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Hannah was raped.
Those three words have been running through my head since I dropped her off at her dorm, and every time they pop up, red-hot fury blasts through me like a freight train. I wish she’d told me his name, his phone number, his fucking address.
But it’s better that she hadn’t, otherwise I’d probably be in my car right now on my way to commit murder.
Whoever he was, I hope to God he paid for what he did to Hannah. I hope to God he’s rotting in jail at the moment. Or better yet, I hope he’s fucking dead.
“Two more.” Logan looms over me as I lie on the bench press. “Come on, man, you’re slacking.”
I blow out a breath and curl my fingers around the barbell. I channel all my rage into heaving the weights over my head, as Logan spots me from above. Once I finish the last set of reps, he drops the bar in the rack and sticks out his hand. I allow him to haul me to my feet and we switch places.
Christ, I need to get my head on right. Thank fuck we’re not on the ice today because I’m not sure I even remember how to skate at the moment.
Hannah was raped.
And now she wants to have sex with me.
No, she wants me to fix her.
Holy mother of God. What was I thinking, agreeing to do this? I’ve wanted her naked ever since that first kiss, but not like this. Not as some kind of sexuality experiment. Not when I’m feeling this much pressure to…to what? Make it good for her? Not let her down?
“Any time now,” comes Logan’s mocking voice.
I snap out of my distressed thoughts and realize that he’s waiting for me to drop the barbell into his outstretched hands.
Taking a breath, I force myself to focus on making sure Logan doesn’t die on my watch rather than obsessing over Hannah.
“So I’m pissed at you,” he tells me as he bends his arms and brings the bar low to his chest. Then he grunts out a breath and lifts.
“What did I do now?” I ask with a sigh.
“You told me you weren’t interested in Wellsy.”
My chest tenses, but I pretend to be unfazed as I count out his set. “I wasn’t, at least not when you and I talked about it before.”
Logan grunts with each upward extension of his arms. We’re both lifting twenty pounds less than usual because last night’s drink fest means neither one of us is operating at a hundred percent today.
“So, what, now you are interested?”
I swallow. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
Logan doesn’t say anything else. My fingers hover beneath the barbell as he finishes his reps.
I keep a close eye on the clock above the weight room door. It’s almost five. Hannah finishes work at ten, and then she’s coming straight over to my place.
So we can have sex.
The pressure in my gut gathers in strength, tightening into a massive knot. I have no idea if I can do this. I’m terrified of doing something wrong. Hurting her.
“I’m not surprised you saw the error of your ways,” Logan finally says as we trade places again. “She’s pretty damn cool. I knew that from the moment I met her.”
Yeah, Hannah is cool. She’s also beautiful and smart and funny.
And she’s not broken.
The tightness in my stomach eases as I cling to that last thought. That’s why I agreed to sleep with her, because no matter what happened to her in the past, no matter how many scars she still bears from that ordeal, I know without a shred of doubt that Hannah Wells is not broken. She’s too strong to allow anyone—especially a piece of shit high school rapist—to break her.
No, what she’s lacking is the ability to trust, and to some extent, confidence. She just needs someone to…guide her, for lack of a better word.
