Chapter 6
Chapter six
Sawyer
“I’ll just be two minutes.” I don’t give Mercer time to reply before ducking into the restroom.
The second I cross the threshold, tears stream down my cheeks freely.
It’s the first moment of privacy I’ve had in hours.
A sob escapes me, but I clamp my palm over my mouth in an attempt to hold it all in.
The pressure in my chest is heavy enough to cleave my body in two.
But I don’t have time to fully fall apart.
Mercer is waiting for me, so I have to keep my shit together. And I really do have to pee.
As I finish washing my hands, my phone vibrates in my bag.
Quickly, I yank two paper towels from the dispenser and pat my hands dry. Then I fish it out.
Two text notifications greet me. Both are from Tytus.
Ty: Thought you might wanna see for yourself exactly what the dean had access to earlier.
Attached to the message is a video.
My stomach cramps and bile threatens to work its way up my esophagus once more.
I don’t need to click on the file to know what it is, but I do it anyway. A heartbeat later, I tap the screen, pausing the video. I don’t want to actually see it.
The information I’m looking for pops up on the bottom of the screen.
Four and a half minutes.
Tytus stood in the shadows, watching us have sex in the locker room, for at least four and a half minutes.
Maybe longer. That’s just how long he recorded.
Molten fury coats my insides. I’m so hot—so fired up and angry—I could burst into flames.
He watched us and he recorded us. Now he has the fucking gall to threaten blackmail.
This is the absolute sickest invasion of privacy.
And to think it’s from a person I trusted. A man I thought I loved.
I navigate back to the text thread, ready to give him a piece of my mind, only to home in on the second message.
Ty: FYI, petit diable. The file the dean intercepted had no sound. Volume up if you wanna know just how many times you scream Mercer Eden’s name while you let him fuck you.
My heart plummets as realization sinks in.
That’s it. That’s the missing piece of the puzzle.
Ty sent a dark, grainy video with no sound.
The distinguishing features are almost nonexistent. My hair, sure, but the man behind me? His hair is dark, and he’s dressed up, just like all the hockey players leaving the arena that night. They always dress their best before and after the games.
Between Tytus’s jersey on my back and our position in front of his locker, it’s no wonder the dean jumped to conclusions.
I’m tempted to play the video, but Mercer is waiting for me.
The phone vibrates in my hand once more.
Ty: It’s 7, by the way
Seven.
His jersey number.
Ty: You scream his name 7 fucking times. Wonder what would happen if the dean or other faculty heard the proof of what really happened.
Good grief.
I get that he’s upset. I understand that he wants me to feel like shit for what I did. But this is too far.
He kept demanding to know how many times the dean watched the video. What I want to know is how many times he subjected himself to this footage.
Footage that shouldn’t exist. It wasn’t for him. It was a private moment. One I was confident would stay private because I had cleared the entire ice arena already.
I have no one to blame but myself for Ty’s over-the-top reaction.
But he’s not my biggest concern right now.
I stash my phone, wet a paper towel, and do my best to clean up my makeup and dry my eyes. With a disgusted glance in the mirror, I shake my head, grab my bag, and meet Mercer in the hall.