Football players are assholes. I know; I'm related to their king. My older, and annoyingly overprotective, brother Jake is the star quarterback at Santa Cruz High School. I love him but hate living in his shadow. Everyone worshiping the air he breat...
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Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I can't... Fuck, I can't think straight.
Ellie gutted me with one admission. I thought her sarcastic wit came from being jaded about being turned down by a guy she liked, or too much practice rejecting interested guys, or too much exposure to Jake and his teammates, but not...
Not that.
Beyond an awful situation, I wasn't sure what 'that' was, but so much made sense. Jake was the last guy I felt sorry for, but his overactive anger and unreasonable protectiveness of Ellie? I understood. Ellie's sharp personality, her relationship with her brother, and our exchanges now made perfect sense.
The disgusted looks from the beach. Every time she rebuffed me with a snarky comment. She'd been around football players as long as I had, if not longer, and one of them crossed an unforgivable line.
And I wanted to know more. I had to. What happened to Ellie? I scrolled through every possible unpleasant Santa Cruz High rape and assault story online and found nothing except a potential candidate. Ryder Stevens. His stats read like any decent high school quarterback, a senior when Jake was a freshman, on an athletic scholarship to -
"UC-Davis," I muttered to my phone. The rest I could verify from a direct source. "I'll ask when I see him."
Me: Hey, I'm free tomorrow. Can we go early? Donating blood that day.
Mace: Great! Make sure you hydrate. See you at 6:30 am.
"Fabulous," I muttered. An early training session where Mason kicked my ass, then siphoning plasma and platelets was a literally draining day. I would make it work so Ellie wasn't harassed by my teammates.
Me: Yeah. Can you do me a favor?
Mace: Yeah?
Me: Who played QB for Santa Cruz HS three years ago?
There was a long pause before text bubbles appeared.
Mace: Tell you in person. See you at Paradigm.
A pit formed in my stomach, and Mason's words blurred. What the fuck did he know and wasn't telling me? Football parties were notorious for drunken encounters. I had several regrets with girls under those circumstances, but drunk or sober, I never crossed the mutual consent line.
I shut off my phone and held it to my chin. A sickening sensation filled my stomach like it dropped in a rush and rose bile up my throat. I was disgusting. Ellie didn't deserve to be played, a pawn in a retribution game against her asshole brother. The best thing I could do was leave her alone. She deserved to be left alone by an asshole like me. So, why did I feel so gutted by the idea?
Fuck, I was torn in half. I didn't need further proof than when I choked while kissing her. That wasn't supposed to happen. And I had no one to blame but myself. I was so stupid. I choked because feelings for her surged from out of nowhere, a damn near pressure built in my chest, and threatened to burst through my skin. Guilt strangled my throat and twisted my stomach until I felt sick and couldn't close the deal.
