"No. You still assaulted him. That doesn't go away because he's a rapist." He leans forward. "But it might help explain why you did it. The jury might be sympathetic, and the prosecutor might be willing to do a deal."
"What kind of deal?"
"Depends. Best case? Probation, community service, and anger management. Worst case? Six months to a year in jail. You'd lose your captaincy either way, possibly your career."
The reality of what I've done settles over me like a weight,heavy and suffocating. My career, everything I've worked for since I was a kid, is gone because I couldn't control my rage.
But I'd do it again. In a heartbeat.
"Ms. Rivera is here," Ross says. "She posted bail. Do you want to see her?"
"Yes."
They process me out, give me back my phone, wallet, and keys. My hands are bandaged now. Someone cleaned and wrapped them while I was in the interrogation room, white gauze covering split knuckles.
Maya's in the waiting area. Chase is beside her, looking grim. She looks terrified, eyes red from crying, and when she sees me, her face crumples.
"Maya—"
She doesn't say anything, just turns and walks out of the station. Chase gives me a look—half concern, half you're an idiot—and follows her.
The drive back to Hartford is silent, tension thick enough to choke on. Maya's driving my truck, her jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. Chase follows behind us in his own car.
I stare out the window and try to figure out what to say, but there are no words that will make this better, no explanation that will undo what I've done.
"You could've gone to prison." Maya's voice cuts through the silence, flat and emotionless in a way that scares me more than if she were screaming. "You still might."
"I know."
"You could lose everything.”
"I know."
"For what? Revenge? To prove some point about being my protector?"
"To make him hurt the way he hurt you."
"He'll heal, Jackson." Her voice cracks. "In a few weeks, he'llbe fine, back to work, back to his perfect life. But you? Your career might be over. You might spend the next year in jail. And for what? What did this actually accomplish?"
"I did it for you."
"I didn't ask you to!"
"I couldn't just do nothing?—"
"Yes, you could have." She takes a shaky breath. "You could've supported me. You could've helped me find a lawyer to reopen the case properly. You could've been there for me without destroying yourself in the process."
"He was walking around that hospital like he didn't do anything wrong?—"
"And now you're the one who looks wrong!" She slams her hand against the steering wheel. "Now you're the violent hockey player who attacked a respected doctor. Now, when people look up your name, they're going to find mugshots and assault charges. Is that what you wanted?"
"I wanted him to pay for what he did to you."
"He was never going to pay, Jackson. That's the reality I've been living with since it happened." Her voice drops lower. "Rich white doctor with connections versus a nurse with trauma? He was always going to win. That's how the system works."
"So I should've just let him get away with it?"
"You should've asked me what I needed!" She's crying now, tears streaming down her face. "You should've talked to me before you drove to Pinewood and threw your entire future away. Because now I have to live with this too, knowing that your career ended because of me, that you might go to jail because of what happened to me."
