Chapter 24
Josephine
“There was a trial,” I confirm again once Decker and Greedy take their seats. The other guys—my guys—hover close, although only Kylian is touching me now.
“Three of them were identified, so only three of them had to take the stand.”
Kylian hmphs softly from where he’s crouched at my feet. I don’t dare look his way, though. If I do, if I see the look on his face, I may not get through the rest of the story.
“I sat in the courtroom for days and watched as each one talked about their plans for the future, about how sorry they were.” Pressing my lips together, I shake my head.
“In the end, their lawyer worked his magic. His closing arguments featured a slideshow that included a handful of photos of me looking shitfaced at other parties. The photos of the boys showed them playing sports, receiving awards, and volunteering in the community.”
“Wait. Character evidence can’t be entered into a sexual assault trial,” Hunter counters.
Nodding sadly, I explain. “Good thing it wasn’t an actual rape case, huh?” My flippant response takes concerted effort. It wasn’t until I was older and had distance from the town of Blakely, Ohio that I realized just how biased and unjust the case was.
The police. The judge. Every adult involved. They had all decided my fate before I even stepped foot into the courthouse.
My mom wanted nothing to do with it, which is on-brand for how she’s regarded me my whole life. I didn’t have anyone else on my side, least of all someone to advocate or offer advice.
“It wasn’t a trial,” Hunter deduces through tears. “It was a smear campaign.”
Nodding, I swallow past the trepidation burning in my esophagus. The next part is what makes my heart ache the most—because it was so unnecessary and cruel.
“It was. And it didn’t stop there.”
When I’m met with nothing but the sound of crickets chirping all around, I continue.
“One boy’s mom, Karen McGilvery, rallied a whole bunch of parents. And not just the parents of the other guys charged. All the parents of high school-aged students in Blakely, Ohio. There was a Facebook group. There was a petition. They wanted to have me expelled.”
“The fuck?” Kendrick mutters.
Hunter watches me, brow furrowed, calculation in her eyes. She knows exactly where this is going. “Did they succeed?”
With a tilt of my head, I shrug. “I guess it depends on how you define success. I dropped out of high school. Eventually, I got my GED so I could get my cosmetology license.
“I didn’t have a choice. Every day was something new. Posting old pictures of me. Pulling screenshots off my social media.”
“That’s awful,” Hunter murmurs.
An emotionless laugh bubbles out of me. “There’s still more.”
“How could there possibly be more?” Kendrick growls out, pushing off against the back of my chair and pacing the length of the table.
Locke catches his arm and halts him. “Let her talk, bro.”
Silent again, they all turn back to me.
“McGilvery’s mom was relentless. It didn’t matter that I dropped out of school. That I was practically a shut-in, isolated from the people I once considered friends because I never knew who might take my picture and post it in one of her online groups.”
“She organized a fundraiser for the three guys who’d been sentenced to community service. Since they were too busy dealing with the trial to apply for scholarships that year.”
Hunter snorts.
“She also held a vigil in the town center.”
“For what?” Locke asks at my side. Though he still isn’t touching me, he’s hovering so close I can feel his heat.
Shuttering my eyes, I push down the nausea that threatens to make me lose my dinner. “For the loss of innocence that occurred because of my accusations.”
“What the actual fuck? Where did you say you’re from? Blakely, Ohio?” The outburst comes from Greedy this time. Although their voices are starting to blend together in my mind.
I’m slipping, just slightly. There’s a disconnect between my words and the emotions that should be associated with this conversation.
“Why didn’t your parents do something? Stop them?” Locke’s questions are valid. Ironically enough, he’ll understand the answer more than anyone.
“My mom’s an emotionally absent alcoholic, and I haven’t seen my dad since I was four.” Need I say more?
Before anyone can press further or offer me condolences for winning the shitty parent lottery, I continue.
“I would have been okay if it was just the rape.”
Gruff protests rumble across the deck like thunder, but I don’t stop.
“Or maybe if it was the rape and the trial even. But once Karen McGilvery sank her French-tipped acrylics into me, it was too much. The constant chatter. The incessant worry. It’s one thing to deal with whispers at school and to have most of the student body calling me a slut.
It’s another to have an entire community holding pitchforks and doing all they can to run me out of town. ”
“Eventually, I moved away. I rented a shitty apartment in a shitty part of Cleveland and started working at a long-term care and hospice facility. It wasn’t my dream, but it had great health care benefits, and I was able to get help.”
“I spent years in counseling. I started on anti-anxiety and depression meds. When I wasn’t working, I volunteered in the art and music therapy rooms at the hospice center. You learn a lot about yourself when you spend time with people at the end of their lives.”
Except for the lapping waves in the distance and the humming of insects, silence surrounds us, giving me a moment to breathe. I sit back in my seat and close my eyes, listening to the frogs and crickets sing as dusk sets in over the lake.
With one more deep inhale, I open my eyes and sit up straight, ready to finish this conversation and leave the past where it belongs.
“What happened to me is just that—something that happened. It isn’t who I am. It isn’t even the most significant part of me. I’ve put in the work to ensure that. The work may never be done, but I’m okay with that, because I’m not giving up.”
“That’s my girl,” Kylian croons, lifting his head and hitting me with a deep, sultry stare. As I consider him, the wheels begin to turn. He’s assessing me. Really taking in what he’s seeing.
“We need to wrap this up. Jo’s exhausted and still recovering. Tomorrow is game day.” He rises to his feet, looks around at our friends, then focuses on me, though his next words are directed toward the group.
“Can we get some privacy?”