“Fuck!” I scream it so loud, conversations in the lobby stop, and all eyes turn to me. I don’t care. I’m spiraling, thinking of that son of a bitch violating Iris. Of him abusing her. Beating her. I kick the table, and it spins a few feet into the path of a couple walking to the elevators. I turn to the wall and punch it, denting the lobby wallpaper. Denting my hand. My knuckles swell and redden immediately.
“August, stop it.” Deck grabs my arm, his frown stern. “We don’t have time for tantrums.”
“Tantrum?” I croak, my voice like sandpaper. “If someone raped Avery, someone beat her, what would you do?”
He goes quiet, a flare of violence in his eyes. “I’d want to kill them.”
“Right. Then let me go find Caleb.”
“But I hope I’d have at least one friend who would stop me,” he says. “Look, Caleb’s going to get his. That file didn’t just go to Avery’s station. It went to every major station.”
“Shit.” I drag my hands over my face. “This’ll be a media circus.”
“Yeah. You might want to sort through all your feelings later and worry about Iris right now. I think Avery was one of the first to get it, but there’ll be reporters and TV cameras at Iris’s door very soon, if not already.”
“I can’t . . .” I pull my phone out to check the time. “How much time you think we’ve got?”
“It’s late on the east coast,” he says. “That helps, but we may want to get her out of there and get some PR on this. You can best believe Donald Bradley is already lawyered up and has his spin machine hard at work.”
“Fuck him,” I spit. “What are the odds he didn’t already know about this? Caleb doesn’t piss without him signing off on it.”
“I’ve already got our PR team working on it.” Deck glances at his phone when it dings with an email alert. “Matter of fact, this is from them. I sent the file over as soon as Avery told me so they could vet it and figure out a statement since the public knows about you guys now.”
If I’d gone to Houston, I’d have forty-five million dollars, and maybe I’d even be on my way to a ring, but I wouldn’t have Deck—someone who’s truly a friend and looking out for me.
“Thanks, Deck. I . . .” Emotion clogs my throat. “I just . . . Iris? God, she’s the sweetest thing in the world. And she’s . . . she’s so small. How could he . . .”
Deck hooks an elbow around my neck and brings me in close.
“Hey,” he says gruffly, pulling back and placing his hands on my shoulders. “We’ll work through all of that. I promise you he’s gonna get his, August.”
“You sure about that, Deck?” I ask bitterly. “Did he ‘get his’ when he broke my leg? No, his daddy and the powers that be protected him. And you and I both know how it is—how there’s a different set of rules for athletes. How we close ranks and protect our own. Consequences aren’t ever guaranteed. I’m not having it this time. I’m telling you, if he gets out of this, I’ll kill him myself.”
“Keep your voice down,” Decker says through clenched teeth. “You don’t get to be a hothead. You hear me? You got a bright future that most guys would give anything to have. And you got a girl most guys would give anything to have. Would you sitting behind bars make this go away? Would it take away what happened to her? Is that gonna help her raise her kid?”
I’m quiet because I know the right answers, and I can’t make myself say them. My rage needs an outlet, and I don’t know one more deserving than Caleb.
I want my dad.
The thought comes from nowhere and doesn’t even make sense. Who even knows if he’d have the right words to say. Despite having so little time with him, he always comes to mind in trouble or triumph. It strikes me how important a father is, and Caleb, that sorry, degenerate asshole, is Sarai’s.
He can’t have any part of her. He can’t be in her life. He can’t touch her.
“Okay.” I nod at Deck to let him know my head is in the game. “I got it. You talk to the team. I’ll call Iris. I need to get her out of there.”
“Car’s on the way,” Deck says.
“What?” I do a double-take. “What car?”
“Already got a car on the way to her house ready to take her to the airport. Team plane will take her and Sarai wherever you say.”
My shoulders slump with gratitude and a tiny measure of relief. I don’t have my dad, but I do have Deck.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “God, thanks, Deck, but redirect the car. She and Sarai are at my place. She was cooking dinner for us there.”
I pause, dreading the call I need to make.
“She’s been so happy, Deck,” I say. “We’ve been so happy, and now this shit—”
“This shit will pass.” He starts toward the elevator and says over his shoulder, “Call your girl so we can take care of her.”
Take care of her.
I didn’t do that. I let her down. How did I miss this?
Was he beating her when I saw her at the All-Star Game? I know I didn’t see her often then, but from the first night we met, I’ve always felt so connected to her. How could I not have known? Why would she not tell me?
It doesn’t matter. I know now, and she needs me more than ever.
Iris
“Weather delay?” I look at the food in various stages of preparation in August’s kitchen, a veritable Louisiana feast. Etouffe, shrimp, beans and rice, and bread pudding. MiMi would be proud.
“It’s okay,” I tell August, my phone pressed between my shoulder and ear as I measure whiskey sauce for the bread pudding. “The food will keep. It’ll be here tomorrow. You will be home tomorrow, right?” Forget the food. I just miss him.
“You got me all Lou Rawls over here,” I joke, waiting for him to laugh back.
There’s just silence on the other end.
“‘You’re Gonna Miss My Loving’?” I sing a little part of it . . . badly. “Remember?”
“Yeah, I . . . I remember,” August finally says, his voice sounding as if it’s passing through a cheese grater. “Babe, there’s something I need to tell you. We don’t have much time.”
I tilt my head up to hold the phone properly. “Don’t have much time? Why?” I ask. “August, you sound weird. What’s going on?”
“Decker came to me a few minutes ago and told me . . .” He clears his throat. “He told me that Avery received a file at work today.”
“Avery, his girlfriend? The sports anchor?”
“Yeah. It was a file about . . . baby, it was a file about you.”
I drop the measuring cup, and shards of glass litter the floor.
“A file?” My breath is choppy. Blood surges in my veins like the Mississippi primed to overflow. “What kind of file?”
The question is superfluous. I already know. I’m as shattered inside as the glass at my feet realizing that the world will know what happened to me. What was done to me.
That August knows.