Chapter 52 – Josie
chapter
fifty-two
Josie
Waylon called. We hadn’t talked since I ended things, but when his name lit up my screen, I forgot every reason I was supposed to let it ring. I grabbed for the phone so fast I nearly dropped it, caught it on the second grab, and answered.
I got the phone to my ear and swallowed the first thing I wanted to say, which was that I missed him.
“Hi, Waylon.”
“Hey, Josie.”
He didn’t call me Flash.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. But I have proof and a plan.”
“A plan for what?”
“Marcus. Aaron got call records from Seattle and Dallas. The calls came from Marcus’s phone, not Dalton’s. He used his father’s name to tank my draft. We’ve got him, Josie. This time we’ve got proof.”
I wanted to believe him. Marcus could twist a conversation until I forgot how it started, but he couldn’t talk his way around phone records.
So I believed him.
“Aaron and I changed the plan. We’re taking everything to the athletic director first. The recording, the logs, all of it. You in?”
“Yes. Count me in. And I’m filing a complaint. Marcus started coming after me before you were involved. I need all of it on record.”
“Then bring it.”
I wanted to ask if this changed anything between us. I didn’t.
“See you there,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “See you there, Flash.”
He hung up before I could tell him to stop. I didn’t want him to stop.
He was waiting outside the Harlow Center with Aaron, hands in his pockets, collar up against the cold. I’d spent the whole walk telling myself I could handle seeing him. Then he looked at me, and I noticed the shadow under his eyes and the way his shoulders went tight. So much for handling it.
Neither of us moved, not with Aaron beside him and the meeting waiting upstairs.
“Flash,” he said. That was all.
“Waylon,” I croaked.
Oh, way to be smooth, Josie.
Aaron took a call and walked toward the doors. Waylon and I were alone.
“You didn’t sleep,” he said.
“You can’t know that.”
“You get a line. Right here.” He almost touched his own temple, then let his hand drop. “When you’re—”
“When I’m scared. I know.” I’d told him that once, and he’d remembered.
The wind came down the steps between us. I held the folder against my chest.
“If you want me in there—” he started.
“I want you in there,” I breathed.
“Then I’m in there.” He nodded like that settled it.
He started toward me, then stopped himself.
“Josie.”
“Don’t. If you say it now, I won’t get through any of this.”
He didn’t say it. I turned toward the doors before I asked him to anyway.
Aaron came back, pocketing his phone. “He’s ready for us.”
Waylon’s hand came up toward the small of my back, then dropped before it landed. We went in a foot apart.
The athletic director’s office was on the third floor, past the trophy cases. He stood when we came in, shook Aaron’s hand, nodded at Waylon, then gestured to the chairs.
Aaron set a folder on the desk and opened it. It was full of printouts, call logs from Seattle and Dallas, and every highlighted call traced back to Marcus’s number.
“These calls came from Marcus Kane,” Aaron said. “He impersonated his father to interfere with Waylon’s draft. We also have a recording of him threatening Josie.”
The athletic director read the top page, then the one under it. He picked up his phone and didn’t bother lowering his voice.
“Find Marcus Kane and bring him to my office. Now. I don’t care what he’s in the middle of.” He set the phone down. “He won’t have time to come up with a story. If this evidence checks out, he’ll answer for it.”
Then he looked at me.
“Before he gets here,” I said, “I want to add to the file.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’d like to file a formal complaint against Marcus Kane. Cyberbullying. Stalking. Harassment.” I took a breath. “And I’d like to give a full statement.”
So I gave it.
I told him about the scholarship Marcus’s family made disappear when I was seventeen, the threats against my mother’s job whenever I thought about leaving, and the messages that didn’t stop.
I told him about the way he turned up where I hadn’t told anyone I’d be, the grip on my arm, the bruises I explained away, and the recording of him threatening to destroy me for being with Waylon.
I kept my eyes on the athletic director. If I looked at Waylon, I wouldn’t get through it. My voice caught once. I breathed the way I did at the starting line and kept going.
The athletic director wrote until I finished. Then he set his pen down and told me the complaint would go to the Title IX office, that what I’d described was serious, and that it wouldn’t disappear. I believed him.
I finally looked at Waylon, but his chair was empty. He’d left.
Aaron wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. “He had somewhere to be,” he said. I knew he didn’t.
I walked out into the cold by myself. The athletic director had the evidence. My complaint was on the record. Marcus was on his way to answer for it.
On the steps, my hands started shaking. Waylon hadn’t even said goodbye.
He’d stayed through the meeting because I asked him to, but that didn’t mean he wanted me back. Maybe leaving without a word was his answer.