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"Actually," Sig said, leaning in as if sharing a secret, "I’m working on a project about 'restorative justice' for my pre-law seminar. If you’d be willing to give a recorded statement about the locker room culture back then, how the bullying enabled Edwin. It would help my grade. And it would mean a lot to have it on the record."

“Of course. It’s the least I can do,” I agreed instantly. My heart hammered in my chest as I smiled. This was it, my chance at penance.

Sig smiled, his smile was beautiful.

“COME ON IN,” SIG INVITED, swinging the door to his dorm room open.

The frame looked small, most things did to me. So I ducked my head instinctively as I stepped into the room.

“My... he is a tall one.” A voice chimed from the corner. It wasn’t Sig’s. A slender, short guy was perched on the edge of a bed. Most people were shorter than me, but this guy was even shorter than Sig. And Sig was not tall, 5’11” at most; his head barely reached my chest, despite his long legs.

“Billy, mind giving us the room for a few minutes?” Sig asked his roommate.

Billy sighed, pushing himself up to leave.

“Hmm. With this one, darling, you’re going to need at least an hour.” He winked at me. I felt a hot crawl of embarrassment creep up my neck as Sig slammed the door shut behind him.

“Have a seat.” Sig gestured to the chair by his desk.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from a drawer and offered me one. I frowned. “No, thank you. I’m pretty sure the dorms are a smoke-free zone.”

Sig chuckled, the sound dry and humorless. He popped a cigarette between his lips, backed toward the window, and shoved it open. He lit up, exhaling a plume of gray smoke into the air. Framed by the window, he looked like a model; effortlessly beautiful and completely out of reach.

“Thought you wanted to ask me some research questions,” I prompted.

“I certainly do.” He walked back to the desk, smiled, flipping open his laptop. I heard the rhythmic click-clack of his keys as he set up the recording. “So, George Brooks. Tell me about Edwin Sullivan. Tell me how the football team, and especially you, reacted when I reported that he raped me.”

His tongue was sharp; his eyes were accusing.

I lowered my gaze, my skin heating up as I felt his eyes scope out every shift of my muscles. “I... I didn’t believe it.”

“It?” He leaned forward. His voice was soft but pierced through me like a blade. I forced myself to look up, meeting his light golden eyes. Sig didn’t deserve my cowardice; he deserved the truth, delivered straight to his face.

“You. I didn’t believe you,” I corrected. “Edwin Sullivan was a teammate. Having each other’s back on and off the field was the law to me. I didn’t try to find the truth. I just believed his word over yours.”

“And what did you do then? Stay quiet? Let it go? Or did you support your buddy Edwin?”

I exhaled, the weight of the memory crushing my chest. “I wish I had stayed quiet,” I whispered.

“Can you speak louder?” Sig prompted, his voice sounded professional like a reporter, but his eyes unforgiving, accusing.

I exhaled. “I was horrible. I opened my mouth when I should've shut it. I backed Edwin up on everything.”

“You bullied me every single day. Was that just you ‘having your buddy’s back’?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought he was telling the truth.”

“Hmm. And without a shred of proof, you decided he was honest and I was a liar, simply because he wore the same jersey?” Sig paused, his expression unreadable.

“Sig, in the world of football–”

He cut me off. “What exactly did you say to me back then? Can you repeat it?”

“I... I was awful. My words were unforgivable.”

“Yet, here you are, asking for an apology.”

My eyes widened. Didn’t he just say he’d forgive me? “Sig–”