.

“Just before Trevor passed me on to the others, Jason barged into the room, practically tearing the door off its hinges. He took one look at me on the bed, surrounded by assholes, picked me up, and carried me out of there.”

I swallow and try to regulate my breathing, but I feel like sobbing.

“I am so sorry that happened to you, Madison. That someone…” He can’t even say the words out loud. “I understand if you don’t want to, but you’re shaking and…can I hold you?”

I want to say I’m good, that it would only make things worse, but maybe I need to fall apart.

I don’t nod so much as crumble into Owen as he pulls me close, holding me safe in his arms like he did after the game. He tries to comfort me, but I’m pacing myself to share what happened next.

“Jason wanted to go back and kill them, but I asked him not to leave me.” Or grabbed at him in a panic until he promised he wouldn’t.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was like he broke me. Not just my body, but my brain couldn’t accept that someone I—that he’d done that. I wanted to go home and forget about it, pretend nothing ever happened, but they said they’d done it before, that it was a rite of passage they’d do again…somebody had to stop them.”

Owen holds my hand as I take more deep breaths.

“The first cop was really nice. He was young, he let Jason stay with me, and when I said the other guys didn’t actually put their hands on me—he told me it was still assault, and emphasized that I’d done nothing wrong. He said all the right things, until he asked for the names of everyone who was in the room. About halfway through naming them, a more senior cop came and said he’d handle things. He basically told me I was wrong, it never happened, and if it did, the courts would determine I’d asked for it. Jay talked to some of his teammates, to back me up, assuming everyone in the room must have been as horrified by what was happening as he was, but no one would corroborate, and his coach asked him to stop poking around, to just stick to the story and not jeopardize the team’s future. Jason quit hockey and never looked back.”

Until this season.

“Fucking rapist assholes,” Owen says under his breath. “I’m sorry, I just…fuck, no wonder you hate us.”

“Especially rich, talented, star forwards that coaches and local cops would rather cover up rape for than risk angering fans and donors. You would be untouchable,” I point out.

“I would never,” he tells me. “Do that, or let it happen.”

“I believe you,” I assure him, without mentioning that I would also have believed Trevor if he’d told me that before he did it.

“My dad wouldn’t call in favors if any of us did something like that. He would cart me off to jail himself.”