Chapter 30
MAYA
Jackson's downstairs in his room, we haven't spoken since the drive home, and Emma and Chase are still asleep. Ethan won't be up for another hour.
I'm staring at nothing when the TV flickers to life. Someone must have set a timer. The morning news starts, and there it is, bold letters across the bottom of the screen.
Hartford Wolves Captain Jackson Anderson Arrested for Assault.
My stomach drops. I grab the remote and turn the volume up with shaking hands.
"—arrested yesterday at Pinewood Memorial Hospital for the alleged assault of Dr. Richard Carson, head of Emergency Medicine.
Anderson, captain of the Hartford Wolves, was taken into custody after multiple witnesses reported seeing him attack Dr. Carson in a hospital hallway.
Sources say Dr. Carson sustained significant injuries, including a broken nose and fractured ribs—"
I'm frozen. I can't move, can't breathe, can't look away from the screen.
My phone starts ringing. Then Jackson's phone rings from downstairs, the sound carrying up. Then mine again.
By 7 a.m., they have my name.
I watch in horror as a reporter stands outside Pinewood Memorial, talking about a sexual assault allegation, about a nurse named Maya Rivera who reported being raped by her supervisor.
About me.
My rape, my name, my entire trauma on the morning news for everyone to see.
"—Sources confirm that Maya Rivera, the alleged victim in the sexual assault, is currently living with Anderson's family in Hartford. The connection between Anderson and Rivera raises questions about whether this assault was personal rather than—"
I turn off the TV. My hands are shaking so badly that I drop the remote, and it clatters against the hardwood floor.
Footsteps sound on the stairs. I turn and see Jackson coming up from the basement, his face pale, phone in hand. He looks like he hasn't slept either.
"Maya—"
"They know. They know everything."
"Not everything." But his voice says he knows it's only a matter of time.
More footsteps. Emma emerges from upstairs, Chase behind her. She's in pajamas, hair a mess, one hand on her pregnant belly, looking confused and half-asleep.
"Why are you both up so early? Is everything..." She sees our faces. "What's wrong?"
"Turn on the TV," I say.
She does, catching the tail end of a news segment about Jackson's arrest, about my rape, about the hospital. The color drains from her face as she processes what she's hearing.
"What..." Emma looks at me, confusion giving way to horror. "Maya, what is this? Is this why you've been in therapy?"
"Yes."
"You were raped?" Her voice cracks, and I can see the betrayal already forming in her eyes. "You told me therapy was about Lily, about losing your patient."
"It was about that, too. But also about what happened after."
"Tell me. Please.”
The words stick in my throat. I've said them to Dr. Mills, to Jackson, to the police, but saying them to Emma, to my best friend whom I've been lying to for months, feels impossible.
"I was raped," I force out. "By my supervisor, Dr. Richard Carson. I reported it, and the hospital fired me two weeks later."
Emma sinks onto the couch, her hand still on her belly as if she needs to protect the baby from this news. "Oh my god."
"And Jackson..." Chase is staring at his phone, his face grim. "Jackson went after him yesterday. Beat him badly enough to put him in the hospital."
"He what?" Emma looks at Jackson like she's seeing him for the first time. "That’s why you got arrested?"
"He raped her." Jackson's voice is flat, emotionless. "He raped Maya, and the hospital protected him. So yes, I made sure he understood there are consequences."
"Jesus Christ." Emma presses her hands to her face. "This is... the media... everyone's going to..."
Her phone starts ringing. Then Chase's, then mine. Unknown numbers, reporters already hunting for statements.
By 8 a.m., there are vans outside the house. News crews are setting up on the street, cameras pointed at our windows. Reporters knocking on the door.
Chase closes all the curtains, moving from window to window like he's securing us for a siege. "Nobody goes outside, nobody talks to anyone."
"The team called," Jackson says, checking his phone. "They want me at the arena by noon. Emergency meeting."
"They're going to strip you of the captaincy," Chase says quietly.
"I know."
Emma's crying now, silent tears streaming down her face. "Maya, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you... I'm your best friend. I should've known."
"I couldn't tell you, I could barely admit it to myself."
"But you told Jackson."
The way she says it makes my stomach clench. "He found out. By accident. I wasn't planning on telling anyone."
She looks between us, something shifting in her expression. "How did he find out by accident?"
"He found my journal and confronted me about it."
"When?"
"Not long after I got here."
"And he's been helping you. Taking you to therapy, supporting you through all of this?”
"Yes."
Emma's quiet for a long moment, her eyes moving between Jackson and me like she's seeing something she missed before. "That's why you two have been so close lately, why you're always together."
My heart stops. "Em—"
"No, it makes sense. You needed support, and Jackson was there. I'm glad you had someone."
The rest of the morning dissolves into chaos. The team's PR department calls, Jackson's lawyer calls, my phone won't stop ringing with unknown numbers, and the reporters outside are shouting questions whenever someone moves past a window.
At noon, Jackson has to leave for the arena. Emma and Chase won't let me answer the door or go outside. The reporters are relentless, camping out on our lawn like vultures.
I watch from behind the curtains as Jackson walks to his truck. Cameras flash like lightning, microphones shoved in his face, reporters shouting his name. He doesn't say anything, just gets in and drives away, and I feel like I'm watching him drive toward the end of everything.
Three hours later, he returns. When he walks in the door, I notice it immediately. The C is gone from his jersey, just the number twenty-five remaining.
"They took it," he says when Emma asks. "Offered it to Chase first. He turned it down. Marcus has it now."
"I'm so sorry," Emma says.
"It's fine, it's done." Jackson's voice is hollow. "They suspended me pending the investigation. Playoffs are postponed. Might be charges, might be jail time. We'll see."
"All because you went after Maya's rapist."
"All because I couldn't let him get away with it."
Emma looks at me, really looks at me, and I can see her processing, connecting dots, trying to figure out what she's missing. There's something in her expression that makes my chest tighten, like she's standing on the edge of understanding but hasn't quite taken the leap.
But she doesn't ask.
We eat dinner in silence. The reporters are still outside, their van lights visible through the curtains. The story is everywhere: national news, sports outlets, social media. My name, my rape, Jackson's arrest, all of it public and dissected by strangers who think they understand what happened.
No more hiding. No more secrets.
Except one.
Emma still doesn't know about us. About the relationship, about the fact that Jackson's not just my protector—he's the man I'm in love with, the man whose father's pendant I'm wearing under my shirt right now.
We were supposed to tell her this weekend. Before the playoffs started, before everything got crazy. That was the plan.
But then Jackson went to Pinewood, and everything fell apart, and now I can't find the strength to add one more thing to her plate.
Not when she's dealing with the media circus, not when she's thirty weeks pregnant and terrified her brother's going to jail, not when she looks at me with so much concern and sympathy that it makes my chest ache.
Every time she looks at us, I see her getting closer to figuring it out. The way her eyes linger when Jackson and I stand too close, the questions behind her expression when she catches us looking at each other.
It's only a matter of time before she asks the question we're not ready to answer.
I touch the pendant through my shirt and wonder how much longer we can keep this up—how much longer before the last secret comes out and we lose whatever control we have left.