I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to tell her. I didn’t believe her either. Dimitri and Jax didn’t believe her. We believed her dad.Everyonedid.
“We shouldn’t have pushed for this. I’m sorry, Hope. It’s fucked up and we were fucking idiots for believing what he said from the start. It was fucking insane,” I mutter. Then I see her pulling at her shirt, trying to hide the scar we left on her.
I gently trace it with my finger, then lift her chin. I lean towards her and press my forehead against hers. “She’s fucking wrong. You know what happened. We know what happened. She can go fuck herself with this file and I hope she gets every papercut she deserves instead of coming.”
It’s supposed to make her laugh, but she just stares at me. “If a therapist doesn’t believe…”
“Then it’s because she’s biased and that means it’s a damn good thing that Jaxon broke in. Because we know. We know she’s a fraud who can’t be trusted. That means we can do something about it, right?”
She shrugs, then slumps, willing to rest her head on my shoulder. I stare down at her, then rub her back. Coach Carpenter yells that weallneed to be back on the field and I kiss the top of Hope’s head.
“We’ll take care of this,” I whisper against her hair.
“I won’t let you,” she mutters.
“You will if we decide to do something about it,” I argue, stroking up her back and playing with her hair as she stares up at me. “We’re bigger, stronger, and much more willing to be bad.”
HOPE
She doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t believe me.
She believes my dad.
My terrible, asshole dad who created the best possible defense: a legacy. He helped people. He focused on the kids he saw potential in, the ones who were in the worst situation, and brought them up to a level where they could sing his praises. He did “so much for the community.” He helped people, donated funds, set up charity drives.
A man who does all that couldn’t possibly be hiding something.
A man whose wife left him, a man dealing with his whore of a daughter, a spitting image of her mother, and still trying his best for the world couldn’t possibly have a secret.
Anger and hopelessness war inside me for the next few days. I can’t stay focused on my conversations with the guys. I can’t help but read into every conversation I have with other teammates. When Ben tells me he’s sorry he scared me, that he won’t touch me, that it’s okay if I don’t want to touch him for normal checks, he’ll understand… all I hear is him saying he’s better than I expect.
And because he’s good, I’m crazy.
My therapist thinks I’m crazy. If anyone else heard what I have to say, they’d call me crazy too.
My dad’s reputation escaped our town and that can only mean that silence is the way to handle this. Until I spot Dimitri sitting off to the side in the workout room. He’s ignoring the free weights, which is something he never does.
I walk over to him. “Are you sore?”
“Hmm? No,” he says.
“Yes, I think you are. Did you strain your bicep?” I touch it, gently massaging. “We should go to my office to make sure.”
He watches me, but doesn’t argue, so I lead him back. Once the door is shut, I rub the back of my neck. “I have therapy today.”
“Yes. Do you want to go alone or cancel it?” he asks. “Want us all there?”
“I thought… with how the last session went that she believed me,” I admit. “And… I want to talk to her, I want to confront her with things, but her comment is I don’t have evidence.”
“Hope, I don’t like where you’re going with this.”
“We do have evidence,” I whisper. “Not just my memories. Not just what you guys saw, not just…” I rub my wrists. “We have recordings.”
“That you don’teverhave to experience again. No, Hope.”
“Yes, Dimitri. I’m the one in those videos. You don’t own them. They’re mine,” I argue sharply.
He watches me, his jaw ticking. “And I’m saying no. I’ll delete them. I’ll just get rid of them and—”
