Next Man Up (Making the Score #2) - Tawdra Kandle Page 0,90

if he does it to someone else? What if the next time, there’s no one to stop him?”

“Don’t you think that haunts me? Don’t you think I’ve considered it, again and again?” I raised my head to look into Eli’s eyes. “And I always come back to one thing. What if Gia didn’t believe me? I mean, we don’t have any evidence. If she took Matt’s side and swore it couldn’t have happened . . .” I shook my head. “I don’t think I could take that.”

“If you filed charges against him, the police would have to look into it. The school would have to investigate it.” Eli was stubborn about this. It had been a point of contention between us since the day that Matt had tried to attack me.

“I’m not sure they would.” I rested my chin on my fist in the center of his chest. “Quinn told me once that she thinks Matt is the way he is because he’s never been held accountable for any of his actions. She said that with his grandparents being so rich and influential, any time he acted out or did something wrong or even criminal, it was covered up. Made to go away. Why would this be any different?”

Eli blew out a breath of frustration. “I don’t know. Because I want it to be different? Because this time, it was you he almost raped?”

I winced at his use of that word. I’d been unable to say it, even to myself. Attack somehow was more palatable to me than rape.

But the truth was that I knew Matt would’ve raped me that day, if Eli hadn’t come in at the right time or if I’d been unable to fend Matt off. I hadn’t spoken of it to anyone—not to Quinn, certainly, who was wrapped up in her own misery at the moment. And whenever Eli and I discussed it, we came back to the same point, over and over.

Thinking about that now, I subtly changed the subject. “I’m sorry about the football game, by the way. When you said what you did, I felt horrible. Why didn’t any of us stop to think that maybe it’s still painful for you to watch the game? We’re shitty friends.”

“Nah, you’re not.” Eli combed his fingers through my hair. “And actually, I don’t mind it. I can still enjoy the game. I still love the game, you know? It’s just kind of hard when I think about someone like Matt. He has all the opportunities in the world. He’s talented—I hate to admit that, but it’s true—and he’s strong. He was given the chance to play football at a top-notch college. If he were a little more of a team player, if he wasn’t so much of an asshole, he’d be logging more time on the field and less on the bench. So yes, that irritates the fuck out of me.”

“Do you miss it?” I laid my cheek back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Do you miss being out there, even now?”

For a moment, he was quiet, and I was half-afraid that I’d offended him, said the wrong thing. Then he sighed.

“I do. I miss . . . the team. The sense of having a group of guys who know what we’re doing, who live the same kind of life and who love the game, too. I miss the smell of it—that’s what I remember most from the last night I played. The smells. The feels. I loved it all, from the time I played peewee football to the night I broke my back.

“So sure, I miss it. But in another sense, I don’t. Playing football made me arrogant. It made me—” He paused. “If I had continued playing, if I’d never been hurt, there’s a decent chance that I would’ve ended up like Matt Lampert. I would’ve been a cocky asshole, getting everything that I ever wanted without much effort at all. And if losing the ability to play the game means I avoided that . . . then I don’t mind.”

I pressed a kiss to his pec, just above the flat brown nipple. “I can’t imagine you ever being like Matt. There’s something rotten and wrong about him, something off deep inside. You’re not made that way. I think if you hadn’t gotten hurt, you’d have matured. You’d have grown up and realized that you weren’t really a dick.” With one finger, I drew a light circle around his nipple, smiling