Page 45 of Necessary Roughness

Sloane

The smell in the waiting room at the jail was a disgusting mixture of bleach and mold.

I sat forward in the plastic chair, staring at a discoloration on the floor in front of me.

A raised brownish outline on the gray tiles.

I imagined a fight breaking out in here, blood being spilled.

An underpaid janitor halfheartedly cleaning up the blood with a mop and bucket, not caring enough to make sure the stain was completely removed.

The stain reminded me of the blood on Troy’s face, and on Roman’s knuckles. It filled me with an oppressive sense of guilt, because that fight only occurred because of me .

Knox and Logan sat on either side of me, occasionally reaching over to stroke my back. Their touch did little to comfort me. We had all been silent since we arrived and were told to wait here, exhaustion consuming us once the adrenaline from the party had worn off.

Eventually the silence was too much, so I filled it with the sound of my voice. “He grabbed me and pushed me into the bathroom. He was angry I had shown up at his party. He thought I was stalking him.” I shook my head. “The arrogance.”

“If we had known that was his house…” Knox began.

“You couldn’t have known,” I replied. I was still staring at the brown stain. “None of us could have. We just wanted to have a good time.”

“I, for one, had a great time,” Logan declared. “Until the fight, I mean.”

I smiled, but my heart wasn’t in it.

Roman was released at two in the morning. His right hand was bandaged, the clean white wrapping contrasting with the blood stains on his T-shirt and jeans. I jumped up and ran forward, embracing him like I thought he would never be released.

“They have an X-ray machine,” Roman said softly. “Usually used to detect contraband, they told me. My knuckles are broken.” He raised his hand to show me.

“Oh no!” My guilt swelled like a tide. “The game next week…”

“They’ll put a club cast on my hand,” Roman explained. “Happens all the time. I’ll be able to play.”

I was more relieved about that than anything else, I realized. If I was the reason Roman had to miss a game…

Logan drove us home in his Jeep 4Runner. We skulked inside, shoulders slumped, exhausted from everything that had happened and wanting to finally call an end to the day.

Before I could disappear into my room, Roman stopped me with a touch. “Sloane. I… I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” I asked. “For defending me from an asshole?”

He didn’t smile. “I went too far. I lost control. That’s not the kind of man I am. It’s important to me that you know that.”

His dark eyes were wide and pleading, like this was the most important thing in the world. I hugged him, and felt him relax in my embrace.

“I forgive you,” I whispered. “But there’s nothing to forgive. A small part of me was happy to see Troy get what was coming to him.”

Roman grunted.

“I mostly feel bad for you. Breaking your hand. And if he presses charges…”

“I’ll be fine, Sloane,” he murmured while stroking my hair. “Don’t worry about me. Everything’s going to be fine.”

But it wasn’t.

Troy’s father was a lawyer. And not just any lawyer, but an ambulance chaser who made his fortune representing people with fake injuries. People who pretended to slip in department stores and then sued them for millions.

And in this case, Troy’s injuries were very real.

We learned from Roman’s lawyer that Troy had a broken mandible, three cracked teeth, a fractured orbital bone, and two cracked ribs.

“And he’ll probably claim to have a concussion, as well as emotional pain and suffering,” the lawyer added.

“I’ll let you know when they contact me, but Roman… it’s not looking good.”

Soon after his lawyer left, the football coach and Zane paid Roman a visit. I locked myself in my bedroom and pretended I wasn’t there, but I could hear everything clearly through the walls.

Roman was being put on academic suspension. He could immediately appeal the decision, which would buy him enough time to play in the final game of the regular season on Saturday, but he would almost certainly miss the conference championship in two weeks.

“What came over you, son?” the head coach asked. Knox had described him as an angry authoritarian on the field, but now he only sounded like a concerned grandfather. “This isn’t like you.”

“He was attacking my… a friend,” Roman replied. “I saw red.”

“A friend?” The coach snorted. “Must be a real good friend, considering what you did to that boy’s face.”

“He deserved it,” Knox cut in. It was the first time he’d spoken since the coach arrived. “Roman went too far, sure… but that asshole deserved it.”

There was a shuffling sound as the coach rose from the couch. “We’ll see if you feel the same way when our best linebacker is sitting out the conference championship.”

“Forget the championship,” Zane chimed in. “Roman, you’re being charged with battery. You might go to jail .”

My guilt returned a thousandfold.

As soon as they were gone, I emerged from my room and hugged Roman. My goal was to comfort him, to show him any kind of support, but I immediately began sobbing and he had to comfort me .

“My lawyer is talking to witnesses from the party,” Roman said while gently stroking my hair.

“Troy blocked you in the bathroom and wouldn’t let you leave.

That’s a crime, too. And don’t forget, I tried to disengage after punching him the first time.

Troy is the one who charged at me again and started throwing more punches.

There was a room full of people who will vouch for that. ”

I knew that was mostly true, but would a judge feel the same way? When the damage was compared, Roman’s broken knuckles—a self-inflicted wound—versus Troy’s list of injuries?

“And if I miss the conference championship,” Roman added, “it’s not the end of the world. I have all next season to come back and prove myself.”

Logan made us all watch Die Hard that night, but nobody was really into it.

When the movie was over, we all slept alone, as if by some unspoken agreement.

I slept poorly, and was tormented by nightmares of the party, of a thousand judgement-filled eyes blaming me for everything that had happened, and of Troy’s mocking curse.

Whore, whore, whore .

I got up early the next morning to make everyone pancakes. It felt like the least I could do after the trouble I had caused. Roman was the first one up, and the big smile on his face—uncharacteristic for him—immediately set my mood right.

“You defended my honor,” I said over my shoulder while flipping two pancakes with a spatula. “The least I could do is make breakfast.”

Roman hugged me from behind. I put down the spatula and sighed happily at the way his body molded around mine, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he rumbled into my hair. “But I won’t turn down a home-cooked meal.”

“Me neither!” Logan announced while practically skipping into the kitchen.

“You’re in a good mood,” Roman said.

“Tough not to be after waking up to the smell of fresh pancakes.” Logan licked his lips. “Are you making enough for all of us, or just the guy with the broken hand?”

“There’s plenty to go around,” I told him.

“Dope.” He reached around us to snag a finished pancake off a plate, then winced when I smacked his hand.

“Roman gets the first batch,” I declared.

“I get the first batch,” Roman told Logan.

The big wide receiver rolled his eyes and opened the fridge. “I’ll get the butter and syrup out. I wish we had powdered sugar.”

Before he could arrange all the pancake accessories, the doorbell rang. While Logan went to the door, Roman kissed me on the back of the neck and then poured himself a big glass of milk. I picked up the spatula and prodded the current batch of pancakes in the pan.

“Is Knox Maddox here?” the guy at the door asked.

“Knox!” Logan called. “You’ve got a visitor.”

A strange sensation tickled the back of my neck, making the hairs stick on end. Still carrying the spatula, I walked into the living room. The visitor looked like any other college student, with a backpack slung over his shoulder and a large envelope of papers in one hand.

It was probably somebody dropping off next week’s class notes for Knox. Yet I couldn’t shake this feeling…

“Hello?” Knox asked while joining them at the door. His hair was messy and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Knox Maddox?” the newcomer confirmed.

“That’s the name my coach screams when I throw an interception,” he muttered. “What’s up?”

The man at the door reached into the large envelope and handed Knox a stapled set of documents. “You’ve been served.” He smiled almost apologetically, then quickly made his exit.

“Served?” Knox said, as if he didn’t understand the word.

“What is it?” I asked. “Who’s serving you with legal documents?”

Back in the kitchen, Roman said, “Pancakes are burning,” but I was totally focused on the quarterback.

Knox rubbed at an eye with his fist and scanned the papers. Then his whole body tensed at once.

“It’s from Troy.” His eyes flicked up to meet mine. “He’s suing me.”