"Sir, you need to calm down."
"He raped her! He fucking raped her, and you people did nothing! You fired her and let him keep working!"
They slam me against the wall and cuff my hands behind myback. But I'm still fighting, still trying to get free, still wanting to go back and finish what I started.
"You're under arrest for assault," one of them says.
Carson's being helped up by nurses, their faces shocked as they see the damage. His nose is definitely broken, bent at an unnatural angle, blood pouring down his ruined coat. One eye is swelling shut, and the orbital bone is probably fractured. He's coughing, probably from the cracked ribs, and every sound he makes fills me with satisfaction.
"Call the police," he chokes out, spitting blood. "I want him arrested. I want him charged with everything."
They drag me to a security office and dump me in a chair. My knuckles are bleeding, split open from his teeth or bones. Don't know, don't care. The pain feels distant, unimportant.
The police arrive twenty minutes later.
"Jackson Anderson?" The officer looks at my ID, then back at me with recognition. "The hockey player?"
"Yeah."
"Want to tell me what happened?"
"No."
"You assaulted Dr. Carson. Multiple witnesses, security footage, and probably a dozen cell phone videos are already circulating online. You want to tell me why?"
"No."
They take me to the station, book me, take my fingerprints and mugshot, the whole humiliating process. I don't say anything, don't call anyone, just sit here in the interrogation room and stare at the wall, replaying the feeling of my fist connecting with his face.
A few hours pass, then the door opens, and a man in an expensive suit walks in.
"Mr. Anderson. I'm David Ross, attorney for the Hartford Wolves organization. The team contacted me after Ms. Riveracalled them. Apparently, you listed her as your emergency contact."
"Yeah."
"She's the one Dr. Carson allegedly assaulted?"
"He raped her. Not allegedly. He raped her."
He sits across from me and sets his briefcase on the table with a heavy thud. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"
"I beat the shit out of the doctor who raped her."
He doesn't even blink. "Allegedly raped her."
"No. Actually raped her. She reported it, they covered it up."
"Mr. Anderson, Dr. Carson is pressing charges, and given the severity of his injuries and the number of witnesses, the prosecutor will likely pursue this aggressively." He pulls out paperwork. "You're looking at potential jail time, a criminal record, the end of your hockey career."
"I know."
"And you did it anyway."
"Yes."
He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "The good news is, Dr. Carson has a history. There have been several sexual harassment complaints filed against him, as you know. Plus, Ms. Rivera's rape kit is still on file. If her lawyer is smart, they'll use this to reopen her case."
"Will it help me?"
