“Do you?” he threw back, an amused look on his face.
I breathed out a small laugh, looking him in the eye. “I used my family’s money to receive a good education, but I built my company on my own.”
He seemed to take that in stride, because he turned back to the court and didn’t say anything else.
We stood in silence for a few moments, and I caught Christian’s waving hand from the bleachers.
I held up my hand, waving back, and he sat down with his friends, continuing to clap with the audience as the cheerleaders took the floor.
I let my eyes swing from left to right, but I still didn’t see her.
I inhaled a long breath through my nose. “How’s Easton?” I broached.
“She’s good. Newsweek wants to interview her.”
“Newsweek?” I shot him a look, surprised. “Why?”
“For her teaching methods,” he responded. “She’s gaining some great publicity.” And then a look crossed his eyes, and he turned back to the court. “As always.”
I’d been in Newsweek once. When I was a twenty-five-year-old entrepreneur, as part of a feature on twenty-four other up-and-coming entrepreneurs. She was being interviewed personally?
Jack shook his head. “No matter what she does, she’s always a winner.”
“And how does she feel about that?” I asked, suddenly worried. “After everything that happened, being in the press again, is she okay with it?”
Jack looked at me, suddenly appearing tense. “What did she tell you?”
I shrugged slightly. “She told me about your parents and sister.” And then I dropped my voice. “And that she had a coach who was inappropriate and then fired.”
“That’s it?” he asked, pinching his eyebrows at me. “He was more than inappropriate. He stalked her.”
“What?”
He dropped his arms, sliding his hands into his pockets. “My parents fired him, but that was only the beginning.” He spoke quietly. “For two years, he terrorized her. E-mailed, called, left messages, showed up at her matches… He threatened her, broke into her hotel rooms, ransacked her things… My parents had to take away her phone, her e-mail, and eventually her freedom.”
I looked away, wondering why she hadn’t told me any of that.
No wonder she was so damn tough.
No wonder she hadn’t looked for me like I’d been looking for her these past two weeks. Turmoil and disappointment were nothing to her anymore.
“She didn’t tell me any of that.” My voice was barely audible.
“Not surprising,” he stated. “Easton hates talking about her problems. She thinks it makes her look weak.” Then he added, “The fact that she told you anything is something.”
I narrowed my eyes, knowing that was true. For Easton to open up to me meant she trusted me.
She had trusted me.
He continued. “She was sixteen and in a constant state of stress,” he said. “But it wasn’t just him. It was me, our parents, our sister… All of us hurt Easton.”
“What do you mean?”
“No one even considered going to the police,” he explained. “My parents didn’t want her name associated with a sordid mess, so rather than deal with Stiles, we just did our best to shield her.”
He shook his head, gazing out at nothing. “But all we did was cage her in,” he confessed. “She barely had any contact with her friends. She slept with the lights on, and she always had to wonder if he was in the stands, watching her play. She was disconnected from life, and she was lonely.”
His eyelids fluttered, and I could see the regret he had for her.
“How could your parents let her go through that?” I charged.
“My parents loved Easton,” he rushed out. “They always had her best interest at heart. They thought it would pass and didn’t want the press causing more harm.”
“Does she at least have a restraining order against him?” I shot out.
The last thing I wanted was this guy trying to come back into her life.
“Wouldn’t be much point,” he replied flatly. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?” I questioned, hoping I’d heard him right.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Two years after the stalking began, when Easton was eighteen, she’d finally had enough,” he told me. “She got bolder. She started sneaking out for late-night jogs, leaving her hotel room door unlocked, getting a phone behind our parents’ backs…” He looked up, meeting my eyes. “She was daring him,” he clarified. “She was tired of being afraid, and she wanted her life back.”
How long would you stay?
Longer than anyone else.
“Standing in the middle of a burning room,” I mused, remembering how she liked a dare.
“What?” he asked, confused.
I shook my head. “Nothing. Go on.”
“One night,” he continued, “Stiles left a note on her car, promising that she would never forget him.”
I turned my head, trying to hide my anger.
“Later that night, Easton disappeared, and my parents were frantic.” He leaned in, lowering his voice as much as he could manage with the noise. “They took Avery with them but left me at the house in case Easton came home, and they drove around looking for her, not knowing that she had gone to Chase’s apartment to confront him.”
What?
“When Chase never showed up, she came home, but the police were already at our house, giving us the news,” he told me. “My parents had lost control of the car in the rain and swerved into the path of a semi.”