Chapter 30

30

Aviva

I t only took a minute to unlock Coach Jensen’s door, but it felt like a lifetime. Jack didn’t speak, only stared at me. Finally, the locking mechanism clicked, and I turned the big brass doorknob, pulling the door open.

Jack waved his hand in front of him, a clear after you .

I paused, overcome, blinking rapidly to keep the grateful tears at bay. Even though Jack still didn’t believe that his coach had sexually abused Asher, he believed me. He no longer thought I was a liar.

Not only that, he was helping. He’d never done that before, but here he was, guiding me into his coach’s office. It had to be a betrayal. Was he choosing me? Could I let myself think that? Or should I be suspicious of this reversal? It was a new feeling, this tiny bit of hope, this wish to trust him. Like a seedling in the ground, desperate for sun, waiting to grow.

I shook it off and stepped inside.

The office was a cross between professor and sports bar. Big mahogany bookshelves lined the left wall of the room, books like The Art of War and How to Influence People interspersed with trophies. On the right wall, framed photographs hung, of Joshua Jensen shaking hands with people: the university provost, the mayor, the former governor, and a number of fancy people I couldn’t name. In the middle of the wall was a framed photo of a younger Joshua with a younger Jack, arms slung around each other, looking happy and caring.

Out of the corner of my eye, Jack swallowed, his right hand fisting again. Words tumbled into my mouth in a tangled heap, but I didn’t release any of them. After all, what was there to say?

A mahogany desk stood in the center of the room. It matched the bookcases in its intimidating authority. I saw past it, to the computer on the desk.

“Jackpot,” I said.

Jack snorted.

I walked around to the back of the desk, pushing the leather chair out of the way and turning on the computer. A moment later, it asked for a password.

“Jack, do you know?—”

“Yes.”

“Can you give it to me?”

He hesitated.

“Please, Jack, let me prove it to you.”

Shaking his head, he said, “The password is Fr0z3n4.”

I typed it in and hit return. A few seconds later, I was greeted by the desktop. I began scrolling through documents and files, looking for the damn videos.

Nothing.

Seized by an idea, I opened the “Taxes” folder .

And there it was, a small subfolder that just said “Asher.”

“That’s it.” I practically choked out the word.

Here it was, my proof, my revenge, my brother’s justice. What’s more, it could mean justice for anyone else the coach had abused—and would prevent him from hurting players in the future.

So then why did the thought of breaking Jack’s heart with the truth make my own hurt?

I steeled myself.

“Jack, come take a look.”

He came around the desk, glancing at the computer.

“What am I looking at?”

“See the name of the subfolder?”

“It’s your brother’s name.” He said it in a blasé way, but his jaw was tight, and his throat worked.

My hand shook. “Can you open it for me? I don’t want to watch the video, I can’t?—”

He nodded. Grateful, I looked away, heard some tapping on the keys, a click on the mouse.

“Aviva, you can turn around,” he said.

I did.

The folder was empty.

Not a single video.

Not a single file.

Jack sounded beyond relieved. “See, I told you there was nothing.”

I stared at it. Yeah, there was no video, but why the hell would there be a subfolder with my brother’s name in the Taxes folder?

“Click on the trash icon,” I told him.

Jack shook his head. “You aren’t going to find anything, Aviva, because there isn’t anything. Coach didn’t do anything wrong.”

God, I wanted to smack him so bad. But I’d probably slapped Jack Feldman enough in one lifetime. I wasn’t sure how many more I would get away with.

“Are you sure about that?” I countered instead. “If there was nothing, why is there a folder with my brother’s name in Jensen’s Taxes folder?”

He sighed.

“Let me text my brother. He’s a hacker.”

Taking out his phone, he sent a quick text. A moment, later, it rang.

“Hey,” he said. Then, “I’ll tell you about it later. Can you—” his throat worked, eyes closing, like the guilt over betraying his coach this way was too much for him. “Can you access a computer remotely? See if you can find deleted files? Probably mp4s? They’d be labeled Asher.” He listened for a moment, then said, “Yeah, it has to do with her.”

A moment later, he hung up. “He’s working on it,” he said, but refused to look at me.

We waited for what seemed like forever, not speaking. The silence between us was thick with tension. Jack paced around the office, I closed my eyes and hoped.

Finally, Jack’s phone buzzed. He checked it, then shook his head.

“Nothing.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding.

“There can’t be nothing.” There was no way.

“My brother is a genius, Aviva.”

“And he wouldn’t lie to protect you?”

Jack glared at me. “Not about something like this. Do you want to check my text messages to him? Prove to yourself that this isn’t some whole plot against you? ”

The room began to spin around me. I was running out of options, and the knowledge made it hard to breathe.

Panic attack , my brain supplied.

A moment later, Jack was there, his arms around me. “I’ve got you, little fury,” he said, stroking my back. “Inhale and exhale okay? Deep breaths. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

I let him soothe me, slowed down my breathing. But I wasn’t going to be okay. Desperate, I began pulling open drawers and shutting them, rifling through papers and pens. Maybe there was a USB drive somewhere? Maybe the coach had another laptop, hidden away?

I started pulling out books and checking them to see if any were hollow. None were. Jack patiently took each one from me and put them back to rights.

“Aviva,” Jack said, voice filled with pity. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing. And we should go before we do get caught.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, resolute.

Not until I found the evidence I needed.

“You need to face the truth, little fury,” he said gently. “You’re looking for something that doesn’t exist, when you really need to look closer to home. Asher is lying to you. It happens sometimes. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth of it.”

He grabbed my hand. I ripped it away.

“Don’t touch me.”

He raised an eyebrow, reaching for me again and capturing my wrist in his big hand. “Come with me to the alumni dinner next week. You can meet Coach, get a feel for him. Ask him yourself if he abused your brother, if that’s what you need to get closure on this. You’ll see what I see in him, I swear.”

I couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “You think I’ll be your date to the absolute last place in the world I want to be.” Not to mention, the closest thing I had to formal wear was the second hand, threadbare black dress I’d worn to my aunt’s funeral.

“I want you there, princess . ”

Great. We were back to princess.

He must’ve seen the look on my face, because he softened. Slightly. “Come home with me tonight. And then we can go shopping for a dress tomorrow.”

“No.”

He shook his head, turning to go. “I’m not playing this game with you anymore, where you pull away and I retaliate. We’re together now, and whether you come home with me or I sneak into your bedroom again, I’m going to bed with you and waking up with you. But I’m giving you a choice this time. It’s up to you if you don’t want to take it—if it makes you feel better to think you were forced.”

He was right. I hated that he was right, that I wanted to go to bed with him and to wake up with him. I stared around the office.

“What kind of choice is that, if the result is the same either way?” I shot back.

He opened the door for me. “The only kind you’ll get.”

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