Come To Me (Dare With Me #3) - J.H. Croix Page 0,26

charges against Coach Winston. It’s a whole slew of them, some related to university code violations, and others criminal, including sexual assault against minors. It’s a big case. I wanted to warn you before you heard about it on the news,” Neal explained, his voice carefully level.

“Holy shit,” I said slowly.

“I told you my contacts let me know they were working on an investigation. If you want to talk to somebody, you could give them a call. There might not be any charges related to your case, but you could be a corroborating witness.”

My brother paused, and I sensed he was waiting to see how I would respond. I didn’t know how to respond. I took a deep breath, trying to quell the anxiety spinning inside.

“You don’t need to do anything,” he added. “I thought you might want to know that’s an option. They put a call out for any other victims to contact them. If you want my support, I can reach out to attorneys that represent victims like you and put you in touch with one. I’d be happy to do that.”

My brother’s calm and measured tone let me know he was worried. It also reminded me yet again that I was the one in my family everyone worried about. I hated that.

I took another breath, finally replying, “I’ll think about it. I never expected this to happen. I honestly can’t believe it.”

“What happened to you in high school, and the reports you and Janet filed did get the ball rolling. Even if it didn’t feel like it at the time. He’s been under scrutiny since then. Things like this take a long time. What can I do to support you?”

“You always support me, Neal. Just letting me know this was coming is huge. I’ll think about what I want to do and talk to you before I do anything.”

“Okay, call me when you’re ready to talk on it some more. Should we talk about the weather now?” he teased, mentioning an old joke between us. Whenever things got tense, we tried to talk about the weather.

I needed that just now. “It’s beautiful here today. I still haven’t gotten used to the long days.”

“What time does the sun go down there?”

“Close to my bedtime,” I replied with a laugh.

My chest was still tight, and I felt a little sick, but I didn’t want to process my feelings with my brother at the moment. He knew me well enough to know that.

“Send me a picture of the sunset one of these days.”

“You got it.” I turned onto the road where I lived. “I’m almost home, so I need to go. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Of course. Love you,” my brother replied.

“Love you too.”

The line clicked off, and the music from the radio filled the speakers again. I took stock of how I was feeling. I felt strange, a little scared, and a little relieved at the same time.

As I went through my evening rounds of feeding the horses, I was grateful for the activity. I needed something to ease the restlessness threatening. It had been years, and I’d done a lot of work to get to a place where I was calm and steady most of the time.

Yoga helped, spending time with the horses helped, and trying to find my own fresh start helped. Yet, there was one thing I could never do—erase the past. I wasn’t trying to run from my past. I knew perfectly well that wasn’t possible. But still, sometimes I wished some things had never happened.

I’d never expected my former high school softball coach to face charges. And yet, apparently, he was. I couldn’t help wondering if he would slide out scot-free somehow. He had gotten away with his actions for years.

I had loved my team and loved softball so much. I didn’t even realize I was being groomed. That was a word I learned after the fact. Coach Winston was charming and funny, and he coached my high school team to two state championships.

He was also the first man who kissed me. The twisted saving grace in that situation was I wasn’t the only student he targeted. When I walked in on him with his pants down around his ankles and my friend with her face turned away, I’d been simultaneously struck with fierce anger, shame, and relief. The relief came from realizing it wasn’t just me, that I hadn’t been singularly responsible for what he did.

My friend and I agreed to tell