I nod, my breath shaky. “I remember his hands on me, how he held me down, kept telling me that I wanted it, that I’d been teasing him all night. That I led him on.” My throat feels tight, like I’m choking on the memory. “He kept saying that he waited for Jacob to leave to have a chance with me and I led him on.”
I glance at Jacob, my heart aching at the guilt in his eyes, but I press on. “He was drunk—too drunk to think straight—and as he was pulling my panties off, there was screaming downstairs that the cops were there. He bolted from the room and I hurried to get off the bed and head home too."
My heart pounds in my chest, my hands trembling. I can barely look at them, afraid of what I’ll see in their eyes—anger, disgust, pity. I don’t want any of it.
Jacob is the first to move. He steps forward, his eyes wide with shock and pain, his hands reaching for me. “Dylan… Jesus, why didn’t you tell me?”
I blink, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over. “I tried. I tried to call you, Jacob. But you didn’t answer, and I didn’t know how to tell anyone… how to explain what happened. It’s not something you can just text.”
Jacob’s face softens, regret etched into his features. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”
“I spent the rest of that school year just trying to survive,” I continue, my voice quieter now. “I hung out alone, played lacrosse, and kept my head down. I didn’t want to drag it all up again. I just wanted to move on. But tonight, seeing him… it brought everything back.”
Ford stops pacing and turns to face me, his jaw clenched tight. “That asshole’s been walking around like nothing happened? Like he didn’t try to—” He cuts himself off, fury radiating off of him in waves. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Ford, no.” I shake my head, panic rising in my chest. “I don’t want you to do anything. I just… I don’t know what I want. I just needed to tell you.”
Matthew’s eyes are dark, full of anger. “We’re not going to let him get away with this, Dylan.”
I feel a lump in my throat, my eyes stinging with tears. “I don’t want to lose you guys. If you go after him, you could get kicked off the team. I can’t let that happen. I can’t be the reason you lose everything.”
Jacob takes my hands, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re not going to lose us. We’re here for you, no matter what.”
Ford looks at me, his expression softening slightly, though the rage is still there, simmering under the surface. “We love you, Dylan. And we’re going to protect you. But this guy? He’s not getting away with what he did.”
I swallow hard, the fear and relief crashing into me all at once. I’ve been carrying this weight for so long, and now that it’s out, now that they know, I feel exposed and vulnerable, but also… lighter. I don’t have to hide it anymore.
Ford pulls me into his arms, while Jacob and Matthew close in around us. It’s warm and safe, their strength wrapping around me, their love holding me together when I feel like I could break.
“I’m so sorry,” I choke out, burying my face in Ford’s chest. “I should’ve told you sooner.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Ford says softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “We’re just glad you told us now.”
Jacob rubs soothing circles on my back, his voice gentle. “We’ll take care of this, Pickle. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”
Chapter 44
Matthew
Ican’t get Dylan’s words out of my head. The way she froze when Jacob mentioned Brock’s name, the way she paled, as if the blood drained right out of her body. I knew it was something more serious the minute she walked into the room—her posture tense, her smile forced. But I never thought it would be this.
Fucking Brock Johnson.
The name alone makes my fists clench involuntarily. The fact that she had to carry that around for so long, all by herself, makes me sick. She’s been hurting, and we didn’t even know.
I’m pacing in the living room now, trying to contain the rage that’s building in my chest. Ford has his arm around Dylan, holding her close, and Jacob’s sitting beside them, silent and brooding. No one says a word for what feels like forever, the weight of what she just told us hanging heavy in the air.
Brock tried to assault her. He pinned her down, tried to take what wasn’t his, and then had the fucking audacity to spread rumors about her afterward, making her the pariah of her ownschool. I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears, my hands trembling with the urge to find him, to make him pay for what he did to her.
I force myself to stop pacing and take a breath, but it’s not working.
I glance over at Dylan, tucked into Ford’s arms, her eyes still red from crying. She looks so small right now, so fragile. I hate it. I hate that she had to go through that, and I hate even more that we weren’t there to protect her when it happened.
“Matthew,” Ford says softly, his voice cutting through the haze in my mind. “Sit down.”
“I can’t,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair, feeling the frustration bubbling up. “I just—” I stop, not even knowing how to put the jumble of emotions I’m feeling into words. It’s a mix of fury, helplessness, and this overwhelming need to do something, to fix it, even though I know I can’t.
Ford’s eyes lock on mine, and there’s a silent understanding there. He feels it too. We all do.
