Chapter 18
Mars
I watched the segment alone, even though every instinct I had told me not to.
I had considered turning the television off before it even started because pretending none of it was happening suddenly felt much easier than watching Darren Hill and Jalen occupy the same room.
The more I thought about it, however, the more I realized I wasn't going to be able to ignore it.
Whether I watched the interview or not, it was still happening.
Maybe it was curiosity that convinced me to stay on the couch, or maybe it was the quiet knot of anxiety that had been sitting in my chest since Jalen told me he couldn't avoid the interview.
Whatever it was, I picked up the remote, settled against the cushions with Atlas curled comfortably beside me, and forced myself to watch.
When the broadcast began, Jalen looked exactly the way he always did on television.
He looked confident, composed, and completely at ease beneath the bright studio lights, wearing the same calm expression that had become familiar to millions of football fans every Sunday.
Most people would have looked at him and assumed nothing could shake him.
I knew better now.
I knew that less than twenty-four hours earlier, he had sat across from me while I shared the darkest chapter of my life, and I knew exactly who was sitting across from him in that studio.
As long as the conversation stayed focused on football, I managed to convince myself everything would be fine.
Then Darren leaned back in his chair, smiled casually into the camera, and shifted the conversation.
"So," he said, "apparently you've been spending some time with someone new."
My stomach tightened immediately because I already knew where the conversation was headed.
I wrapped both hands around my coffee mug without realizing I was doing it, and I could feel the familiar wave of nausea slowly creeping into the back of my throat.
Then Jalen smiled.
"My beautiful woman, Amara, is nowhere near new."
The words caught me completely off guard.
I stared at the television for several seconds, wondering if I had heard him correctly.
He hadn't called me his publicist.
He hadn't called me his friend.
He hadn't even referred to me by name alone.
He had called me his beautiful woman, and something about hearing those words spoken so naturally made my heart swell in a way I wasn't prepared for.
For one brief moment, everything else disappeared.
Then Darren spoke again.
The instant he said my name, every ounce of warmth disappeared from my chest.
My entire body tensed as I watched the expression on his face change almost imperceptibly.
Anyone watching the interview would have assumed he was simply mentioning someone he had met years earlier, but I recognized the look in his eyes immediately because I had seen it before.
There was nothing warm about it.
There was nothing innocent about it.
The way he looked into the camera and the slight emphasis he placed on my name made it painfully clear that his words weren't meant for the audience.
They were meant for me.
For years, I had convinced myself that I had become nothing more than another forgotten memory in his life, but in that moment I realized I had been wrong.
He remembered exactly who I was, and mentioning me during the interview had been his way of reminding me that he had never forgotten what happened.
The realization settled over me with a weight that made it difficult to breathe.
It suddenly became clear that he wasn't simply acknowledging my existence.
He wanted me to know that he was still out there, still respected, still admired, and still living his life as though nothing had ever happened.
Even worse, he wanted me to know that he believed there was nothing anyone could do about it.
By the time the interview ended, I realized my hands were trembling badly enough that the coffee inside my mug had begun to ripple.
I reached for the remote and turned the television off, but the silence that filled the apartment felt almost louder than the interview itself.
The walls suddenly seemed to close in around me, and the living room that had always felt safe now felt impossibly small.
My chest tightened until drawing a full breath became an effort, and I knew I needed to get outside before the memories swallowed me whole.
I walked onto the balcony and welcomed the cool evening air against my skin, hoping it would quiet the storm that had begun building inside me.
The sounds of the city drifted upward from the streets below as headlights traced ribbons of light through downtown Houston, and I wrapped both hands around the cool metal railing while I focused on slowing my breathing.
I reminded myself that I wasn't in that house anymore, that I wasn't twenty-six years old anymore, and that I wasn't standing alone in that bathroom praying someone would find me before it was too late.
I was standing on my own balcony, surrounded by the life I had spent years rebuilding one careful piece at a time.
Even so, I couldn't stop thinking about the look on Darren's face.
For the first time since that night, I realized he had never been afraid that the truth would catch up with him.
He had been living as though it never would.
Eventually the tightness in my chest loosened just enough that I could stand up straight again.
Jalen had handled himself well.
Anyone watching would’ve thought it was a perfectly normal interview.
But I noticed the little things. I noticed the way his jaw tightened every time Darren spoke. I noticed the way the muscles in his forearm flexed beneath his suit jacket whenever Darren looked in my direction.
I noticed the way his hand curled into a fist beneath the table every time my name came out of Darren's mouth.Anyone else would have missed it.
I didn't.
Jalen had spent his entire career learning how to control his emotions under pressure. He knew how to keep his face neutral.
How to choose restraint over reaction. But I recognized the signs and he was angry.
I sank into one of the oversized patio chairs and poured myself a generous glass of wine.
The evening skyline stretched out before me, glowing beneath the sky as traffic flowed steadily through the city.
Normally, this view settled me, but tonight, I barely noticed it.
My phone had been buzzing ever since the interview aired.
First Nia called.
Then Cal.
Then my parents.
Every one of them asked the same question.
"Are you okay?"
I gave each of them the same answer.
"I'm okay."
The lie rolled off my tongue with practiced ease.
I had spent years telling people I was okay because it was easier than explaining the truth.
I said it after everything Darren did to me.
I said it when the nightmares refused to stop.
I said it when I started canceling plans and convincing everyone, including myself, that I simply preferred staying home.
Eventually, pretending became second nature.
I took a slow sip of wine and stared out at the city.
The interview replayed in my mind whether I wanted it to or not.
Watching Darren sit across from Jalen with that polished smile on his face made my stomach twist.
I wrapped both hands around my wine glass, letting the cool glass ground me as I tried to steady my breathing.I closed my eyes and, before I could stop it, the memories came rushing back.
They always started the same way.
Not with the assault.
With what had been one of the happiest days of my life.
Cal had been beside himself.
He must have changed outfits four different times before we finally left the apartment.
He was just getting started with his sports podcast then, and every interview felt like another step toward the career he'd been dreaming about for years.
When Darren Hill's assistant agreed to the interview, I was probably just as excited as Cal was.
I had called in every favor I could think of to help make it happen.
I wanted people to see what I had always known about my brother.
He belonged in that room.
The interview went even better than either of us had hoped.
Cal was funny, confident, and incredibly well prepared, and he carried himself with a professionalism that made it easy to forget he was still one of the newest voices in sports media.
He asked thoughtful questions, listened carefully, and never once looked intimidated sitting across from a Hall of Famer.
Watching him that day filled me with a kind of pride only an older sister could understand.
I remember thinking that everyone else was finally seeing the man I'd believed in all along.
Even Darren complimented him afterward.
"I think you've got something," he'd told Cal with a smile.
My brother had looked like a little kid hearing that from one of his heroes.
I remember squeezing Cal's arm and smiling because I was so proud of him.
When Darren invited us to celebrate at the home of one of his former teammates, it didn't seem unusual.
It sounded like another opportunity.
Another chance for Cal to make connections.
The house was enormous.
Music drifted through nearly every room.
People stood in small groups with drinks in their hands, laughing loudly as conversations overlapped until every voice blended into a constant hum throughout the house.
Former athletes, reporters, producers, and people I recognized from television filled every room.
I remember looking around and thinking how fortunate Cal was to be surrounded by so many influential people.
I assumed everyone there was trustworthy simply because they all knew one another.
It never crossed my mind that someone capable of doing something so horrific could stand in a room full of people, shake hands, tell jokes, and have everyone hanging on his every word.
Looking back now, I wish I had trusted the feeling that settled in my stomach every time Darren looked at me.
At the time, I convinced myself I was imagining it.
I told myself I was reading too much into an uncomfortable smile or a glance that lingered a little too long.
I wanted to believe I was wrong.
I wanted to believe we were surrounded by good people.
Looking back, the warning signs feel painfully obvious.