43. Dylan

Chapter 43

Dylan

I sit on the edge of the bed after changing into my jammies, still feeling the tension pulsing through my veins from the game. My skin is clammy with sweat, and my mind is in a relentless loop. I knew it was going to be a tough night as soon as I saw Brock on the field, but I didn't realize it would get this bad. I thought I could handle it—I had to handle it. But seeing him again, hearing his voice, and then the way the confrontation after the game went down—it's too much.

I take a deep breath, running my fingers through my damp hair, trying to steady myself before I head downstairs. I know the guys are waiting. They saw me tonight—off my game, not myself. They're going to ask questions, and I don't know if I'm ready to answer them. But the thing is, I can't keep hiding this from them either.

The low murmur of their voices drifts up from the living room, and my chest tightens. They've always been able to read me too well, and tonight will be no different. I know they'll push, they'll dig, until I crack.

When I finally make my way downstairs, they're all sitting on the couch, waiting. Ford leans forward, elbows on his knees, his face serious. Jacob is pacing, his hands running through his hair, while Matthew watches me quietly from where he's sitting in the corner of the room. There's this air of intensity, like they're bracing for something.

"Kitty," Ford says, his voice low but commanding, "what's going on?"

I stop in my tracks, my stomach flipping. I don't know why I thought they wouldn't notice, why I thought I could get away with keeping it together. They know me too well. I feel their eyes on me, the weight of their concern. They care. Of course, they do.

"I'm fine," I try to say, but the words sound hollow, even to me.

Ford narrows his eyes, clearly not buying it. "You weren't fine out there tonight. You were off. We all felt it."

"I just—" I start, but I'm cut off by Jacob, who stops pacing to look at me. There's a softness in his eyes, a gentleness that makes my chest ache.

"Is this about Brock?" he asks, his tone careful. "Are you worried we'll be upset that you hooked up with him or something?"

The question hits me like a slap in the face. My heart stops. Hooked up with Brock? No. God, no. It's the complete opposite of that. The memories flood back, unwanted and sharp, and for a moment, I'm frozen in place, my body going cold.

I meet Jacob's gaze, and something snaps inside me. The anger I've been holding back, the fear, the shame—it all boils over. "Don't ever say that again," I hiss, my voice shaking with venom.

Jacob's eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn't back down. "What? I just thought—"

"Don't you ever suggest that again," I spit, taking a step closer, the anger burning in my veins. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

The room falls silent. They're all staring at me now, stunned, waiting for me to explain—to say something that makes sense. But I can't. I can't find the words.

"We all agreed that we wouldn't keep things from each other, so what is going on, baby?" Matthew finally asks, his voice steady but filled with concern. "You've been on edge since the game started. Is it Brock? Did something happen between the two of you?"

My throat tightens, and for a second, I can't breathe. I want to tell them everything, to finally get it all out, but I don't know how. How do I tell them about that night without breaking down? How do I say the words?

I swallow hard, my hands shaking. "It's Brock," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "It's always been Brock."

Ford stands up, his eyes darkening. "What do you mean?"

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to continue. "I tried to date him… back at my old school. He was on the boys' lacrosse team, and we were together for six months. I thought—" I break off, my voice catching in my throat. "I thought it was something good. We even went to prom together."

They're all listening now, their faces serious, focused. I can see the tension building in their bodies, the way their hands clench, their jaws tighten. They know something bad is coming, but they're waiting for me to say it.

I pause, trying to find the strength to say the words. "The dance was fine. We had fun, we danced, everything seemed normal. But then we went to an after-party, and... things changed." My voice drops, barely above a whisper. "He tried to take it too far. We were upstairs, just trying to get some privacy, and he—he tried to force me."

Ford's face goes white, his fists clenching as he stands up abruptly, pacing the room. "What?"

I nod, my breath shaky. "I remember his hands on me, how he held me down, kept telling me that I wanted it, that I'd been teasing him all night. That I led him on." My throat feels tight, like I'm choking on the memory. "He kept saying that he waited for Jacob to leave to have a chance with me and I led him on."

I glance at Jacob, my heart aching at the guilt in his eyes, but I press on. "He was drunk—too drunk to think straight—and as he was pulling my panties off, there was screaming downstairs that the cops were there. He bolted from the room and I hurried to get off the bed and head home too."

My heart pounds in my chest, my hands trembling. I can barely look at them, afraid of what I'll see in their eyes—anger, disgust, pity. I don't want any of it.

Jacob is the first to move. He steps forward, his eyes wide with shock and pain, his hands reaching for me. "Dylan… Jesus, why didn't you tell me?"

I blink, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over. "I tried. I tried to call you, Jacob. But you didn't answer, and I didn't know how to tell anyone… how to explain what happened. It's not something you can just text."

Jacob's face softens, regret etched into his features. "I'm sorry, Dylan. I'm so sorry I wasn't there."

"I spent the rest of that school year just trying to survive," I continue, my voice quieter now. "I hung out alone, played lacrosse, and kept my head down. I didn't want to drag it all up again. I just wanted to move on. But tonight, seeing him… it brought everything back."

Ford stops pacing and turns to face me, his jaw clenched tight. "That asshole's been walking around like nothing happened? Like he didn't try to—" He cuts himself off, fury radiating off of him in waves. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Ford, no." I shake my head, panic rising in my chest. "I don't want you to do anything. I just… I don't know what I want. I just needed to tell you."

Matthew's eyes are dark, full of anger. "We're not going to let him get away with this, Dylan."

I feel a lump in my throat, my eyes stinging with tears. "I don't want to lose you guys. If you go after him, you could get kicked off the team. I can't let that happen. I can't be the reason you lose everything."

Jacob takes my hands, his grip firm but gentle. "You're not going to lose us. We're here for you, no matter what."

Ford looks at me, his expression softening slightly, though the rage is still there, simmering under the surface. "We love you, Dylan. And we're going to protect you. But this guy? He's not getting away with what he did."

I swallow hard, the fear and relief crashing into me all at once. I've been carrying this weight for so long, and now that it's out, now that they know, I feel exposed and vulnerable, but also… lighter. I don't have to hide it anymore.

Ford pulls me into his arms, while Jacob and Matthew close in around us. It's warm and safe, their strength wrapping around me, their love holding me together when I feel like I could break.

"I'm so sorry," I choke out, burying my face in Ford's chest. "I should've told you sooner."

"You don't have to apologize," Ford says softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "We're just glad you told us now."

Jacob rubs soothing circles on my back, his voice gentle. "We'll take care of this, Pickle. We'll make sure you're safe."