“Coach Barrett,” the chancellor warns. “Let’s allow Ms. Collins the courtesy of finishing her statement before we descend into barking.”
I glance at the chancellor, wondering if that was a defense or just a performance of fairness. But his expression gives nothing away and I’m no closer to knowing if he is friend or foe. Although my instincts are telling me it’s the latter. The chancellor nods for me to continue.
“Sir. I wasn’t drinking. I never drink at parties. I hadn’t even been there long before Jackson approached me.”
“Tell him how you were all on me, touching my shoulder,” Jackson interrupts.
“Young man,” the chancellor warns again.
Instantly, I think back to the moment I let my hand rest on his shoulder. What was supposed to be a dig at Kane might just bite me in the ass.Fuck.
“Did you touch him?”
All eyes are on me, boring deep, waiting for me to slip up.
I sigh. “I did, but it was a friendly touch, more like a tap. He approached me, even put his hand on my waist. I didn’t make a big deal of it because he was being nice. But I did not come on to him. He offered me a drink, and I accepted to be kind.”
“Why not just turn it down?” Coach Barrett asks, accusatory.
“Girls don’t exactly have the luxury of turning a guy down without bruising his ego,” I say matter-of-factly. “We don’t know who’s a decent guy and who’s not, so it’s safer to just take the drink and not drink it.”
“And you don’t see how that could give him the impression that you were interested?” the chancellor adds.
“No. I should be able to take a drink and not have some prick think that means I want him.”
The chancellor lets out an uncomfortable sigh and waves for me to keep going. It’s a silent apology because God forbid he do so out loud.
“He asked me to go outside with him while he smoked—”
“Richard. You can’t be buying this crap. Smoking? Jackson doesn’t smoke,” Mr. Kincaid blurts out.
“Then you don’t know your son very well, Mr. Kincaid,” I snap.
Chancellor Williamsburg holds up a hand to quiet Jackson’s father before he can say another word and looks at Jackson. “Is this true? You know drugs are prohibited for all players.”
Jackson shifts in his seat, the faint rustle of his crutches tapping against the wooden armrest.
“I don’t remember much, to be honest,” he adds, gaze locked on mine. “But I do remember her kicking me. Pretty hard. After I told her I wasn’t interested.”
My heart stutters.
“You tried to drug me,” I snap. “You pushed me against that house, and—”
“You were drunk,” Jackson says with a shrug. “Everyone saw it.”
“I wasn’t drunk.”
“Oh?” His brow lifts. “So you broke my knee sober? Good to know.”
“Sir. I’m telling the truth.” I swallow to catch my breath, trying and failing to ignore the hateful stares from Jackson and daddy dearest. “He offered me some of his weed, I again said no. Then he encouraged me to drink the alcohol he gave me, and when I said no, he accused me of being rude. That’s whenI noticed a white foaming substance floating around in my cup. And before I could ask about it, he told me to relax, that it was just foam. It was spiked punch, and last I checked, punch doesn’t foam.”
A laugh leaves Mr. Kincaid’s mouth, dry and humorless. “You assaulted my son,” he growls. “And you think you can sit here and lie your way out of it?”
I turn toward him. “I defended myself. He put his hands on me, and I reacted. I didn’t mean to—”
“But you did,” the chancellor cuts in. “Didn’t you?”
Silence falls like a curtain.
