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“Yep.” He sets down his fork. “You also told us you ‘saved’ Nadia from Reynolds–a conversation or something. She was hedgy about it.”

“Son of a bitch,” I swear, and my confusion turns into something hotter–anger. “He’s not supposed to talk to her.”

Or worse. Give her drug-laced drinks.

“You and I both know Reynolds or McMichael are above the rules.”

I rest my fork on my plate, my appetite gone. “So what do we do? Kick his ass? Tell Coach? Call the cops?”

“As much as I want to do all of that, we have no proof, and accusing the captain of the football team seems a little risky without it.” He sighs. “And maybe I’m off base. Maybe Coach is right. Someone took the opportunity at that party and drugged you, then called the NCAA. It’s pretty coincidental.”

Shit. He’s right.

“So do we tell her?” I ask, not wanting to be there when she hears it. Nadia’s taken a lot of hits and I don’t want to be the one that gives her another.

“I don’t think we tell her or Twy until we know something more. Let Coach submit the report for an investigation. Maybe we’ll find out it was another team, after all.” He picks up his toast. “Until then, we just keep an eye on her when we’re out.”

Although it does nothing to soothe the uneasiness in my gut, I nod in agreement. “Sure, no problem.”

I promised Nadia that I would be a safe space, and now that means something different.

If I can do one thing, it’ll be to ensure that no one is going to ever fucking hurt her again.

Over the last three-and-a-half years,I’ve learned that one of the best times to be on campus is during the soft lull around the weekend with no football or hockey games. It’s not quite dead, but people use it to take a quick trip home, or hunker down in the library to catch up on classwork. We still have practice, of course; Coach had us in the arena half the day on the ice running drills and then watching film. As a reward we hit the Badger Den to chill.

Other than the local regulars, it’s mostly guys on the team, their girlfriends, and a few puck bunnies. Oh, and Nadia. I saw her come in with Twyler, her shiny dark hair that brushes her shoulders.

The last time I saw her, she was at the gym in a cute little uniform. Even though I’d told her the truth about coming there to get away from the intensity of the arena gym, I may have made an effort to go when I could see her.

She’d looked confident there, like the weight on her shoulders had been lifted for a moment. Well, other than maybe when her project partner walked by. Not sure what’s up with that. But now she leans against a table top in a skirt that shows off her long, toned legs, and a soft looking, gray sweater with a neckline that reveals her sexy collarbones. Girls don’t always get that just seeing the little parts makes us hot–less can be more–and Nadia probably thought she was wearing something that would discourage guys from hitting on her but she’s wrong about that. While I wait at the bar, a steady stream of guys from the team approach her and give it a shot. It’s clear she’s not interested, letting them down with a soft, sympathetic smile, before going back to her phone.

It’s fucking awkward. That’s a word I definitely would have used to Twyler when she first started coming around. But Nadia? The description doesn’t fit.

“Hey,” I say to Mike behind the bar. “Give me two of those Reapers.”

His eyebrow raises at my order, but dude has been in business long enough to know better than to ask questions. Plus, I think, as he slides the black and silver cans across the bar, he’s probably just glad I’ve got my shirt on.

“Thanks,” I say, passing over a folded up bill.

As I carry the drinks over to her table, some townie–ten years too old–is leaning against the table.

“Come on now,” he says, “let me buy you a drink.”

“I’m fine,” she says, “but thanks.”

“You sure? A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be sitting alone.”

“She’s not,” I say, stepping up to the table. “She’s with me.”

The guy spares me a lazy glance. “Listen, buddy, if you’ve got a girl like this, why are you leaving her all alone?”

I tilt my head. “Because she’s an independent woman and should be able to sit at a table in the bar and not have assholes not taking no for an answer.”

He straightens, doing his best to push back his shoulders, but blinks when he finally takes me in. My size, the tatts, and eventually my face. “Shit. You’re the goalie. Rakestraw, right?”

“Right.” I set the can in front of Nadia and give her a wink. “Hey, darlin’.”

I wait for her to balk, to throw the can back at me, but she smirks and replies, “Hey, baby.”