Chapter 15
CHECKING FROM BEHIND: A DANGEROUS AND ILLEGAL HIT WHERE A PLAYER FORCEFULLY CHECKS AN OPPONENT FROM THE REAR
Amy placing a physical distance between us clarifies real quick this moment between us isn’t going to end in reconciliation.
In the kitchen, I’d pull up my jeans up, unable to stop the surge of hope that maybe she’ll forgive me.
But, by the time I return to face her, whatever heat existed between us has already turned to ash.
I watch the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers toy with the edge of her shirt like she’s grounding herself. I want to reach out.
I don’t.
Every instinct I have says there’s more upheaval coming.
Her eyes finally meet mine. They’re clear. Steady. The same eyes that were my high when they looked at me like I was the sun she orbited around.
“I’m listening.” I’m bracing for impact.
She studies me for a beat, like she’s deciding how much more I can handle. Then she says something I never would have expected, “I knew who set me up a few days after it happened.”
The words don’t register at first. “What?” I ask, stupidly.
Her mouth tightens—not in anger. In resolve. “I knew who targeted me. Back then. With the photo. I knew it was Brielle.”
The room feels smaller. “You—” I straighten slightly. “You’ve always known?”
“Yes.”
My heart turns over. “Then why—” I stop myself from asking why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you fight harder? Why didn’t you explain?
Easy, dick. Because you chose hockey over her.
She must recognize my realization, because she keeps going. “My friends—you may remember Maya, Christin, and Emery? My roommate Aio?”
I drag in a breath. “I do.” They were all close back then.
“They figured it out first. Almost instantly.” She waves her hand dismissively as if her words aren’t piercing my already bruised heart. “Started with the camera angle. Didn’t take them that long.”
My fists clench and unclench as she continues.
“Christin enlisted Aio since her work-study job was in the computer lab. They traced the digital trail. IP addresses used to access my account in different locations around campus. Burner email. Confirmed the posting time to when I was surrounded since I’d just had jungle juice tossed at me.
They enlisted Christin’s photography teacher to validate there was no way for anyone to have taken that photo with consent.
” Her eyes narrow. “You should never underestimate how scary women are when someone hurts one of their own.”
I wince even as she continues, “It led straight back to Brielle and to her using my school email address to create an account on DormLust.”
My stomach drops even as I ask. “What happened?”
“For a while? Nothing. I was too busy dealing with my life being destroyed. Unfortunately, that meant the statute of limitations for going after Brielle for criminal behavior passed.”
I flinch. “Then the texts I brought…”
“Are meaningless other than for your own validation.” She inhales.
“Why is everyone so protective of you?”
Her eyes hold mine. “Because to finish my internship here, I had to show the Willow Creek school board everything.”
Christ. I rub my hands over my face. “Did you have them taken down?”
“I tried—” she starts.
My voice raises an octave as I interrupt, “Tried? They didn’t do it?”
“Easy for you to care now.” Because I can’t offer any sort of defense, Amy plows on, “I sent DormLust all of the proof. Screenshots. Expert statements. Formal takedown requests. Over and over again.”
I already know where this is going from some of the Kings being in the tabloids. Nausea churns my stomach so hard, I wonder if I’m going to vomit.
She confirms my worst fears. “They refused. Said it didn’t violate their policies. That it was ‘user-generated content.’ They hid behind their terms of service and an electronically signed consent form that originated from OPU. Claimed I was just a kid regretting my mistake in uploading the photo.”
Rage replaces regret temporarily. “What did you do?”
She looks at me then, really looks at me, like she wants me to understand the weight of what came next. “I sued them.”
The words knock the air out of my lungs. “You sued—” I run a hand through my hair. “Amy, that must have been—”
“Hell?” she finishes. Then shrugs. “Nothing worse than what I already went through.”
I wince. “I wish—”
“I wasn’t alone. I had my girls. Plus my family helped me find the perfect lawyer. Vicious. The kind of barracuda who enjoys taking on large corporations to make them bleed.”
Every word is making me more disgusted with myself. I should have believed her.
Regret is clarity that has arrived years too late.
“Eventually, I won—at least I consider it a victory. DormLust settled out of court, but part of that settlement was they took everything down. Paid damages. Drafted a letter for me in the event this comes up in my future because we all know the internet forgets nothing. I donated every cent to the Willow Creek school system.”
Awe overwhelms my profound shame. “You did all that. I had no idea.”
“Why would you? You abandoned me for your career.” Her statement is factual but it doesn’t make it any less accurate.
“I believed—” My voice cracks, and I stop. I don’t get to explain myself.
“I know what you thought—you and most of campus. That’s why I never went back to walk after I graduated.”
“I wondered if you were going to come.”
“Why should I celebrate a major milestone in my life with people who were still whispering about me?”
I dredge up the image of my younger self from that last conversation. In my mind then, I was terrified of losing my shot. Of being turned away from my life’s dream because I’d be tarred with the same brush. Finally, I manage, “Why didn’t you ever reach out? Correct me?”
She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Because by the time I had all the proof, your life choices were public at OPU. Besides, it’s not like you were pining away in some ethereal bubble, Brennan.”
The words are like getting checked from behind. They hurt and there’s no debate around my actions.
“You never defended me. You pulled away like I would disgrace you. So, why did you deserve to know what really happened?”
My throat burns. “You’re right. I didn’t deserve to know since I left.”
To punctuate her righteous anger, she points out, “You never once checked on me and we were together for years. Years. What does that say about you?”
I deserve the condemnation. Still, I can’t help but shift closer. I stop short of touching her when I ask, “Then why…tonight?”
She meets my gaze. “I don’t need to justify myself. But if I have to…it was the last thing I did for the girl who loved you.”
Agony surges through me as she goes on, “I hope that you understand this…intimacy…doesn’t rewrite our history.”
It’s entirely possible my heart is bleeding out from the damage I caused. I swallow hard, grasping for something—anything—that might keep her from walking away.
I manage, “I want to make us right.”
Surprising me, Amy lays her hand over my heart. The heat of it burns through my shirt. “That’s not your choice, Brennan. It’s mine.”
Emotions churn inside me—admiration, anger on her behalf, and regret sharp enough to cut.
“I hear you,” I say. “But I’m not pretending this—us—never mattered. Not then and not now.”
Her face gives nothing away before she nods slowly. It’s just acknowledgement. “It’s time for you to go.”
Then she opens the door. I step outside. Instead of a theatrical slam behind me, there’s just the sound of the latch catching before the deadbolt snaps into place. I stand on the other side of it frozen after experiencing my first real emotional connection in eight years.
A sob tries to work its way up, so I bite down on my fist to stifle the sound. I want to break down the door and beg her to listen to me. I want to sit here until morning, when the door might open after I replay every touch of her lips on mine, every brush of her bare skin against mine.
But, everything I’d say would be excuses.
The worst part? I deserve every ounce of pain I’m feeling.
Every word Amy’s spoken to me since I moved here is playing on repeat in my head.
“I already have closure from the past. Don’t penalize yourself when you find out the truth.”
She’s right. Amy had tried to give me the chance to believe in her and I didn’t until someone else corroborated her story. Shuffling away from her door to my truck, I feel like my entire sense of self has been rewritten. Once I’m behind the wheel, I sit there without turning over the engine.
I fling open the door just before I lose what’s in my stomach. Swiping my hand across my mouth, I wonder, How did she do it?
I can’t change what happened between us, despite desperately wanting to travel back in time to that exact moment where I burst into her dorm room.
Now I’m sitting outside her apartment remembering the barest brush of her lips on my mouth like a brand, the feel of her body pressed against mine, her wet heat clenching around my cock and I can’t figure out how to fix this.
Fix myself.
That’s when I realize, I can’t. Not with words. Not with apologies. Not with platitudes like “I was wrong” and “I’m sorry.” Sorry is for when you forget to add an extra shot of espresso to someone’s coffee order before a final, not for carelessly dismissing the person you love.
Still, I need to try to get to the bottom of why I did this.
Closing the door, I stare through the windshield.
I can’t go back. There’s only forward. That means getting to know Amy all over again.
The girl I knew is a memory—a shattered one at that.
I don’t know who she is anymore but I want to because the woman who just faced me in her home is stronger than the men who used to challenge me on the ice.
Somehow, some way, she maintained her compassion, her spirit, despite everything that happened to her.
I don’t know what she loves now. Who she trusts. What keeps her up at night. What makes her laugh. And I sure as hell can’t quiz her like I’m entitled to a crash course.
If I want to prove I mean it, I have to do something I should’ve done eight years ago. I have to humble myself to the people who supported her well before me and long after I abandoned her.
My stomach turns.
This isn’t going to be easy.