beating like crazy. The guy had a death wish. Next time I was going to punch him in the jugular.
“He’s trying to get in your head.” Matt grabbed my hands. “Maybe it triggered something when we turned down LA. Say the worst happens and the Reign passes, say other teams pass, say the only team left is LA . . .”
My stomach dropped as a wave of nausea rolled through my system. “Then what? Is he going to stop threatening me with name-calling? Is it going to turn into something more physical? Drastic?”
I stared down at the remote by the nightstand.
Matt pulled it away before I could grab it. “Don’t. Even if he did the worst, even if he went to the media, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“Oh, you know”—tears filled my eyes—“I get called a whore by complete strangers and the guy that hit me, and tried to rape me . . .” The minute the words left me, something snapped. I gasped and covered my mouth with my hands. Pain pounded through my body as I remembered the rest of that night, the words he said, the way I felt like I gave in.
The pop of his peppermint gum. “You want this, you know you want this.”
“I don’t want this,” I remember saying. “Please, no . . .”
“Just enjoy yourself, we’ll be so good together, just tell me which team you want and I’ll get you in once I’m in . . .” He smirked at his own joke.
“Erik—”
“Say my name again, I like it, tell me to fuck you.”
My clothes were gone. Where were my clothes?
Frozen, I squeezed my eyes shut as he pressed me against the wall, and then bent me over the training table. “Say you want it.”
“No.”
“Say it!” He pulled my loose hair so tight that I screamed. “Oh yeah, just like that . . .”
“I want it,” I said through sobs. “I want it . . .”
I crumpled against Matt’s chest, weeping. It was the missing piece, always the missing piece as I remember just leaving my body and letting it happen. I always remembered saying I wanted it.
Not because I did.
But because he forced me to.
Because he was hurting me.
Because I was afraid.
“Just cry.” Matt held my sobbing body close. “It’s okay, I’m not leaving, Parker. It’s okay, just cry.”
I wasn’t even breathing as I tore angrily at my own clothes, they were suffocating me just like he had suffocated me.
Matt didn’t even blink. He pulled my shirt over my head and then pulled the sheets away from my legs.
“He doesn’t get this, Parker,” Matt said softly. I started to hiccup. “He doesn’t get our bed, our home, he doesn’t get to steal this from us, alright?”
I nodded, crying so much that tears streamed down my body.
Matt pulled me back into his arms and rocked me until I cried myself out, until I nearly fell asleep.
He rocked me, and when he laid me down against the mattress and tucked me against his body, he whispered, “I love you . . .”
Chapter Thirty
MATT
I was more nervous than Parker, slept like shit, kept asking her if she was okay every few seconds, and somehow she looked better than I did, fresher, happier. How was that possible?
I wanted to sleep with a gun in case that fucker decided to come back to our house and then knew I’d end up in prison because I wouldn’t just fire a warning shot.
No, I’d fire several shots directly into his pathetic dick and then see if I could take his head off.
I was livid.
I wanted to go to the media.
I wanted her to go to the media.
But first we had the tryout, and I promised her we wouldn’t take any action until it was over.
I ran my hands through my hair and checked my Rolex again as a few other girls also trying to make the team ran around the field.
“She’s going to do great.” Slade popped a piece of gum in his mouth. “Trust me, she’s talented. She’s got this.”
Jagger crossed his arms. “She just needs to focus on her footwork and make sure that the other girls don’t shove her around.”
“She’s good at being bossy.” I wiped my face with my hands. “Shit, I don’t know if I can watch. Last night wasn’t good, guys. I just . . . What if he’s in her head?”
“No room for that, bro, not when you’re in her heart.” Jagger elbowed me.
Slade and I looked over at him.
“What?”