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“Rum punch… did he make it?” I ask, my stomach already nauseated and churning, hoping she doesn’t say what I think she might.

She lifts the shoulder that isn’t pressed against the mattress, half-shrugging. “I downed it like any good freshman, showing that I’m a big girl, and asked if there was more. And like any college athlete, he came back with another. I felt so stupid, like everyone was staring at me as we walked through the hockey plex, going in and out of apartments. He was taking shots, and I felt fine until…”

I feel her apprehension in her fingertips as they bear down on my arm. She keeps opening her mouth like she’s about to finish but then closes it again, pressing her lips into a thin line. I want her to feel safe to tell me what she’s holding back, so I say, “I won’t judge. I’ve made plenty of my own mistakes.”

She reaches backward for a glass of water and winces in pain. ‘I’ll get it.” I scoot out of the bed and bring the glass to her. After she takes a sip, she hands it back to me, and I set it on the nightstand. She’s shaking.

Settling back into the bed, I hold her hand to keep it from trembling.

“He was on top of me. I remember the ceiling had yellow stains in patches. I remember thinking they looked like flowers blooming in a graveyard. Just lifeless.”

My heart tightens and while anger flourishes, I hold it together. I need to hear this out, not because I need to know but because she needs to share it with someone, and she has chosen me.

Not Madison, her best friend for over a decade. Not Corbin, her brother and best guy friend. Did she tell her Mamaw?

“Another guy…” Her words catch, and it feels to me, like we’re stunting on the beach again, and she’s balancing on my one hand, unsure if she can trust me.

“You can trust me, Bex. Please trust me.”

She swallows and nods. “The other guy was hiding in the closet filming and when I saw him, they said if I didn’t do what they wanted, they would release it on the campus page. He did things to me that I can’t forget. God, I’m so weak.”

And with that admission, she curls into the fetal position, sobbing, choking on her tears, gasping for breath as she tries to continue. I want to hug her tight, but I know I can’t, or she’ll feel physical pain in addition to the mental strain. I move my body closer and tuck her head under my chin, running my fingers through her hair. “You’re not weak, babe. You’re strong. It’s understandable that you didn’t want a video floating around that could jeopardize your cheer scholarship. You did what you felt you needed to do.”

Her words falter as she tries to force out her words. “I could have fought back. I feel so dirty.”

It’s been almost fifteen years, but the pain still lingers in her voice, unable to shake the scars etched deep in her heart.

When she quits crying, I play with the strap on the gown I bought her. “So that’s when you decided you wouldn’t date athletes?”

She nods aggressively.

Now it makes sense.

“Did you stop going to parties?” I ask, trying to understand. She had come to the hockey plex when Corbin and I were playing.

“I’m sorry I pushed you away, but now you see. I couldn’t let myself believe that you were one of the good ones, especially when you always thought so highly of yourself.” A half-smile slips from her lips. It’s the first time since we began this conversation that a hint of the Becca I know reveals herself.

“Don’t apologize to me. Tell me which damn hockey player it was. And was it another hockey player filming?” I’m barely able to contain the fury in my heart. Athletes don’t need to get girls drunk to fuck them. Puck bunnies and cleat chasers line up to get a piece of a college athlete.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie, Becca. Not to me. You’ve come this far.”

“I don’t know. After that, I got a job babysitting for a doctor, and I focused on cheer and studies. Didn’t go to a single party the rest of the year. I cheered, studied, and worked. The next year, Corbin joined me, and I had to go to the hockey plex. I was petrified when he introduced me to all his teammates. I tried every excuse in the world not to go, but he insisted. Thank God, the guy must have graduated because he wasn’t there. Like I said, I didn’t know him. He just followed me, and I honestly don’t think we exchanged names. Who lets someone touch them without even knowing their name? Who does that?”

At first, I don’t answer, but then I say, “Lots of people have sex in college without knowing their partner.”

“Have you?”

“Have I had sex with someone without knowing their name? Yes. Not in college but on a road trip. I wasn’t with Stella, and depression dug in its claws, refusing to let me go. The professional ranks are nothing like college. I didn’t have good friends, being five years younger than all my other teammates. There wasno comradery off the ice. The guys who came up together stuck together and I was pining over a girl who got married to an accountant.”

Her pink lips flatten into a smile full of sorrow.

“I was nowhere near any of my friends. Corbin still had another year. Reed and Bryce were on the East Coast. Flynn was following Presley on the soccer circuit. My dad was on the West Coast and eventually one of the times I went to see him, he introduced me to Stella. She had a couple of drawers at my house but never officially moved in. She was a West Coast, trust fund girl. But at the time, she filled a need for a connection with a woman. So, instead of one nighters, I had Stella when she came to town.”

“Did you ever love her?”

I don’t even have to think about that answer. “No. I’ve loved one person in my life, and I’m looking at her.”