“I always thought that women get raped by strangers who jump out of dark alleys and grab them before they have a chance to cry out for help. I thought rapists were men who sprinkle drugs into your drink at a bar or club.” I’ve never said these words and held eye contact. When I told Beck, I stared at the cushion of her couch the entire time, so terrified I’d find disappointment or shame in her expression that I didn’t look up. She would never feel those things–and she told me as much, but still, I worried.
With Edie, I don’t. I just… get it off my chest.
“And after, I told him immediately that I was going to report him to the organization. I told him I was going to go to the police. Because I felt so stupid. I poured the drinks, you know? I put myself in that situation in the first place. I wasn’t about to make another stupid, stupid mistake and let him walk.”
Edie adds more coffee to our mugs with her free hand because she’s still holding tight to mine with her other.
“How did he take the news that you were going to report him?”
I swallow. “He laughed. He laughed, and then he proceeded to show me files on his computer. File after file of videos. One from that night, even. Movies, I guess.”
“Oh no,” Edie says with all sincerity and zero judgment.
“He had recorded us. A ton. I don’t know if it was every single time or not because after the first few thumbnails played, I just… I froze up. And he said if I reported him, he’d leak these to the owner.”
“Didn’t the organization know you two were an item?” she asks, leaning in to hear my tone better. I guess I am speaking quieter, and I’m sure that’s the weight of shame.
“They did. But they won’t fire the team manager for anything besides team performance. As the PR head, I knew as soon as I saw the videos that they’d only impact me.”
“It’s always a man’s world, isn’t it?” she asks with sounds like raw disgust.
I shrug. “I guess so. I told the team owners anyway. I wrote an email from the parking lot of the police station detailing everything that had happened. The loss, Reynold’s rage, the drinks, our relationship, the… event, his videos, and his plan to blackmail me into silence.”
Edie nods. “What did they say?”
I brush a hot tear from my cheek at the cruel, disgusting memory.
“I woke up to a termination letter and a passive threat to stay quiet or I’d never work anywhere again.” Another few tears fall, but I let them. Edie reaches out and brushes one away. “I never went inside the police station that night. I thought it would be more powerful for the organization to punish him than the law. And then, well, I was fired. And as you know, Reynold Porter is still the Brutes team manager.”
“Up,” Edie says, releasing my hand to push back from the table. I rise, a bit confused, but before I can wonder what we’re doing, she’s wrapping her arms around my torso, sinking her head into my chest.
“That’s an awful thing that happened to you, Goldie. So very awful. And I’m so sorry that it happened to you and that the organization treated you that way. I want you to know that those things don’t define you if you don’t let them. You hear me?” She puts a foot between us but keeps her arms around me. “You’re a sharp, beautiful woman. They can’t take that from you.”
The tears are abundant in Edie’s grasp, and just as I’m about to choke on an ugly sob, the back door creaks open.
“That soup’s gotta be ready by now,” Harry grunts as he steps inside, Atticus on his heels as he adds, “smells great in here, Mom.”
“Go get cleaned up, and I’ll plate up the sandwiches and serve the soup,” Edie says to just me. Without looking back, I slip out of the kitchen and down the hall before Harry and Atti see me.
In the bathroom, I wash my face and take a long, steadying breath as I stare into the mirror. My stomach rumbles, and when I hold my hands out, they’re steady. I’m hungry but not starving because I’ve been eating, and not having the hunger shakes feels… good. And while the urge to turn sideways, press my hand to my shirt and analyze my profile does hit, I ignore it, dry my face with a clean towel, and head out.
I feel so different, and all I’ve done is talk to someone.
A thought flicks through my brain, making me pause in the hallway and dig my phone out of my back pocket. Typing myself a note, I set a reminder alarm for the following day and tuck my phone away.
Back in the kitchen, Atticus and his dad are seated, noses and cheeks pink from their time working in the cold. Atti’s hair is damp, presumably from sweat and snow, and when I take a seat next to him, I’m engulfed in his scent. That same heady mix of working man and fabric-softener washed laundry that he always has, but today it nearly makes me dizzy. When my arm brushes his as I slide into the chair beside him, he glances at me. Doing a double take, his eyes lock on me, and below the table, he drops a hand to my thigh. A single squeeze and he releases, quietly asking, “you okay?”
Looking up, Edie and Harry have gone to the stove and are currently arguing over whether or not the soup needs salt. Knowing we’ve got a moment of privacy, I meet his eyes. I wish he’d left his hand on my thigh. My spine tingles in its wake.
“Yeah. I’ve had… the best day like… ever,” I admit because even though I told the worst story of my life, I do feel better. I want to say I’ve had the best weekend ever, but I don’t, because even though he made me cum, I think it’s just physical for him. And I’m feeling good; I don't need to be rejected. “I’m glad you had to stop over, and I’m glad my battery died. Your Mom is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.”
He’s speechless. He blinks, glances at his bickering parents at the stove, then back to me. Our eyes idle together in what I can only describe as baited silence.
“Good,” he says, finally turning to his plate. After his first bite, without facing me, he says, “Beau and Miller jumped your car and brought it back. It’s in front of Delilah’s now.”
“Oh my god, are you serious? That’s… incredibly thoughtful. Thank you,” I say, another weight lifting from my shoulders.
“Don’t thank me, thank them,” he says around a bite of turkey sandwich.