“I’m hardly a superhero.”
I’m a criminal.
I’ve done jail time.
Was it worth it? Yes. Would I do it again? Fuck yes. Do I give a fuck that it ended my career and fucked up my life for longer than I care to admit? No.
Because that fucker who hurt my sister doesn’t live a day without the pain I left in him.
Same as the pain doesn’t leave Kylie.
“I need to go,” Joey murmurs.
Shedoesneed to go.
The team’s waiting on her.
Puck drop is imminent.
But I can’t just step to the side and allow her to pass.
“Joey—”
“No, Damon. Just fucking stop, okay?” She starts to shove a hand through her hair—a telltale sign that her patience has gone beyond fraying and is now at risk of snapping. “You know now. Great. That’s over.It’sover. He’s going to trial, and he’ll be put away. The evidence is overwhelming.”
“He would go away for longer and it would be easier if you stopped hiding this shit and told somebody.”
Her mouth snaps closed so quickly that her teeth click together.
Then she’s moving, arm swinging, palm colliding with my cheek.
Smack!
It’s louder more than it actually hurts, but I’m too stunned to react.
“How dare you?” she whispers, eyes full of tears. “How fucking dare you?” She lifts on tiptoe and leans in, her face close to mine. “Did the police believe your sister? Did the district attorney? Would a jury have sided with her when the prosecution was hard up to lean into he-said, she-said?” She drops back down onto her heels. “I shouldn’t have to remind you, but they fucking didn’t. Hence the reason you went full vigilante and blew up your life.”
She’s right.
Of course she is.
Kylie’s rapist didn’t even end up facing charges, and the police—and the public after I’d fucked him up—had looked at her with derision.
God, the comments on social media alone…
She was the victim of one man’s fucked-up actions…and somehow it was still her fault.
Why would anything be different today? With Joey?
And why—no matter the circumstances—would Joey want to deal with that when her plate is already overflowing with misogyny and haters just because she’s coaching a bunch of hockey players?
“You have no right to tell me how to deal with”—she slaps a hand against her chest—“mytrauma.”
I open my mouth to agree with her.
But she’s still talking.
“Nofucking right.”
