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Clarissa, Clarissa, Clarissa.
He says it like I should know the name, but I really don’t think I do. I wrack my brain, trying to find any conversation we’ve had about a Clarissa but even after a few seconds, I’m coming up empty. He must realize that I have no clue who he’s talking about because he huffs out a laugh full of mockery. It’s a broken and bitter thing. I don’t even care what she did to him, I hate her. I hate her for taking this guy who is normally larger than life and making him feel so small.
“You wouldn’t know who she is,” he sighs. “I avoid saying her name or even talking about her.” The self-loathing in his tone makes me grip his hair tighter and his eyes fly open.
“You don’t have to tell me, B,” I say again. “She hurt you and that’s all I need to know. I hate her and I’ll kick her ass if you want me to.”
He chuckles and holds me tighter, feeling more like himself. Sounding more like himself. “You really are trouble,” he whispers against my cheek. I lean back and kiss his forehead. For him? I think I could be a lot of things. He sighs again, his arms banding around my waist to keep me close now. “Do you remember the turkey baster girl?”
I cringe. How could I forget? The image haunts me. “That was Clarissa?”
He nods, slipping his fingers under my t-shirt as he continues to hold me. “Yeah, but there’s a little more to the story.”
I wait for him to collect his thoughts, not wanting to rush him even though I have so many questions. I want him to tell me only because he’s ready to talk about it, because he wants me to know. Not because he feels pressured. I just want to be there for him.
“That happened early on in the season,” he starts. “I started avoiding the hell out of her after that. The guys too because I told them about it. None of us want to be dads yet, you know? And even if we did, not like that. If we do make it big, that’s a child we may not be able to see often with a mother who likely sees them only as a tool. And if we don’t make it, she’d probably resent us and the child for not being the cash cow she took a bet on. That’s no life for a kid, you know?”
My heart flips in my chest at the way he looks at it. The way he’s talking about this fictional child of his not having a good enough life. Most guys—fuck, most people— would be more outraged over trying to be taken advantage of. Or what something like that would do to their own life. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as genuinely good as Baylor Levine.
“Anyways, I didn't want to risk it. Avoided her and her friends and everything seemed to be fine. Went back to hookups at parties and killing it on the ice.” He sighs, loosening his hold on me and repositioning us so we’re both lying on our sides, facing each other. One of his hands rests on my hip under my shirt, while the other reaches up to caress my cheek. “I know you weren’t following our season last year,” he teases and I scrunch my nose because I most certainly was not. “But we dominated. We were expected to go all the way and bring the championship home. We made it to the Frozen Four.” He hushes me before I can even ask. “The semi-finals,” he clarifies. “But we lost.”
I nod, trying to wrap my head around what that has to do with a girl trying to steal his come to impregnate herself at the beginning of the season. I don’t ask though, giving him the space to tell his story however he needs to.
“We were on a high after winning the playoff game that sent us to the Frozen Four. An adrenaline rush far greater than what you saw tonight. It was the furthest any of us had ever made it into the playoffs. Westbrook has won before but not in the last few years. We get a little closer each year, and last season we were so close we could taste it.”
I run one hand down his chest, feeling the evidence of how much work he puts into this sport. The hours of exercise and discipline. All the practices and training I’ve watched them do. And how fucking good it felt to watch it all pay off tonight on the ice. I can only imagine how elated they must have been to finally be so close to achieving that goal.
“We celebrated,” he continues. “And we celebrated hard. Probably too hard.” His sigh is heavy and I feel his entire body deflate as he goes back to that night. “I drank a lot. Probably more than I ever have before and I don’t really remember how everything happened.”
It’s several long moments while he gathers his thoughts and all I can think about is how strong I think Baylor is. Maybe stronger than any guy I’ve met before. No matter how hard this is on him, he’s not giving up. He’s measuring his words and purging them from himself. Hopefully by the end, he feels just a little bit lighter.
“At some point, Clarissa approached me after the game. I was already drunk and I don’t really remember this part clearly.” His tone almost gets defensive, and I run my hand along his cheek in an attempt to soothe him. There’s nothing he could say that would make me judge him, or think less of him. “Next thing I really remember is being in a bed, Clarissa on top of me.”
My chest tightens at the pain and confusion in his expression and in his voice. “Baylor, you don’t have to talk about it,” I say, not able to hold back. It’s killing me to see how badly he’s hurting.
He takes several deep breaths, gathering me in his arms and curling me into his chest as close as we can get. His nose is buried in my hair as he continues. “Wells must have seen her drag me out of the party and thought I was making a drunken mistake. He knew I didn’t want anything to do with her.” Tears begin to soak my neck, and my own tears spring to my eyes. I swear to god, I’ll fucking kill her. I will. “I was so out of it, Tor. She had her hands wrapped around my dick and was trying to get me hard, and I kept batting her hands away. I knew I didn’t want to be with her, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t just throw her off of me. I don’t know why. I’m so much stronger than her, but I just laid there. Even though I didn’t want it. Even though I knew I didn’t want her.”
“Baylor.” His name passes my lips in a desperate plea for him to listen as tears stream down my face. I’ve never seen another person in so much goddamn pain before. “It isn’t your fault,” Ipromise. “You were drunk and she took advantage of that. You can’t blame yourself.”
His body shakes around me as he cries and I hold him as tightly as I can, whispering soothing words to him. Saying anything to make him listen. I finally understand why he was so desperate for me back in the library, why he froze tonight the way he did. Why his friends are all so protective over him.
His breath shudders. “Wells pulled her off of me and threw her out of the room. I felt like such an idiot. The next day I felt even worse. I was embarrassed Wells had to handle my shit for me and I couldn’t understand the shame I was feeling. I was stuck in my head and it was a new hell like I’ve never experienced before. It followed me into the game and I was a total mess on the ice. It was actually an embarrassment. Wells was also beating himself up and I’d pushed everyone away, especially him. The whole team fell apart and we were obliterated by the other team. The loss only made me feel worse about everything that happened. I just want to be over it. Nothing really happened, so why can’t I just put it behind me?”
I pull out of his arms and sit up, taking a hold of his cheeks with both my hands. “Baylor Levine,” I say, commanding his full attention. “This isn’t something you just get over.”
“But—”
“No,” I cut him off. “If our roles were reversed and I told you the same story, how would you be reacting?”
He starts to respond and I can tell he’s going to wave me off, so I grip his cheeks tighter. “No. Think about it. I’m drunk enough to be nearly passed out. A guy is on top of me, pinning me down, shoving his hand in my pants and stroking my clit. No matter how many times I push his hand away, he just brings it back.”
Baylor’s face turns red and his body shakes with anger at my side.
“Exactly,” I say to him. “It’s a horrid and fucked up thing she did.”
He shakes his head. “It’s different. If it was a guy pinning you down, you’d have no chance of fighting him off. I could have, no, I should have pushed her away.”
I press my forehead to his. “No, Baylor. You were drunk and barely conscious. We don’t victim blame,” I say softly, kissing the tears from his cheeks. “Even when the victim is ourself.”
