The Shameless Hour Read online

  And talk about it.

  There was no fucking way I was walking into that locker room today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that.

  I sat on the edge of my bed and pressed my fingertips into the corners of my too-hot eyes.

  Fifteen

  Rafe

  Soccer practice was brutal that afternoon.

  Coach ran us like greyhounds. And just before practice there’d been a little cloudburst, so the grass was damp and slippery. My knees were screaming by the time it was done, exhausted by the constant stop-start torque required to change direction as I dribbled the ball.

  By the time the whistle blew, it was too dark to see the ball.

  Bickley clapped a hand on my sweaty shoulder as we walked into the locker room. “What a lovely little stroll we’ve had this afternoon,” he said. “I feel so refreshed.”

  “Coach was in a mood, wasn’t he?”

  “That he was.”

  My roommate and I went straight to dinner after showering, just barely making it into the Beaumont dining hall before closing time. When we got back to our room, Bickley threw himself on the sofa. But I gathered my Urban Studies stuff and headed for our door again.

  “Where are you headed?” my roommate asked.

  “Uh, upstairs. Bella and I are paired up on a project.”

  “Reeeally.” He grinned. “That could be just what you require. She’s quite the slapper, I’ve heard.”

  My blood pressure kicked up several notches on Bella’s behalf. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Bickley spread his hands. “It’s a shame that she prefers hockey players, though. Maybe she’d make an exception for a soccer player. It’s a similar enough game — we’re all trying to get the round thing into the goal. Maybe she’ll let you put your round thing into her goal.”

  “Shut your mouth,” I growled, walking out and letting the door slam. If I’d stood there a minute longer, I can’t say what I would have done to him.

  Fucking Bickley.

  I headed upstairs and knocked on Bella’s door. I was more than a little surprised to hear her say “come in.” Pushing the door open, I saw Bella on the bed. She looked a hell of a lot better than when I’d walked in here a few hours ago. Wearing clean clothes and a slick of lip gloss, she looked more like the Bella that I used to see. “Hey,” she said, her eyes flickering up into mine.

  “Hey yourself.”

  “I just need to tell you something quickly, and then I never want to speak of it again.”

  “Um, okay?” I chuckled.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and braced her elbows on her knees. “The reason I went into that frat house last Saturday night was that I needed to tell one of the guys something.” Bella took a sudden interest in her fingernails. “My doctor told me that I’d caught an, um, infection. Not a serious one. But contagious.” She looked up to meet my eyes for a fractional second. “I got it within a short time frame, though. So that means I didn’t have it when we, uh…” She crossed her arms.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

  Bella opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if she hadn’t expected me to say that. “I’m just telling you because you might hear all sorts of shit about me. But you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “I understand.”

  She clapped her hands. “Moving on. Now let’s talk about West 165th Street.”

  I opened my notebook and sifted through the pages. My brain was still trying to catch up with what she’d just said — and what she hadn’t. If Bella had walked into that house on fraternity row to deliver some very unpleasant news, she sure stayed there a while. It was after seven in the morning when I’d seen her stumbling out.

  With insults inked all over her body.

  What the hell happened during all that time? It didn’t take nine hours to tell a guy that kind of news.

  Bella misinterpreted my silence. “I’m sure you’re clean.”

  “I wasn’t worried, Bella.”

  Her face showed very clearly that she didn’t believe me. “Urban Studies,” she clipped.

  “Yes ma’am.” I took a seat in her desk chair, which was free of debris. “I took good notes yesterday because he was talking about affordable housing. So we have to decide whether we want to use a voucher system, or whatever.”

  “Okay.” She twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers.

  I knew exactly how soft her hair was, and how it felt in my hands. Her happy smile was another perfectly formed memory. After everything that had happened to her, I wondered when I might see that happy smile again, and whether there was anything I could do to bring it back.

  Whatever it was, I would do it.

  “Vouchers are the simplest,” Bella was saying. “If we wanted to get fancy, we could do something with sweat equity. Or even better — a rent-to-own setup. How complicated do you want to make this?”

  “I’m not afraid of the work,” I told her. “I really need to win this thing.”

  “Why?”

  “The prize.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “Can’t you visit food trucks any old time? I mean, you can’t swing a pair of chopsticks without hitting one.”

  “That’s not the point. I need to meet that guy in charge — the food truck guru. Our family restaurant could really rock one of those things. And I need to convince my mom that it’s a good idea. So if we win, I’d bring her as my date.”

  Bella’s expression softened. “You’re like a walking chick flick.”

  “Whatever. Just tell me what sweat equity is. And that other thing.”

  Bella crossed her legs on the bed and began to explain. And for a little while, peace reigned in the kingdom. She looked like the old Bella, too, talking with her hands, her green eyes flashing. And I took notes so I could remember all the things she was telling me.

  “Where’d you learn all of this?” I asked, scribbling furiously before I forgot what she’d said.

  “I told you. Dinner table conversation. One-sided conference calls. Buildings are all my father ever talks about.”

  There was a knock at the door. “Bella!” came a male voice.

  Across from me, Bella flinched. She raised a finger to her lips, asking me to stay silent.

  The knock persisted. “Bells, open up. Come on. I’m freaking out, here.”

  With a sigh, Bella stood and crossed to the door. When she opened it, two men loomed in the doorway. When she backed away, they came inside.

  The energy in the room changed in a way I did not like. The first guy in the door — a big blond guy — stared down at Bella, tension radiating off him. “Rikker said you weren’t at practice.”

  Two pink spots appeared on Bella’s cheeks. She looked past her blond friend at the other guy. I recognized him — he was in about a hundred newspaper articles last year. The First Out Gay Player In Division One Hockey, etc. “You ratted me out?” Bella asked.

  Rikker rolled his eyes. “We’re just worried about you, Bells.”

  “That does not even begin to cover it,” the blond guy said. His jacket said GRAHAM on it. “What the hell happened? Who took that picture?”

  Great. “Not the question,” I muttered, wishing he would just stand down. A minute ago, Bella had been relaxed for the first time in days. Now she sat down heavily, looking for all the world like she’d rather crawl under the bed than sit on it.

  “And who are you?” Graham demanded, his attention swinging to me.

  “A friend,” I said testily. “The downstairs neighbor. The guy who isn’t talking about that freaking picture.”

  Graham’s glance dismissed me. He sat down on Bella’s bed right beside her, putting an arm around her. “Seriously. Who did that? And what’s with…” He picked up her arm and pushed up the sleeve of her T-shirt to expose a few inches of her wrist.

  Bella yanked her arm away. “I’m fine.”

  “There is nothing fine about—”

  “I’m FINE!�
�� she yelled. Her face was a bright shade of pink, and her eyes glittered.

  “Come on,” he pressed. “I need to know.”

  “Not true,” she clipped, turning her face away from him.

  Rikker sat down on the other side of her, so Bella ended up burying her nose in his shoulder. Rikker put his palm on her cheek and pulled her close. “Bella,” he whispered, and I watched her back rise and fall as she tried to hold herself together.

  “I am done with guys,” she croaked. “Men suck.”

  The two guys on the bed turned in toward Bella, gathering her in their arms. “No,” Graham crooned. “Some guys are awesome. We love you.”

  Bella gave her head a single shake. “I just… The whole team saw it, didn’t they?” she gasped. “I’m never going back to practice.”

  Rikker made an unhappy noise. “But then the asshole wins.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Yeah, you do,” Graham said, rubbing her back. “We don’t let the assholes win.”

  “I just can’t…” Her back heaved. “Stand this.”

  My throat got tight, and the other two men held her even closer. They murmured soothing things while Bella began to sniff.

  I don’t know how long it took me to realize I was no longer needed. It was hard to just walk out of the room, but I’d done what I could, even if it did not feel like nearly enough.

  When I slipped out, she did not even look up.

  Sixteen

  Bella

  How mortifying to end up crying in Graham’s arms.

  I pulled myself together after a few minutes, wiping my face on my sleeve. “I’ll be okay,” I promised.

  “Yeah, you will be,” Rikker said softly. “But we have to get that picture taken down. Who’s the asshole? We want to help you with that.”

  “Absolutely not,” I said. There was no way I would contact him. Ever, ever again. And I wasn’t going to turn Graham and Rikker on him, either. How ugly would that get? My two gay friends, beating down the door of the football fraternity? That was the worst idea I’d ever heard.

  “What they did must be against a whole lot of rules,” Graham said.

  “Don’t be so sure,” I argued. “It isn’t a Harkness website. It isn’t even an official…” I almost said “Beta Rho website,” but caught myself just in case they hadn’t already made the connection. “It’s just a random spot on the web, where no names are given. Including mine.”

  “So you’re just going to ignore it?” Graham yelped.

  I pressed my hands against my hot face, trying to stay calm. “In a few days they’ll humiliate someone else, right? My picture will sink down on the page.”

  “That is so fucked,” Rikker complained.

  “What would be so fucked,” I said icily, “is making a complaint that doesn’t stick.” I’d thought about this for many hours already, and I was positive there was nothing to be gained by reporting Whittaker. “Humiliation is not against the law. And if marking up a drunk person was illegal, every frat in North America would be shut down. If I make a big stink, then anyone who hasn’t seen the picture will see it.”

  “Sexual harassment is not okay,” Rikker said quietly. “The college is obligated to put a stop to it. I could have won a judgment against St. B’s if I’d gone after them. And I don’t see how this is different.”

  “You’re right,” I said brightly. “It is the same thing. And you didn’t go after them in court, did you?”

  “No, but…”

  “But nothing. I’ve seen what happens when someone like me goes up against someone like him.”

  “Like who?” Graham asked.

  God, did he think I was that stupid? “Nice try, Graham. But I’m not exactly Snow White. Nobody cares if somebody says a few shitty things about me. Right now, my name is not on the front page of that newspaper you write for. If I report him, tomorrow it will be. How is that better?”

  Graham’s eyes squeezed shut, probably because he knew I was right. His arms tightened around me once again. “I can’t make you turn him in. But I really need to know one thing. Was the ink the worst thing that happened to you that night?”

  “No!” I spat, and his whole body stiffened. “The fucking picture was the worst thing that happened. Duh.”

  He let out a breath, and I felt just steeped in misery and drama. As a rule, I didn’t do drama. I didn’t manufacture it or traffic in it. But now it was all around me.

  What I didn’t tell Graham — or Rafe — was that I knew those assholes had put something more than alcohol in my drink. But that’s not what Graham had been asking. He’d wanted to know if I’d been assaulted, just like Rafe had tried to ask, too. In their minds, it was the worst thing that could’ve happened to me. And maybe they were right. It’s not like I had any experience with that.

  But I’d had enough experience with other kinds of assholery to know public humiliation was no trip to Hollywood, either. I wasn’t about to make my own life worse by making a complaint against the fraternity, because there was no way I’d prevail. The Beta Rho national chapter probably wrote their own slut-shaming tactical handbook.

  “A lot of guys would want to help you.” Rikker gave my lower back a supportive rub.

  I disentangled myself from the two of them. “I know.” I cleared my throat. “Thanks.”

  “The hockey team knows you always have our backs. So we’re going to have yours.”

  Now that was naive. Because it didn’t matter how many clean jerseys I’d handed out before practice, or how quickly I could organize fifteen hotel room reservations. If I walked into that locker room right now, those guys were still going to wonder: What did she catch? I wonder who gave it to her?

  I was tainted. And nobody was ever going to let me forget it.

  “I’ll be fine,” I fibbed, rubbing the drying tears off my face. “Seriously. And I have a whole lot of homework tonight.”

  Graham and Rikker exchanged a loaded glance. “Will I see you at practice tomorrow night?” Rikker asked.

  “Sure,” I lied.

  Graham kissed me on the eyebrow. “Will you come to Capri’s Pizza tomorrow night?”

  Fat chance. “Maybe.”

  “All right.” Rikker stood up. “Call us if you need us.”

  “I will,” I promised, just to shut them up. What I needed was for everyone to stop talking about it.

  They left, and my room was silent again.

  * * *

  Before my life went to hell, I used to sleep like a baby. Now? Not so much.

  At four in the morning, I found myself tangled up in the sheets, trying to find a way out of my misery. Sometimes my mind would drift, and I’d end up thinking about normal things — the next Rangers game, or a psych essay that I’d read. But then a glimpse of the faded ink on my arm, or the memory of picking up that drink that I’d been served at the Beta Rho house… Shudder.

  I lay there, working it through my mind, like a logical puzzle that might be solved if I could only find a way. But short of time travel, there was no solution at all.

  If I’d only said no to the drink.

  If I’d only told Whittaker over the phone…

  A girl could go crazy this way. And whenever my brain veered any further down this path, I had to force myself to turn back toward the light. The memory of waking up on the floor of Beta Rho that morning was not a place in my mind I could visit without becoming fearful. So I tucked that away to think about sometime later.

  Much later.

  After tossing and turning for hours, I finally fell asleep again when the first light was in the sky.

  Whatevs. I wasn’t going to class, anyway.

  Unfortunately, it’s not easy to hide from the world when you have nosy neighbors.

  Lianne walked into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth around ten in the morning. “Don’t you have class?” she asked.

  I did, as a matter of fact. The seminar was an upper-level psych class with only a dozen or so peop
le in it. But I would have had to cross the entire campus to get there, and I just didn’t feel up to it.

  “Did you eat breakfast?” Lianne tried, even though I’d never answered her first question.

  “Who eats breakfast?” I countered.

  “Did you get coffee?”

  Seriously? “What’s it to you?”

  “Want to hit the coffee shop with me?”

  I couldn’t help but sneak a look at her in the mirror. Since when did Lianne make friendly overtures? Rafe probably put her up to it. “I’m good,” I said. “But thanks.”

  She gave me a single, frustrated frown. Then she darted into her room and shut the door again.

  If Lianne had picked any other day this year to be nice to me, I would have responded differently. But it was going to take a little more than coffee to extract me from the privacy of my room.

  I wrote an apologetic email to the grad student who led my psych seminar and stayed home.

  As soon as I settled on my bed again, my phone rang to the tune of “The Saints Go Marching In.” And as soon as I heard that little tune, I realized I’d made an error of epic proportions.

  “Oh shit,” I said to the walls of my room. I answered the phone anyway, because ducking my own fuck-ups wasn’t my style. “Hi Mom,” I said.

  “Bella, your sister—”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been frantic, and it totally slipped my mind.” That was sure true. “I’ll call her immediately.”

  My mother’s sigh was loud. “You’ve offended her, sweetie. The grant and the award are very important to her. How busy could you be?”

  Well, the total implosion of my life has been surprisingly consuming. “I’ll call right now. But you have to let me hang up with you.”

  “Don’t you dare forget the banquet.”

  Shit! The fucking banquet. “I won’t forget.”

  “I’ll see you then, sweetie.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  “Call your sister,” she couldn’t resist saying once more.

  “Doing it now!” I hung up and inspected my ceiling again. But the task could not be avoided, so I dialed my sister.