I said. “Stop being crazy!”
“Crazy?” he said, ratcheting up his grip another notch.
“Ouch,” I said, wincing. “Ryan, that hurts. Let go!”
“I’m not crazy, Shea. You’re the one who got drunk, left your credit card, and let your ex-boyfriend pick it up for you. You’re the one who broke your promise. You’re the one who lied to me. What am I supposed to think?”
“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” I said, sweat trickling down my sides. “Let go!”
“No. Answer me. What am I supposed to think?”
My arm hurt too much to struggle, so I stopped and said, “You’re making a scene.”
“Answer the question. What am I supposed to think?”
I said I didn’t know, my voice coming out in a whimper.
“Okay. I’ll tell you what I think. I think you fucked him. Didn’t you? Admit it, Shea. You fucked him.”
“No.”
“Yes, you did,” he yelled, shaking me.
“No, Ryan,” I said, on the verge of tears. “I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. Nothing happened.”
At this point, Lucy appeared, taking everything in, her eyes wide, horrified.
“What’s going on here?” she said, as Ryan finally released me from his grip.
“Nothing’s going on here,” he said. “I’m out.”
He turned and stormed off, leaving me with Lucy. “What in the world? …” she said. “What just happened? Is this because Miller walked in?”
I got choked up but managed not to cry as I cobbled the story together, downplaying things.
She looked at the red mark on my arm and winced.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I said, wishing I had kept my jacket on.
“Omigod,” Lucy said.
In some kind of shock, I said, “I can see how bad this looks to him. God, I wish I hadn’t lied.”
“That doesn’t excuse this,” she said. “There is no excuse for this.”
“I know,” I said, although I could hear the rationalizations forming in my mind: He has big hands. He doesn’t know his strength. And the most pathetic: It’s my fault.
Lucy’s face twisted in anguish. “Shea, honey … I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all … I think maybe Blakeslee was telling the truth about him. On some level.”
Maybe. On some level. I could see and hear that she was qualifying, too, trying to find a way out for Ryan, not wanting to believe what had just happened. Surely Ryan wasn’t that person. Surely I wasn’t the girl in peril.
“I just want to go home,” I said.
“You can’t drive.”
“I’m okay to drive,” I said. “Honest.”
Lucy nodded reluctantly, then said, “Okay. Call me when you get home. I’m really worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I’ll be fine. I promise,” I said. As if that were something I could will to be true.
As I unlocked my apartment door, my cell rang. I expected it to be Lucy, or maybe Ryan, but it was Coach. His voice was filled with joy as he said hello, reminding me of what tonight was supposed to be about: Walker one step closer to the promised land.
“Hey, Coach,” I said, trying to conjure the elation I’d felt only a short time ago.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Home.”
“Alone?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, how ’bout that game, girl?” he said, laughing, giddy. “How ’bout that game?”
“It was great. Awesome. I’m so happy for you. And proud of you,” I said, trying to sound the way I would if I hadn’t just been manhandled.
I must not have done a good job, because he said, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said, finding my way to the sofa and curling up in a fetal position, the phone pressed to my ear.
“C’mon. What’s going on? Talk to me.”
I took a deep breath and said, “I got into an argument with Ryan. At the Third Rail. That’s all.”
“Oh, boy,” Coach said, suddenly somber. “What about?”
“Same old stuff,” I said. “He still thinks I have a thing for Miller. Which I don’t. Obviously.”
“And he got jealous?”
“Yeah. And really angry … It was bad.”
“What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”
I didn’t really, but I felt that I had to explain, at least in broad strokes. “We were at the Third Rail with Lucy and Neil … celebrating … and …” My voice cracked, but I kept going. “Miller walked in and Ryan got mad and things just turned ugly.”
“Ugly?”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking that word summed it up better than any other. “On Ryan’s end. Miller was his usual happy self.”
“What did Ryan do?”
“You know … he just … lost his temper and acted stupid …”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, remembering the way those people in the bar had looked at me. With voyeuristic