Page 40

THIRTY-NINE

Joey

“Man,” I hear. “Coaching is a tough gig, isn’t it?”

I still at the silky voice, the smug voice.

I’ve barely reached the parking lot, my complete focus on just making it to my car when each step feels as though my knees may give way.

Damon said?—

Hurt ripples through my abdomen even as I try to slap bandages on the wounds inside me.

Hiding things from me. Not talking to me. Giving me a taste of that trademark temper with words that…

Fucking hurt.

So yeah, I haven’t exactly been aware of my surroundings.

I don’t know if the man—the annoying reporter who’s been dogging me for months— followed me or was just waiting in the shadows, preparing to pounce.

All I know is he’s here now.

Annoying me.

I exhale, force out my reply through my tight throat. “I’m done with sound bites for the night. Catch me after next game.”

“You seem upset.”

Clenching my jaw, I don’t stop, just keep moving to my car, grabbing the handle on the driver’s door. “It’s late.”

“Is it that?” he drawls. “Or is it that head coaching is really hard on a woman’s love life?”

A lance to my heart, stealing all the breath from my lungs.

I release the handle, spin to face the man.

It’s not the asshole question. It’s not the smugness. It’s…the note of something familiar in that condescending tone.

Why do I recognize it?

Why does the young male reporter, his phone in his hand, his—you guessed it— smug expression in place, look so fucking familiar?

It’s not because I’ve seen him at press conferences.

It’s—

“Hiller,” I whisper as horror slides down my spine. I’ve seen this man before…in a photograph that used to sit on my desk. Before it was my desk. When it was Hiller’s desk. When I ignored screaming fits and being berated—Hiller’s modus operandi for dealing with frustrations.

While trying to do my job. While I sat across from him and tried to pretend the shit that he did to me didn’t happen.

While guilt and shame ate at my insides.

The kid’s chin comes up and it’s then that I fully see his father in the line of his jaw, the hardness in his eyes—like he’s a rattlesnake prepared to strike.

He just smiles. “You fuck with my dad, and I fuck with you.” He taps on his phone’s screen, points it to face me, and…

I watch a shaking video of Damon and me in my office, clearly taken through a sliver of opening, the edge of the door blocking most of the space. But not blocking us. Not blocking Damon as he paces. Me as my face falls, hurt rippling through my expression?—

Fuck, it’s worse seeing it like this than experiencing it the first time.

“…if this is what it’s going to mean to be in a relationship with you, where you don’t fucking trust me to protect you, then I don’t want it.”

“You d-don’t want it? Don’t want us?”

“Y-you d-don’t w-want i-it?” he sneers. “God how fucking pathetic is it that a sniveling bitch like you is here while my dad got fired? So”—a shrug—“now the world will see exactly who you are.” He taps at the screen, shows me what I missed before: that the video of Damon and me is on a popular social media app. “Posted five minutes ago and it already has six thousand views. This shit’s going viral, baby.” He grins and it’s terrible. “This is too fucking perfect. I cannot believe that my dad was fired and you’re here and you’re screwing the GM. That’s fucking rich. How many times did you have to blow Damon before you got the job? Ten? Twenty? A hundred?”

I watch this man, this fucking monster in the making and…I’m just done.

He’s not, though. “Now that Damon doesn’t want you, are you going to ruin his career too?” A smirk. “Or maybe I should have waited to post so I could see what kind of head you would give to get me to delete it.”

Something snaps inside me and I decide, fuck it.

He shakes his head. “God, all my dad did was?—”

“Rape me.”

His mouth drops open, his eyes going wide. He’s silent for a long moment before he stammers out, “Wh-what did you?—?”

I step closer.

Done .

I am so totally fucking done that I react on the fly, pulling out my phone, bringing up the same app he used, and starting a new live video. “A few minutes ago this man”—I turn, getting myself and Hiller’s son in the frame as I search my brain for his name—“Zach Hiller,” I say as it comes to me, “recorded me without my knowledge during a painful, heartbreaking conversation. Then as I was trying to go home, planning to cry into a glass of wine while I came to terms with the fact that the man I love may not feel the same way, he decided he needed to confront me in the parking lot and rub it in.”

I move, cutting him off when he tries to slink away.

“Oh no, Zach,” I say, watching as the live count grows. “You wanted to do this, let’s do this. You asked how I got the job. You asked if it was because I blew our GM and the man I love, Damon Connors.”

“I—”

“You asked if I fucked my way into the position.” Yeah, Tera and the legal team are going to kill me, especially when I keep going. But…zero fucks to give right now. “It couldn’t be that I’m qualified, right? It couldn’t be that I’ve worked for it. Of course not.”

“You—” Rage flashes through his eyes, but I keep going.

“Then you asked why I’m still here when I’m in a relationship with Damon—or was , I guess, until tonight,” I add flippantly, even though my heart is shredded. “You asked why I’m here, with all that baggage when your dad is gone. And not that I owe you an explanation, but Damon and I are new and— gasp —consensual. Plus, Cal, the team’s owner for those out there who don’t know, and our HR department have both been notified. They weren’t thrilled, because of what happened with your dad last season, but the heart wants what the heart wants, right?”

He sniffs.

“And then this is where shit gets really real, right? Because you tried to minimize your dad sexually harassing and assaulting multiple women in the organization before he was fired as all my dad did —” I shift, point the camera more fully at him. “And do you remember what I said?”

He clamps his mouth shut, glances away.

I look to the camera. “I told you that your dad raped me.” For a second, I falter. Then I remember Kylie, remember me . I can do this. “I don’t care if you believe me. I don’t care if you think that I had it coming—how dare I be in a male space. I don’t even care if it’s the only thing you remember about me. Because I endured that, endured your dad’s abuse for years , and even after he raped me, I hid it. I lived in shame, lived with thinking that maybe I deserved it. So, I let my guilt for not speaking up tear me apart, and I’m done— done —with that. Maybe I’ll always be that girl hockey coach who was raped, but I know in here”—I drop my free hand to my chest—“that one moment doesn’t define me. I’m more than what a man did to me, and if people can’t understand that then I just…don’t care anymore.” I glance over my shoulder at Zach. “Now, kiddo,” I say mockingly, “did you have anything else to add?”

“Fuck you, bitch,” he snaps.

Then he storms off, and I stay live until he gets in his car and screeches out of the lot.

I look back to the camera, stomach churning at the sheer number of people watching—yup, Tera is definitely going to kill me. “I’ve tried to be perfect,” I say quietly to the viewers. “Killed myself to do everything right—and bad things still happened to me. Fault me for falling in love with the wrong person, be pissed because I didn’t get us to the Cup last year or messed with your favorite line combination. But please, I’m begging you, know that you’re more than what other people try to make you.”

I click the button to end the live.

Turn off my phone—this will still be there for me to deal with in the morning.

And then I get in my car and turn on the engine.

I drive carefully—oh so carefully—home, abiding every speed limit, making full and complete stops at every single intersection that requires them, signaling all turns, pulling slowly into my garage.

Holding my breath until the heavy metal door rumbles closed.

Only then do I lose my hold on my tears.

I fumble for the handle, crawl out of my car. I make it to the door to the house, shove it open, whacking my arm on the frame as I stumble through, and…

Only then do I allow my knees to give way.