The One & Only(111)

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 pity and concern. The opposite of the way people usually looked at me when I was with Ryan. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

The answer was both yes and no, so I said, “I don’t know …” And then, because I had the feeling that he was just worried about me and trying to do the right thing, I said, “You don’t have to do that. I really am okay.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to see you,” he said, and, for a few seconds, there seemed to be nothing complicated about our situation. He was simply a man who liked a woman. I could hear it in his voice. I was sure of it, and, despite everything that had happened, I felt a little rush that Coach wanted to share such a special night with me.

“I want to see you, too,” I said.

“All right, then,” he said. “I just need to make a few phone calls, and I’ll be over.”

“Okay,” I said again, frozen in the same position, not even moving the warm phone from my face for several seconds after Coach said goodbye and hung up. I calculated that, with his calls and the drive over, I had at least twenty minutes, just enough time to take a quick hot shower and pull myself together. Fighting an overwhelming sense of fatigue, I willed myself to sit up, text Lucy that I was home safe, then walk down the hall, into my bedroom, then my bathroom, where I began undressing. When I took off my jeans, the credit card fell from my back pocket onto the tile floor. I stared down at it but left it there, then pulled my sweater over my head, both arms, especially my left, throbbing. Then I took off my underwear, staring at my naked self in the mirror. From a straight-on view, I couldn’t see the marks on my arms, which somehow made me feel better. I took a few steps to my shower and turned on the water to the hottest setting, wondering if what had happened in the bar had made me a statistic.

Waiting for the water to get hot, I decided that it was too minor to qualify, then told myself not to be so stupid. Of course it counted. It didn’t matter, though, because, either way, I was going to end things with Ryan the first chance I got. For a lot of reasons. Because he didn’t trust me—and nothing would ever work without trust. Because I didn’t really love him, and I knew I never would. But mostly because he had crossed a very clear line.

I stepped into the shower, breathing in the steam, letting the water stream down over my back, then my face, thinking of how many reports and stories I’d read over the years about girls showering after an “incident.” It had always made sense, but now it really made sense. I hadn’t been seriously injured, but I still felt violated.