Chapter 22
Mars
When I woke up Sunday morning, the first thing I noticed was the quiet.
For a moment I just laid there staring at the ceiling, the events of the night before sitting heavy in my chestThen I reached for my phone.
The screen lit up immediately, and my stomach tightened.
There were missed calls, text messages, and even a voicemail notification.
Every single one of them was from Jalen.
Whatever had happened, it was big enough for him to keep calling, and that alone was enough to make my pulse start racing.
I told myself I wasn’t going to listen to the voicemail.
I even set the phone back down for a second.
But curiosity and something softer that I didn’t want to admit pulled me back.
I tapped it.
His voice filled the room.
“Mars… it’s me.”
Just hearing him made my chest tighten.
“I know what you saw. And I know how it looks.”
His voice sounded tired.
“But you have to hear me out.”
I closed my eyes.
“I would never do that to you.”
A pause.
“Just… call me back when you’re ready.”
The message ended.
My heart was beating faster than it should have been.
I stared at the phone for another second before tossing it onto the nightstand.
Not yet.
I pushed myself out of bed and headed straight for the gym in my building.
If my mind was going to keep replaying everything from yesterday, the only way I knew how to quiet it was to exhaust my body.
Ten minutes later I was on the treadmill.
Running.
Hard.
The rhythmic pounding of my feet against the treadmill belt filled my ears, giving me something to focus on besides the thoughts that had been chasing me all morning.
No matter how hard I tried, they kept finding their way back.
The picture. The headline. The way she had been leaning against his car like she belonged there.
I pushed the speed higher and focused on my breathing instead, trying to outrun a feeling I didn't particularly care to examine.
Halfway through my run, my phone lit up on the console.
I glanced down and immediately frowned. Cal.
I slowed the treadmill and answered.
“Mars.”
His voice was careful.
“What?”
“I talked to Jalen.”
I wiped sweat from my forehead with the edge of my towel.
“And?”
“That girl showed up at the facility yesterday.”
I stayed quiet.
“He said he barely spoke to her,” Cal continued. “Like a second. That’s it.”
I let out a small laugh that didn’t sound amused.
“It didn’t look like a second, Cal.”
“I know.”
I pressed the stop button and stepped off the treadmill.
“But you should probably hear him out.”
My chest tightened.
“I don’t care what it looks like,” I said quietly. “I’m humiliated.”
“Mars—”
“I’m not ready to talk to him.”
Silence filled the line.
Cal sighed.
I grabbed my water bottle.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen anyway,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
My voice softened slightly.
“Maybe this was the clean break we needed.”
Cal didn’t argue.
“Just think about it,” he said finally.
“I have been.”
When we hung up, I got back on the treadmill and ran again until my legs felt like they might give out.
Anything to stop thinking.
The rest of Sunday passed quietly.
I stayed busy doing anything; cleaning, answering emails.
Laundry.
Anything that kept my mind from drifting back to Jalen.
Or the voicemail still sitting on my phone.
By Monday morning I had convinced myself I was ready to focus again.
I woke early, made coffee, and settled into my home office.
The large windows in my living room let the morning light spill across my desk while my laptop hummed to life.
I had a full inbox waiting.
Work I had ignored all weekend.
My TV mounted on the wall flickered on to fill the silence.
I flipped through channels until I landed on a daytime talk show.
The Naomi Hart Show.
Naomi was known for her mix of celebrity gossip, fashion commentary, and blunt opinions.
Right now she was introducing a stylist segment.
Perfect background noise.
I opened my laptop and began answering emails.
The stylist held up a pair of oversized sunglasses.
“Confidence is the accessory you can’t buy—”
Naomi suddenly lifted a hand.
“Hold on.”
Something in her voice made me pause.
“We’re getting breaking news right now.”
The screen shifted.
A graphic appeared.
brEAKING NEWS
My stomach tightened.
Naomi glanced down at the tablet resting on the news desk before looking directly into the camera.
"Well," she said carefully, "this story is going to send shockwaves through the sports world."
She paused just long enough for the silence to settle over the broadcast.
"This morning, three women have publicly accused ex pro quarterback and Hall of Fame sports broadcaster Darren Hill of sexual assault."
The air caught in my throat.
I stared at the television as Darren's face filled the screen.
He looked exactly the way he always had.
His expensive suit was perfectly tailored, his hair neatly styled, and his expression remained polished despite the cameras surrounding him.
For years, seeing his face had been enough to make my stomach twist with fear.
Today, I felt something entirely different.
The headline stretched across the bottom of the screen.
**MULTIPLE WOMEN ACCUSE DARREN HILL OF SEXUAL ASSAULT.**
Naomi continued speaking.
"The women are being represented by prominent Houston attorney Malcolm Whitaker, and a joint press conference with representatives from the District Attorney's Office is expected later this morning."
My hand reached for my phone before I even realized I had moved.
I called Nia.
She answered immediately.
"You saw it."
Her voice wasn't surprised.
"How are you not completely shocked right now?" I asked.
There was a brief pause before she answered.
"Because Cal told me something yesterday."
A knot formed in my stomach.
"What did he tell you?"
"He told me Jalen hired Malcolm Whitaker."
I slowly lowered myself into the nearest chair as though my legs had suddenly forgotten how to hold me up.
"What are you talking about?"
"He hired Whitaker weeks ago, Mars."
I stared at the television without really seeing it.
My mind refused to catch up with the words coming through the phone.
"Why?"
"Because after you told him what Darren did, he couldn't just walk away and pretend it never happened."
I swallowed hard.
"He started investigating Darren?"
"He did."
I looked back at the television where reporters crowded the sidewalk outside Whitaker's office, waiting for the press conference to begin.
My thoughts tangled together so quickly that I couldn't separate one feeling from another.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Nia let out a quiet breath.
"Because Jalen knew exactly what you would do."
I closed my eyes.
I already knew the answer before she said it.
"You would have begged him to stop."
She was right.
I would have told him to leave it alone.
I would have insisted that none of it was worth reopening wounds I had spent years trying to heal.
I would have convinced myself that surviving was enough.
"He never wanted to put you through that," Nia said gently. "He wanted to protect you."
I tightened my grip on the phone.
"He never used your name."
My heart stumbled.
"What?"
"Your name isn't anywhere in the investigation."
I couldn't speak.
"The only women standing beside Whitaker today are the women who made the decision to come forward themselves."
I felt tears gathering in my eyes.
"He made sure you were never pulled into this unless you chose to be."
I lowered my head as everything finally began falling into place.
Every unanswered phone call.
Every voicemail I refused to hear.
Every text message I ignored.
I had convinced myself he was hiding something from me.
The truth was that he had been carrying something for me.
"He was trying to give those women a voice," Nia continued softly, "and at the same time he was doing everything he could to make sure you never had to relive your own nightmare."
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could wipe it away.
"Oh my God..."
I wasn't just wrong.
I had mistaken one of the greatest acts of love anyone had ever shown me for the greatest betrayal.
Before I could gather my thoughts, the broadcast switched to live footage outside a downtown coffee shop.
Darren stepped through the front door wearing sunglasses and a navy suit as reporters rushed toward him from every direction.
Microphones crowded his face while camera flashes lit up the sidewalk.
Questions came so quickly they blended together.
"Mr. Hill, do you deny the allegations?"
"Did you assault these women?"
"Will you cooperate with investigators?"
"What do you have to say to your accusers?"
Darren never answered.
He kept his head down and pushed through the crowd toward a waiting black SUV while security struggled to hold reporters back.
For years, I had only ever seen him standing behind a desk with complete control over every conversation.
He had always been the one asking the questions.
He had always been the one deciding whose story mattered.
Today, he couldn't escape the questions no matter how fast he walked.
For the first time since I had known his name, he didn't look powerful.
He didn't look untouchable.
He looked like a man who had finally run out of places to hide.
I stared at the television as the SUV pulled away, and something inside me shifted.
For years, I had carried the shame of what he had done as though it somehow belonged to me.
Watching him flee from the cameras made me realize that shame had never been mine to carry.
It had always belonged to him.
He looked cornered. Like the walls were finally closing in around him.
Like he knew there was nowhere left to run.
A bitter satisfaction settled in my chest as I watched him rush toward the SUV, surrounded by the same fear and uncertainty he had left me with that night.
A small laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
“Wow.”
Nia chuckled on the other end of the phone.
“Yeah.”
We sat in silence for a moment before Nia spoke again.
“How are you feeling, kid? Are you going to call Jalen?”
I exhaled slowly.