Page 16 of Almost Rotten

“He recorded us?”

I remain on my knees as I help Sawyer ease down to the floor to join me.

She sits cross-legged, her back to the door, her head hanging, causing her pretty copper hair to form a curtain around her face.

With a shaky hand, I tuck one section behind her ear.

She startles on contact but then lowers her shoulders from her ears and turns her face to sink into my touch.

As her warmth seeps into my skin, relief courses through me and hope sparks in my chest.

She’s quiet for another few seconds—somber, as if she’s finally settling down.

With a fortifying breath, she explains. “Tytus filmed us on Saturday night. He tried to send the video somewhere, but it was intercepted by the University’s IT department. That’s why the dean wanted to see me this morning.”

Every word triggers a new level of fury.

That little fucking shithead. His actions are the definition of gross, inappropriate behavior.

Unease swirls in my stomach. “Why in the world wouldn’t Stalworth contact me immediately?”

Sawyer hiccups, glancing at me quickly, then looking down again. “The dean thought Tytus was the man in the video.”

Confusion ripples through me. “Why would—”

Sawyer closes her eyes and rests her head against the door, drained and utterly defeated. “Because I was wearing Ty’s jersey.”

Jesus H.

“The video is dark and grainy. You only see us from the back. My hair is a dead giveaway.”

Her hair. The beautiful, fiery hair I love so much.

“And in the screenshot the dean showed me, only your back is visible. Your dark hair and your dress shirt.”

“Which every hockey player there was also wearing after the game,” I surmise.

“Exactly.”

Heavy shame and a sense of crushing responsibility infiltrate my mind. All her tears, all this heartache—it’s all because ofme.

Her face screws up as fresh tears well in her eyes. “There’s more. He…”

Her cheeks turn crimson as she abuses her bottom lip, her focus flitting around the room.

“Just say it, sweetheart.”

Zeroing in on the desk rather than me, she says, “The video he sent didn’t have any sound. But Ty made sure I knew that in the original recording, I say your name seven times.”

He made sure.

He watched it, probably more than once, and he counted how many times she said my name.

I’m going to fucking kill that boy.

Though rage consumes me, urging me to storm out of here and hunt Tytus down, I keep my tone low. “He’s a psychopath.”

“No,” she cries, her eyes welling again. “Don’t say that.”