Page 13

Considering there hasn’t been a video that’s shown her being attacked, being assaulted, I’m going to cling to the shreds of the bright side I can think of and hope it means that she’s fought him off. Maybe that’s why she’s so bruised. She didn’t give in. She’s claiming her own body and she’s doing it her way without backing down.
She’s stronger now. She knows her worth and what she can do. She knows she matters to other people and to us. She knows what her father’s doing is wrong and unforgivable.
I just need her to keep holding on to that.
KNOX
I can’t keep reading this. I shouldn’t have any problem with it.
It’s a fucking diary telling me the past, but every time she crosses her fingers and hopes we’ll understand, then starts hating when we come around, then starts dreading it, almost as afraid of us as she was of her father threatens to break me down.
“Useless boy! You’re so selfish and conniving. You think someone else can pull you out of hell!” The cigarette comes down on my stomach. “No one will. Because you’re not worth it. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve anything but this.”
I lift my shirt and trace the marks like I can soothe them or make them burst into flames again.
This is the first time in my life when I’ve felt like I deserve each and every mark on my body. Jaxon saw it before I did. He kept Coach from fucking Hope in my apartment while I sat there like a jealous schoolboy wanting to take his turn.
Never again. I might not be able to resist her. I might want her despite everything she says, but it’s because she wants me too. I feel it. I see it in the way she talks to me. Or maybe I’m just as fucked up as the man who used me as an ashtray and unable to let go even when it hurts me more.
But I’m willing to destroy my future for her.
Screw football. Screw anything else.
All of it is pointless without Hope.
And what she’s going through… the shit I’m reading makes it all the clearer. My girl deserves better than this. I’ll give her a new diary and let her pour herself out in it. It will be bright, full of happy stories, fun questions, and hopefully her bragging about herself rather than questioning if the world would be better without her in it.
Clearing my throat, I shake my head, trying to shake off all the negative thoughts I had about her, every assumption that Coach put in my head.
Reading her diary is doing a damn good job of correcting everything I thought I knew.
I had so much wrong and didn’t question a damn bit of it.
Which means I have to do better this time.
Closing my eyes, I think back to how I watched her in class.
She’s so little. I’d break her if I fucked her the way I wanted her. But maybe that’s what she wants. She needs someone to show her that fucking her father is wrong, and I could handle it. I could use her, break her, ruin her and she’d look so damn pretty sobbing while my cock is buried inside her. I’d even share her with the guys. Watch a greedy, eager slut take everything she’s offered and thank us for using her properly.
Some guy walks up to her, gives her a smile, and talks to her like they’re friends. She answers softly, out of earshot, but the ghost of a smile on her face doesn’t belong. He either doesn’t know what she does and who he’d be sharing her with or he knows and is going about it in a weird way. I don’t like it.
When he leans in after the bell rings and takes one of her books, I walk over and grab it from him. I toss it to the floor and look at Hope. “I’m so clumsy. Pick it up.”
She looks between me and the book and slowly stoops down to pick it up even as he says she doesn’t have to. I pat her head when she stands up. “You’re such a good girl for me. Don’t forget how much you like being good.”
Her face crumples and she excuses herself, hurrying away.
I was an ass. I ruined the safety of her school life right alongside her home life even though I thought she was disgusting. I thought she was terrible. I thought she needed to be put in her place all while she’d been hoping I’d save her.
Opening my eyes, I look at her diary and stroke it. “You’re still mine, Hope. I wasn’t wrong about that. You’re my good girl no matter how sharp and angry with me. I’ll still tell you how good you are.”
I hope she’ll hear the words. I hope she’ll feel that we’re coming for her. I want her to know she’s not alone. We’re eager to have her back and we’re going to make it happen. She did too much work last time, dealt with too much.
Now she can rely on three sets of broad shoulders to take care of her too.
Six
HOPE