“I bet you’re shocked that I’m such a great training partner.”
He looks at me over the rim of his mug, his gaze moving from my face down to my chest. “No, I’m not.” With one heated look, he makes my mind flash back to the start of our day, to oral sex and the orgasm that made my legs shake almost as much as grappling in the basement did.
We have great chemistry. We always have.
My hand slides over, so my thumb can rub his.
His thumb moves on top to trap mine, and he smiles. “Parents twice in one weekend, interfering with our plans.” He shakes his head, chastising me in that sexy, dominant way of his. “You’ll need to make that up to me.”
I shake my head with skeptical raised brows.
“Oh yeah, you will.”
The battle to suppress a smile is lost. I’m not sure that trading sexual favors is the right way to manage conflict, but it definitely feels better than yelling or not speaking to each other.
* * *
When Momand I settle in at the kitchen island with cups of herbal tea, her tone is full of false cheer. She’s working hard to keep things light, and that feels false.
I reach over and squeeze her hand. “Mom, come on. Let’s talk for real.”
She blows on her tea and takes a sip. Then she frowns but nods. “Ave, when Ethan and I were reviewing the videotapes of your presentation to give you feedback, he told me he recognized the living room in the background. You made the videos at Shane’s?”
“Oh. Yeah, actually.” It didn’t occur to me to mask my location. It probably should have.
“And the other day, Shane said he took you with him to his grandfather’s because you were with him. What’s going on? It seems like you’re with him constantly lately.”
I blow out a breath. Time to rip the Band-Aid off.
As soon as I start speaking, the words fly out of my mouth. “I'm staying at Shane’s. Something happened on campus that scared me. I went to see Shane and asked if I could crash at his place until the end of the semester. He agreed to let me. And actually, it’s been good in a lot of ways. We’ve working through things. Which is good for everyone.”
She exhales audibly. “There are some things I need to say.”
I wait, chewing on my lip. I can’t tell yet whether this is going to be a productive conversation or not.
“There’s something I should have told you a long time ago. After brunch, Shane asked me a question, and I didn't answer him. Did he mention it?”
“No.” Warming my hands on the sides of my mug, I give her an encouraging smile.
“Here’s the thing. When I was sixteen, a boy who was a year older—and who was dating someone I cared about—did something horrible.” She looks down into her cup, swirling the contents. “I was at his place. Several of us were there, and his girlfriend was on her way, too. He pressured us into doing shots of cough syrup, which it turned out had codeine in it. The shot he gave me had a double dose. I passed out almost immediately. He convinced the others to leave and rescheduled with his girlfriend, without ever mentioning I was still there. He claimed he was tired and would call her later.”
Mom scrapes the fingernail polish off her thumb, leaving ragged edges with bare nail showing from underneath.
“I woke up partway through the night. He was on top of me. I struggled and told him to stop, but I couldn't get him off. My body felt like Jello. Then I passed out again. When I woke up the next time, I was lucid but felt sick. I was also naked. He was in bed with me and just had shorts on.”
There’s a horrible silence for several beats while my heart breaks.
Her voice is low but steady as she forces herself to keep going. “He pretended he had gotten very intoxicated and passed out. He said nothing happened between us. I told him I knew something had happened. He continued to deny it. We argued, and he became irate and basically implied I was crazy for accusing him. Said that whatever I thought had happened was just a dream. He acted so outraged and sounded so convincing that I knew other people would probably believe him. I even started to doubt myself…” Her voice is strained with emotions and then trails off. She uses one fingernail to tear the polish off the nails on the opposite hand.
“I went to the hospital and had my mom meet me there. They did a rape kit and, of course, it proved exactly what I remembered. He raped me. I wish I could say the actual assault was the worst part, but it wasn’t. My mom didn’t want me to make a report. She didn't want me to talk about it period. She acted like it was just the kind of thing guys do if they get the chance. According to her, it would ruin my reputation and embarrass the family.”
My mom’s short, angry laugh is like breaking glass, and it makes me stiffen.
“She wasn’t wrong.” Mom runs a hand over the pale stone topping the island. “It’s definitely the kind of thing some guys do if they think they can get away with it. Later when I saw him at school, he either pretended it didn’t happen or made jokes about what happens to girls who get too drunk.”
In the space between her words, I don’t know whether to try to say something comforting or to stay silent. I’m afraid if I speak too soon she won’t get through telling me the whole of it, and I think she wants to.
Mom takes a swig of tea like it’s whiskey and blows out another long, slow breath.
