Shut Out (23 page)

She bites her lip. “He was upset about it. Worried about what was going to happen. They'd been making adjustments to his medications, but he felt it still wasn't right.” She pauses. “He was supposed to see the psychiatrist Monday…but he never got there.”

“Oh God.”

“Yeah. But after that, there was nothing that indicated he wanted to kill himself. I saw him that weekend and he was really hyper and talkative. I asked him if he was okay and he said yes, he just hadn't slept well. But he never said anything, never even hinted…But I should have known…I had no idea that he was going to do that.” She closes her eyes briefly. “And I felt guilty too, because maybe I should have…you know?”

“Yeah.” My lip trembles. “I know, Ella.”

“I just thought you should know that.”

“Why didn't you tell me that sooner?”

“I'm sorry.” She swallows and her face squeezes up. “I'm sorry. I was so angry at you. So hurt.”

I have to bite hard on my bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

Still, she doesn't leave. “That story about Jacob…I don't know what really happened. But…I think he's a good guy, Sky.” Then she walks out of my room, quietly closing the door behind her.

My head is spinning like electrons generating magnetic fields. What does this mean? What was going on with Brendan? There was so much I hadn't known. Had he really cheated on a test? Dear God, why would he have done that? He was
not
a cheater. He must have been distraught about it.

Yes, he'd been hyper and chatty that night, jumping around in our conversation from one thing to another. I remember thinking it was like he was high on something, but we'd only had a couple drinks. Damn. Tears slide down my cheeks and I palm them away.

I guess we'll never know the answers to our questions.

I have to say I feel a huge sense of relief at finally having told Ella the truth. She might hate me for being the messenger…like I was annoyed at her for telling me about Jacob's past. If she does, I think that will pass. I'm still not sure why she told me about Jacob—if her intent was to hurt me, that's really awful. If she was concerned about me…that's different. But it's not her fault it happened. It's not like she made up the story.

I think he's a good guy.

Jacob rescued Ella from one of his teammates. He made sure she got home safely when she was drunk. Even though she was the one who'd discovered his secret and told me. And even though she insulted him when he tried to help.

I slide back down into my bed and stare at the ceiling.

Yeah, he's a good guy.

I think back to when we met, how attracted I was to him despite the cocky arrogance that annoyed me. The glimpses of vulnerability I got—his fear of losing hockey. His belief that without it he was nothing. Now I understand why he was so afraid. He'd almost lost it all, and he had this second chance to make up for what happened.

My hunch that he was uncomfortable during the orientation training now makes sense. He was uncomfortable because of what had happened. That night he came by, he denied that he'd raped anyone. The news articles had said there wasn't enough evidence to lay charges.

He didn't do it.

I close my eyes on a wave of sickness. I know Jacob Flass.

The first time we had sex, we didn't even actually do the deed. He was gentlemanly and considerate, despite us both being so turned on and hot for each other. That was not the behavior of a rapist.

He's always been respectful of me. Never forced me to do anything. He makes me want him so much I can barely remember my own name, but I've always been a willing participant and he always makes sure of that. He helped me with the fundraiser and he actually got his hockey buddies—the ones he thought hated him—to come and sign affirmative consent pledges. And tonight, he looked out for my best friend.

It physically hurts that I believed he would do something like that. And when I think of the stricken look on his face that night when I told him I believed it, when I told him I never wanted to see him again, the pain intensifies to the point where I almost can't breathe.

I roll over and press my face into the pillows. God. What have I done?

He came over that night because he missed me, and I'm still pissed off about why I didn't hear from him, but he was trying to apologize for something and I never even let him really tell me what was going on. Maybe he
had
been trying to end things between us, but even so, I owe him an apology for thinking so little of him.

I don't know what to do about this.

After dropping Ella off at home, wishing I could go in and see Skylar, then driving away feeling shitty, I'm at home in my room, stretched out on my bed, hands beneath my head.

I'm replaying the ugly scene in the bar. I stepped in and helped and I should be feeling good about that, and I guess I sort of do. But Black Jack was pissed and I saw the angry glare he gave me when he stormed out. He's a guy I'd rather not get on the wrong side of, and he's a teammate. But I can't help but be disgusted by how he acted. Disgusted by his sense of entitlement, that because Ella had been with other guys he was entitled to whatever he wanted from her.

I don't know what to do about it.

Maybe, like Skylar, who was hurt and turned it into helping others…maybe I can do the same. I made a mistake and I've learned from it…Maybe I can turn that into educating others.

I've heard hints of that attitude of entitlement from other guys—a few others on the Bears, but also some on the football team. It makes me sick to think that other guys have the feeling that they're so special that girls owe them sex. Maybe I've been living in the land of denial, but fuck…that's not right.

If only every player on the team could go through the training that I did.

Wait. Why couldn't they?

I stare at my ceiling. Why couldn't we do that kind of training for all the players? It would make them more aware, like it did me. It could make a difference.

I know the training was a pilot, and eventually all new students enrolled at Bayard will go through it. But how about now? How could we make that happen?

My mind is working. Churning. I know who I could ask how to make it happen—Skylar.

Fuck. We should be a team on this. We
could
be a team on this.

We should be a team.

My heart feels like it's sinking down to my toes. Skylar's a team player. I'm a team player. In hockey, you
have
to be a team player. We
were
a team. And I let her down. I let my team down.

I'm in love with her. She's the best thing that ever happened to me. And I fucking let her down. She was all alone, her best friend not speaking to her, worried about upsetting her parents with her choices, uncertain of her future, dealing with the fact that her friend raped her and then committed suicide, and I abandoned her too—when she needed someone most.

She's been through hell. Fuck me, I'm such an asshole. I was so concerned about my own needs. My own goals and priorities. What a fucking selfish dick I am.

I don't know if I can ever make things up to Skylar. She hates me for other reasons now, so I'm never going to get her back. But I can still make something good out of all this. And if I can't go to Skylar to help me make this happen, I know who I
can
go to—Victoria.

Okay. Okay. I can do this.

Two days later, I'm sitting in Victoria's office making my pitch. I did my research. I know my own anecdotal stories aren't going to cut it. But I'm also willing to share my story and open myself up to that judgment.

“A disproportionate number of sexual assaults on campus are committed by athletes.” It's hard to talk about this. “Often in situations involving gang rape. I put myself in that position. I believe the girl involved in my situation absolutely wanted it, but I wasn't actually there when it happened and I'll never know for sure if she changed her mind. I know now I shouldn't have left. I should have made sure she was okay. And now I think there's a way to make a difference.”

She studies me with serious eyes. “Go on, Jacob.”

“I know how important athletics are to colleges. Sports bring in so much money to a school. I know it's important enough that they let me come here, knowing my past. I mean, I wasn't given a complete pass—I'm being held to some pretty high standards and expectations here. But still.” I take a breath. “Athletic programs have bigger budgets and stronger recruiting efforts, and there's greater academic leniency for some athletes. For some guys, they think expectations and limits that apply to others don't apply to them.”

She nods.

“We get lots of attention from lots of people. Maybe it makes us think we're above all those rules and limits. Plus, we're encouraged to be aggressive on the ice. Or the football field. Maybe that carries over to off it.” I pause. “I was pretty bitter about what happened to me, because I knew of other situations where the athletes got away with it…and I didn't, even though I knew I didn't do anything and I believed my buddies didn't either. We were made an example of, and it made me angry, but now I can see I've learned from what happened. And I think I can help other guys learn before they go through something like this and learn the hard way. Or before some other girl gets into a situation like that and gets hurt.”

“And how would you do that, Jacob?”

“I think the place to start is with the coaches. Coaches have a pretty unique and powerful relationship with their players. If all the coaches went through the same training I did, it would make them more aware. Plus, it would give them the tools to intervene when they see things that aren't appropriate. I think if they believe doing this would make their teams stronger, they'd be all in.”

“You've really thought this through.” Victoria regards me thoughtfully.

“Yes. I have.” I hold her gaze steadily. “I think it's important. And then I think the athletes themselves could do modified versions of the training. We're kind of in unique situations, with the demands on our time and the other commitments we have, so it would need to look different. But someone like Skylar would know how to do that.”

“Skylar.” One eyebrow lifts.

“She's a great trainer. She has a gift for it…knowing how to reach her audience.”

Victoria smiles. “That's great feedback.” She goes silent and looks down at her desk, flipping a pen up and down. “I want to take this to the president and the executive officers and see what they say.”

I'm not sure of what has to happen here, but that sounds like a next step. “If there's anything I can do to help with that process, I will.”

She nods thoughtfully. “Yes. It might be good for you to be involved in the pitch. You're an athlete. You're in. That carries a lot of weight.” She pauses and tilts her head to one side. “Are you prepared for the pushback you might get from your teammates? Other athletes?”

I hadn't even thought of that. Now I do. Yeah, I get that that could happen. I think of Black Jack. I don't give a shit. “I can deal with it.”

She smiles. “I'm pretty impressed with you right now, Jacob.”

I shift in my chair and muster up a smile. “Thanks. It just feels like something I need to do.”

“Okay. Let's talk about your schedule over the next week or so and see what we can set up.”

As I walk out, Skylar is coming in.

Damn, she's so pretty, her long hair all gold and pink under a snowflake-dusted knit hat. Her cheeks are rosy, but her lips droop at the corners and her eyes are tired. When she sees me, she stops and her eyes widen.

Our gazes lock together and I'm taken back to that night, that house party where I saw her across the kitchen and our eyes met. If I could go back to that night, I'd accept her invitation to go upstairs and I would never let her go after that. She would've been mine, for real. Forever.

“Hi, Skylar.” I can't take my eyes off her.

“Hi.” Her lips part and her eyes are brimming, like she wants to say something. But there are people around us and I have to get to practice.

I hate it that she looks so sad. I don't know if any of it's because of me. I know she has a lot of other shit going on. But I hate it. With a last regretful look, I lift a hand and turn to leave. My chest aches and I sigh as I trudge out of the building and cross the Quad to the parking lot where I left my truck.

In the dressing room at the ice complex, I change into shorts and go into the gym to ride the bike for a while, warming up my leg muscles. We've got a lighter practice schedule this week, as guys are writing exams. Our next regular game isn't until January, but we have that tournament in Florida at the end of the month.

Some guys are there already, warming up, getting minor injuries looked at by the trainers and assistant coach. Alfie is reviewing some video with our assistant coach, Art, nodding as Arty talks about butterfly recovery.

Black Jack walks in and his gaze lands on me right away. “Hey, asshole.”

I ignore him. I don't answer to “asshole.”

He walks up and stops in front of me. “What the fuck was that Saturday night?”

I look up at him. He's got a couple inches on me when we're standing; with me sitting on the bench in front of my cubby, he's huge. My gut tenses. “That was you being an idiot.”

“That was you cock-blocking me.”

“That girl was drunk.”

“She's a slop tart.”

A red haze floats in front of my vision. “You're a douche.” I surge to my feet, hands fisting.

“When did you turn into some kind of pussy? You think we don't know about you?”

Buck walks up behind Black Jack, his forehead creased and mouth tight. I meet his eyes briefly and he shakes his head, telling me he hasn't told anyone.

Whatever. It's all over the Internet. It's a wonder it's taken this long for it to come out.

I swallow. “You don't know shit about it.”

“I know you watched a lamb roast. Your two buddies fucked that girl.”

Okay, that's just wrong, because I wasn't even there when it happened, so I sure as hell didn't watch, and none of that made it into public news stories. How the fuck do rumors like that get started? And make it this far away?

“So where do you get off cock-blocking me, huh?”

“She was drunk.”
I take a step toward him and we're nose to nose. “Are you that stupid? She was too drunk to consent. That's called
rape,
jackass.”

Black Jack shrugs. “She wanted it. And if she tried to accuse me of rape, no one would believe her. I'm a hockey player. Chicks all want to fuck us.”

I knew there was a reason I hated this guy. Red heat bursts inside me and without even thinking, my arm draws back and I lay my fist into his nose. Hard.

“Ow! Fuck!” Black Jack's hands go to his face and he staggers back.

Oh shit. He's bleeding.

I shake my throbbing hand.

Black Jack lowers his hands and stares at the blood, then lifts incredulous eyes to my face. “You did not just fucking do that.” And he charges at me.

Buck grabs him, but Black Jack throws him off and then he's slamming me into the wooden cubby. My spine hits the edge of it and pain explodes through me. Then he tries to punch me.

I'm not a regular fighter, but I know how to throw down, and all the weights I've been doing since last spring have made me strong. The rush of adrenaline and fury through my bloodstream also helps, and I manage to shove him back and lay a few hits of my own, cracking one against his jaw. He lands one on my temple and I have to shake off dizziness.

Guys are all yelling and swarming around us now, running in from everywhere, and it's Buck and Soupy who manage to drag Black Jack away, while Rocket grabs my arms and says, “Easy, slugger.”

I meet Buck's eyes, which are flashing, his face tight. “You okay?” he mouths.

I nod and my gaze goes back to Black Jack, blood streaming down his face, both of us glaring at each other, both our chests heaving. I want to pummel his ugly face. He is
such
a fucking asshole. Rage boils inside me.

I know the guys are stopping us from doing something really stupid, but good sense is washed away by hormones. I gulp air into my lungs.

Coach runs in and stands next to us, his face thunderous. “What the
fuck
is going on here?”

I flick my gaze to him, suddenly aware that it might be too late to stop me from doing something stupid. And I could be in deep shit.

I swallow, my throat constricted. Jesus. I'm the one who's supposed to be on my best behavior. I've been trying so hard to stay out of trouble and now I've screwed up and fought one of my own teammates, one of our senior players, possibly breaking his nose.

I am so fucked.