Authors: Anne Eliot
He suddenly looks way older. He's also shorter than I remember. That, or I'm just taller. It's been a long time since I've been anywhere near this guy.
“I don't know. I don't know what she knows or remembers,” I say. “I'm 99% percent sure she doesn't remember
me
or anything that happened. She texted me earlier. She's sick. That's all. I can vouch for how terrible she looked yesterday. Said she had a headache and a bad lunch. Maybe she got worse?”
“Jess is not the type to ditch finals for no reason, so you must be right. But, if you messed with one hair on her head, I'll personally destroy your entire life.”
“Whatever. That's already been done—thanks to your lameness. Which reminds me, isn't this about the time you suck up and offer me a spot to play on the hockey team next year? Let's just get
that
conversation over now, so you don't have waste my time and hunt me down before the last day of school.”
My comment seems to take the fight out of Coach. He uncrosses his arms and runs a hand through the sparse pile of white hairs on his bald head. “The offer still stands. There's a spot for you on my team, anytime.”
I'm the first to break our stare-down. I guess I'm surprised he still sounds sincere with that offer. The same offer he's made to me since I quit the team. Even after I just egged him on like that. Nobody digs into Coach Williams and survives.
I look back into his serious, ice-grey eyes and answer, “I won't have a coward for a coach, and I'm pretty sure you're still the same guy as before. Right?”
Coach Williams turns away from me then. I count it as a win because I think I caught a grimace crossing his face. At least the guy still has some guilt—and he should.
“I'd thought after all these years you'd be able to understand my position,” he says after a short pause. “I stand by my decisions and the decisions of Jess's parents. Nothing good would have come us exposing everything. Any further involvement would have hurt Jess, and destroyed the future of a young man who made some really bad choices on one night while he was drunk at a party—”
“Don't you dare defend that asshole to me,” I shout. “He's long gone. Probably graduating from college right now and living life just fine. From what I suspect, Jess is still falling apart on a daily basis because of
him,
because of
you
, and, because of her parents' chicken-shit attitudes.” I pace across the room and lower my voice. “At least offering to blow the whistle and stand witness back then allows me some sense of self-respect. How any of you losers manage to sleep at night is beyond me.”
“You still think the plan you had would have brought a better ending to any of it?” Coach Williams levels me with his steady ‘game-time’ stare. But his quavering voice doesn't match.
“Yes!” I shout and look down at the contract balled in my hands. My heart aches from too much pounding. I can hardly focus because I'm replaying how it all came down the last time I spoke to this man.
The room feels like it's sucking away under my feet. When I speak again I'm so drained I can only hold my tone just above a whisper. “Honestly, I don't know if things would have changed for the better. But none of you gave my offer a chance, so I guess we'll never know.”
I push his chair out of my way as I pace the room again.
“Sometimes different is not better,” he says, when I stop in front of him again.
“Does that apply to Jess? She's not looking or acting any better than she did when she first came back to school three years ago. Admit
that
, at least.”
“You're right. Jess appears to be the same. I can tell you the kid who did it—he is a better person now. He's sorry. Very sorry. I've kept in contact with his parents.”
“Why would I care? That fact makes it worse.” I sit on the corner of Coach Williams' desk. “You and Jess's parents sacrificed the two innocent people in all of this so that a jerk could grow up to become a
better person
. Did he ever look Jess in the eye and apologize? Jesus, can you not see how twisted that is? He should have done some time for what he did.”
“It was your word against his. And he wouldn't have gone to jail because nothing happened. Nothing—beyond underage drinking. Drinking in which
you
, my whole hockey team, and Jess Jordan were also participants. I wasn't willing to drag twenty kids' futures, their college plans, and my career through the mud for something that couldn't be proved.”
“Bullshit. You sacrificed honor and honesty to protect the season and win state. The giant gold trophy down in the front hall is still front and center. Did you get a nice raise that year?”
“No, and I didn't get fired, either.” Coach Williams shakes his head and paces the length of the stage before returning to face me. “You sacrificed yourself, son. No one asked you to quit the team. Next year is the last chance for you to undo the personal damage you created because of your stubborn impulsiveness. I know you still practice. A lot.”
I cringe a little at that. His words—the truth—make me angry again; but we both know he's still talking crap. There's no way to undo any of the damage.
When I don't answer, Coach goes on, “You're good enough to gain a solid scholarship. I've heard you're holding up great on ice. And your inline wins are always top reporting these days. You're a high profile player and with that, you'd get noticed by top coaches—”
“Whatever, that's none of your business. I won't be bought out.”
Coach Williams shrugs. “Your choice. In the meantime, I have to ask you not to participate in that ridiculous contract between you and Jess.”
“This contract is going to help me pay for my first semester at college minus your ‘strings attached’ offers. I'm convinced it's going to help Jess big-time as well. If I handle it right, I think I can get her to come out of her shell, make some friends, be happier than she seems now at least. Money aside, I would never do anything to hurt her. I've only ever wanted to help. You must know my intentions are still the same where she's concerned.”
Coach nods, his gaze is wary, but he seems to be hearing me. “Are Jess's parents aware of this?”
“Hell no, they aren't. They won't even know my name. Didn't you read the whole thing?”
He nods, and I laugh then because I'm sure Coach Williams' read it more than once. He's probably got this thing tattooed to his ass, in blood.
“Why does she want this?”
“Jess believes that without some semblance of a ‘normal summer’ under her belt, her parents won't let her move out and go to college.”
“That sounds like her parents talking, not her.”
“Nope. It's all her. She wants out. Jess should get to move on with her life and
become a better person
, also. Don't you agree?” I throw his words back into his face. “If I can give her that, I will. Don't ruin it. You owe her something too.”
“But what about you? It's not like you to participate in anything so underhanded.”
“It's not underhanded if she doesn't remember. If I'm helping her. If she asked
ME
. Besides, I stopped being a ‘better person’ when I messed up everything that night. You think I'm doing this just for her? I want to make up for some of that. I'm tired of feeling guilty. Aren't you?”
“Jesus, son. None of what happened was your fault, or mine. None of it. What if she remembers? Gray, you're putting me in a terrible position. I have to tell her parents.”
“It's summer. You're off duty as of Friday. This has nothing to do with you. Me, dating Jess, will not occur on school property. You can check in with her any time while you run your practices at the complex. She'll be hanging around the rink and the snack bar. Safe. With me. If she remembers, then I promise to tell her the truth. It's simple. Give me a chance to step in and try to help. Please. If she hasn't remembered anything in three years or in the last week of hanging nose to nose with me, then she's not going to remember at all.”
Coach Williams lets out a long, tired sounding breath of air. “Okay. I'll be watching. But you need to promise me one thing.”
“Shoot.”
“Make sure you help her get some sleep during the day.”
“Why?” My mind is overtaken with the image of Jess snuggled up in her car at Geekstuff.com—of the image of her ashen face during the interview and yesterday after school.
“You can find that out on your own. Mess anything up, hurt her once, and it's over. This stays strictly on the friend level. I mean that, Porter. Don't step over the line with her.”
I hate his threatening tone, and I hate that he knows more about Jess than I do. “I'm already more than her friend. As of yesterday, I'm her
boyfriend
. I will cross any line I want. You can keep this copy for reference
.
”
I throw the wadded up contract into his chest as hard as I can.
He catches it without a blink.
Chapter Twelve
Jess
...
You're a very lucky girl.
Nothing happened. Nothing happened.
I thought he was nice.
C'mon. Dude. Let's get out of here.
What've you done? You're an asshole.
Nothing. Nothing happened. I didn't do anything. I swear she wanted this.
Wait. Please. Please. Don't leave me here.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…I can't untie the knot…
It's not her fault. Jess, none of this is your fault.
But it is. I believed him when he called me beautiful.
Nothing happened. Not really.
I'm so sorry.
You're a lucky, lucky girl.
...
I'm covered in a fine sheen of sweat, about to vomit, but grateful to be awake.
When I sleep through the nightmare—when I make it to the part where my parents are standing around me and I'm in a hospital bed—then everyone in the house hears me crying in my sleep.
Everyone except me, that is.
I'd almost been to that point. I strain to listen for any footsteps or sounds that might alert me to my parents lurking in the hallway. The towel is still in place where I'd stuffed it under the door to block out any sounds I might make, so that means no one peeked in here either. Thankfully all is silent save for my racing heart. I allow the fear and voices crawling through every inch of my soul to wash over me so the rest of it can play out as quickly as possible.
As the spinning stops, I stare at my jellyfish lamp and count. Tonight, the words from the nightmare are worse—louder than ever. Repeating. Rocketing through my head.
Lucky. Lucky. Lucky girl. Nothing happened. Nothing happened.
I haven't heard them this clearly in almost two years.
The words belong to the people who were present the night I was drunk and almost raped freshman year. The night I snuck out to a party, lied to my parents, got drunk and brought all of this on myself. The nightmares and the voices are my memories. Or what's left of them.
It's always me, floating in and out of varied versions of the same scene.
I'm half-naked sometimes. Often, I'm all wrapped up in a white sheet. Usually there's two faceless guys talking. The policeman is always around too. Sometimes, a nurse, and if I don't wake up, my parents appear when it moves to a hospital room.
In the nightmare, I'm forced to be everyone. I'm observing each moment from very far away—like it's on a small TV monitor. But as it unfolds, it's my
own voice
that's been dubbed over the words everyone else spoke that night.
It's freaky, but whatever. It's a
nightmare
. They're supposed to be horrible, right?
I work to sit up, still counting, and rest my chin on my knees so I can watch my nightlight better. The three tiny jellyfish spin aimlessly up and down, up and down, in their water-filled tank. The tentacles are almost distinguishable.
Almost. Almost.
How I hate that word and the way it defines me.
Almost
raped.
Almost
over it.
Almost
normal. Much, much worse: a night I can
almost
remember.
Almost
forget.
I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me. Even though everyone says it wasn't my fault, I feel responsible. How can none of my messed up life be my fault? I did wrong. I broke all the rules. And I'm paying the consequences for my ‘bad choices’ in this endless time-out. Nightmare. Punishment.
My parents used to make us do time-outs on a little bench in the front hallway. Mom and Dad's price for misbehaving: sit on the bench one minute for every year ‘old’ we were.