my shoulder—“so I’m gonna have to cut this short.”

“You’re going to see Mase?”

My hackles rise at her saying my boyfriend’s name. Sure, I’m not the only one to call him by the shorthand, but it’s the familiar way it rolls off her tongue that rubs me the wrong way.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business. So again…” This time I’m grabbing the doorknob when her next words freeze me on the spot.

“I’d be careful.” Her tone takes on an almost syrupy sweet quality. “He doesn’t always take no for an answer. I should know.”

My blood boils and my muscles seize, a haze of red forming at the edges of my vision. Her identity becomes as clear as the football field under the stadium lights.

“Chrissy? Or do you prefer Tina?” Her body jolts like she was electrocuted upon hearing I know about her duel identities. “I need to know which name to curse if you’re really insinuating what I think you are trying to insinuate.”

“Why are you so quick to assume I’m lying?” She folds her arms over her chest defensively.

“Because”—I mirror her stance—“I find it hard to believe a guy who asked permission to sleep beside me in only his boxer briefs is a rapist. Especially of his own…girlfriend.” I spit out the last word, her duplicity making her not worthy of the title.

“Wow.” Her mouth holds an O shape a few seconds longer than necessary. “Going right for the R-word.”

I roll my eyes, annoyed.

“You know…” I take the two steps needed to eliminate the distance between us, the cloying scent of her perfume invading my senses with each breath I take. “A person accusing another of the crime should really be able to say the word.”

This time I’m the one scanning her in disgust. Sexual assault and rape are serious issues. So many—too many—victims never get justice. There’s a stigma associated with reporting the crime, too much victim shaming and blame placed on the wrong party. So when people make false accusations—and my gut screams at me that Chrissy/Tina is one of them—it only hurts those who truly deserve justice.

“Why now?” I ask. “Why come to me instead of saying anything back then?”

She visibly swallows, her eyes darting to the left before answering. “Brantley paid me off to protect Mase.”

I bob my head, humming a soft mmhmm like we’re on the same page. Sure, the money Brantley obviously comes from given the mansion Mase’s family lives in would be more than enough to pay off a teenage girl and not even feel it. It wouldn’t even be the first time a coverup happened to protect a promising athlete. But what I have a hard time believing…

“And, what?” I release my arms, holding them up in an I’m clueless gesture. “He laid out the terms for it to be possible for you to come forward the first year his stepson is eligible for the draft?”

Something smells fishy, and it’s not the leftover tacos we gorged ourselves on last night.

Chrissy/Tina shifts on her feet, her earlier resolve returning, her jaw tensing.

“Fine.” She blows out a breath. “Liam said there was a chance you wouldn’t believe me”—ice fills my veins at the mention of my ex—“so he wanted me to ask you what you think the press will think.”

Sonofabitch. Is this his next step? His texts and internet trolling aren’t getting the results he wants so he’s trying this? I just wish there wasn’t a part of me rioting at the possibilities.

“The press would crucify you when the truth came out,” I counter.

She shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “What’s a little bad publicity when your bank account is flush?”

“Liam paid you?” I shouldn’t be surprised. His family is loaded too. I never understood why he went to Blackwell Public instead of Blackwell Academy.

“Yup. He DMed me on Insta and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” She does her best—and by best, I mean terrible—impression of a mobster. “He even said he would throw in a bonus if I could time it right with the draft.”

I spring back and hurl the door open, grabbing this bitch’s arm and throwing her out of my dorm.

Fuck me! This was why I tried to stay away, tried to use the breakup as a clean break. It’s too late now. My heart will never be whole without Mase.

My head bangs against the wood of the door, my eyes closing as I take a deep, deep breath.

The stories about Mase might not be true, but the ones Liam could tell about me are. We just gotta get through this weekend, and then we can regroup.

#Chapter45

CasaNova87: Hawks are gonna win! *football emoji* *trophy emoji* #WeWillShowYouWhoTheRealKingOfTheJungleIs #GoHawks #PennStateIsGoingDown #BeatPennState

*picture of Mason, Trav, Kev, Alex, and Noah in their football jerseys*

QB1McQueen7: Golden arm! *football emoji* #WelcomeToTheGunShow #GoHawks #PennStateIsGoingDown #BeatPennState

*picture of Trav, Mason, Kev, Alex, and Noah pulling up the sleeves of their jerseys and flexing*

CantCatchAnderson22: I suggest you eat an extra serving of turkey tomorrow if you plan on catching me before I make it to the end zone this weekend *football emoji* #RunForrestRun #PeepTheUsername #GoHawks #PennStateIsGoingDown #BeatPennState

*picture of Noah holding out a football and Alex pretending to eat it*

LacesOutMitchell5: They cheer for us. How can we lose? #TheLadiesLoveUs #GoHawks #PennStateIsGoingDown #BeatPennState

*picture of Noah with his arms around Em, Quinn, and Bailey*

SackMasterSanders91: Don’t worry. The turkey will only stretch my stomach tomorrow. I’ll have plenty of room to collect those sacks this weekend *football emoji* *turkey emoji* #GoHawks #PennStateIsGoingDown #BeatPennState

*picture of Kev smoldering for the camera*

#Chapter46

Growing up in a football family, Thanksgiving has never been a fancy affair. For years, the holiday was spent at one of E’s games, followed by a feast at the firehouse. The standard dress code for the day would typically be a pair of jeans or leggings and a jersey. Easy peasy, pass the potatoes.

In the years since Dad died, there have been some changes.

E no longer wears a jersey since

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