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My stomach rolls as I see Coach and Hope.
It’s a video Coach showed us plenty of times before, proving to us that she liked it, wanted it.
Her small body comes into frame. Her face is hidden by her black hair as she crawls on his lap.
I slam the laptop shut as bile starts to rise, my eyes squeezing shut as I try to scrub the video from my mind. Coach should’ve never showed us that video when we were stupid, impressionable young men. He should’ve never taken the video. He should’ve never touched his own daughter!
My hands shake as I grab my phone and dial Jaxon’s number. After a few beats, I hang up and try Knox. But it’s the same.
I look at the clock and curse. “They are on the field.”
So, I do the next thing. I call the police station.
After a few seconds, my call gets answered, but that doesn’t call back the tension that tightens around my throat.
“Maplewood Hollow’s Police Station.”
“Hi, Dimitri Kessler. I—” I pause, wondering for a moment what I should say without sounding too off. I don’t want to draw any attention to me or the guys. Not with what we did to Jared. “Is Mr. Miller taking visitors?”
Okay, that sounded bad. But what the hell else am I supposed to say? I have to do something.
“Ehm… let me check for you, dear.”
I hear the keypad, the noises in the background making my knee bounce in impatience.
“Mr. Kessler?”
“Yes?”
“You just missed him. He got released yesterday.”
I jump up, coffee spilling to the floor and my mug clattering by my feet. “Released? How could he be released?”
She clears her throat. “Insufficient evidence. We had nothing to hold him on.”
“Nothing? We handed him to you on a fucking platter!” I shout into the phone as fury bursts within me. I hear her take a breath to reply, but I don’t want to hear another word or excuse.
I hurl the phone through the room, panting as I feel like I’m suffocating.
He got out.
Not enough evidence.
Fuck.
Hope.
HOPE
A sense of peace, calm. All what I shouldn’t be feeling after what happened last night. But I can’t blame him. I can only blame myself as I taunted him, dared him.
But I wanted it. I wanted him to take me like he wanted. I wanted to break, to fall apart.
Even if I talked about it first or gave him permission. It wouldn’t be the same. It would be fake. I needed this type of control.
And damn, did it feel good.
Too good.