“Kyle Loftman was a student teacher at my high school. He was about to graduate. Your age, really.” I can feel his fingers grow stiff, but they loosen again quickly. I keep going, keep playing my song. “I was sort of…I don’t know…one of those easy girls in high school.”
His hand grabs mine, and he tugs for my attention. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t ever apologize for things in your past. Not to me,” he says. I nod, and my breath comes sharp and fast. I would cry if I weren’t so nervous. I hate crying. “Go on. I won’t judge you. Not ever.”
I spread his fingers, weaving mine in and out while I talk. “Kyle was helping out our soccer team, and one night, he found his way to one of our parties. He was young, just a little older. Liking him was dangerous, but a safe kind of dangerous. So I slipped into one of the rooms with him at the house we were at, and we made out. That was it. Nothing heavy. No sex. Some…touching,” I admit, my face feeling the burn of humiliation saying this to Ty—to anyone.
“Don’t,” he reminds me, and I swallow hard, trying to gain courage from him.
“The next day, there was a knock at my parent’s door. My dad answered, and it was a young woman—short, brunette…pregnant. She asked for me, so my dad called me downstairs. He stood behind me when I cracked open the door the rest of the way. He stood there while she told me to stop sleeping with her husband. She spit on the screen door, cried, and told me I should be ashamed of myself. She called me a slut…and then she walked away.”
Ty’s hands wrap around mine, and I look at him. His face is exactly as I hoped—he’s angry, but on my side. He’s angry that I was accused, that I was spit at, that my father just stood by and watched it all happen.
“What did your dad do?” he asks.
“He told me I was being careless, that she could make this an issue with the school—which she did,” I say, remembering the hell that was the end of my senior year. “He kept the details from my mom and from Paige. Or at least, I thought he did. My mom brought it up the other day, so somehow, the story got out. My dad’s law firm worked with the district, kept things hushed. Kyle wasn’t punished, because I never accused him of anything. He didn’t do anything wrong, other than not let me know he was married. That…that was wrong,” I say, letting out a huge breath, the weight of everything.
“That dick owes you an apology,” Ty says, and I laugh.
“Which one?” I say, not sure who he was referring to—Kyle or my dad.
“Exactly,” he says, and I kiss his hand and move to lie on his arm. “So, what does this have to do with Paul whatshisname? Whatever it was that Chandra chick said.”
This part of the story…this confession? This one is going to make him angry. Not at me…but angry for sure.
“First of all, I need you to promise me you’ll stay…calm,” I say, mentally crossing my fingers.
“Can’t do that,” he says back fast, and I sink into him, my stomach churning and trying to convince me to backtrack, to not tell this part of the story. “I’m sorry Cass, but I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. I have a feeling I’m going to want to punch someone, and it might even be that Chandra chick by the time you’re done.”
“I’m okay with that,” I laugh, cringing that I’m advocating for a man hitting a woman. I don’t think it counts in this case.
“The day of tryouts…I had that physics makeup test, remember?”
Ty nods, his jaw flexing, his teeth grinding underneath.
“I knew something was off. The teacher, that’s Paul Cotterman…he was…sort of flirty,” I say, testing the waters. Ty’s face hardens even more. Yeah, he’s going to react badly.
“Go on,” he says, his eyes focused on my lips, almost zoning out.
“He was that way with a few people in class, really. Not just me. But when I went in to take the makeup exam, the room was empty. It was just me,” I say, closing my eyes and remembering how dirty his hand felt on my thigh, how hot his breath was on my neck, how demonic his voice was at my ear.
“I don’t like this Cass. If that dude hurt you, I swear to god I will kill him. I. Will. Fucking. Kill. Him,” Ty says, a menacing calmness to his tone.
“You don’t have to. It’s okay. He…he…” I can’t say it, and Ty squeezes my hand to let me know it’s okay. “He touched me, first on my leg, and then he tried to grab my breast. He was holding me to him, and things could have been really bad. But, I hit him, Ty. I hit him hard—first with my elbow, then with my fist. His nose bled, like a fucking faucet. Then I kicked him in the balls to make sure he couldn’t follow me.”