Page 42 of One Bet

“Instead of talking to me, or taking your case to the dean, you went after us publicly so that the school didn’t have any choice but to get rid of us. You hid behind that article and you didn’t care that Jameson defended me. He told the truth and still, you went after him and me. I was completely innocent, I didn’t even know until we got called into the dean’s office.” There were so many things about the whole situation that she’d had wrong and as fucked up as what Ryder did was, he’d saved my contract and confessed to everything. By then, the scandal had spread too far, national news and Finn lost his scholarship, his chance at playing professionally, and he’d left for Europe.

“I didn’t hide behind anything. I wrote what happened and the consequences fit the crime.”

“You wrote what you heard, what you saw, what he did. Then you refused to talk to me about my part in it even after the cops cleared me.”

The more I pointed out her part in it all, the sadder I got. Neither of us was the people we’d been back then, but now we would only be constant reminders of what those people had done and I didn’t know if it was something we could get over.

“I wrote what happened to me and to Susie and to all the other girls who believed they were something special and you’re far from innocent. I loved you and you destroyed me, but you won your bet, right? So, it’s all good.” She held up her hand. “You know what? I don’t want to have this fight. It was a long time ago, I’d rather forget it and move on.”

She was right, we both needed to forget it and together we never would.

“I think this is always going to be between us.” There. I’d said it.

She stared at me as I glanced between her and the road. “What are you saying?”

What was I saying? “I’m saying there’s a lot of feeling and emotion we didn’t work through because you wouldn’t talk to me.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t kiss it all better for you, Keaton. I’m sorry I was hurt and angry and too humiliated to see how much this affected you.”

I pulled the car in front of her house and switched the ignition off. I didn’t want this to be the end of us, but I wanted us to figure out how to live with what happened so we could go on. Together.

I opened my door, but she turned. “Don’t bother. I can see myself inside.”

I didn’t answer.

One Decade Ago

I was on a plane when I finally sat down to read the article when my imagination heard the words in her voice. Exploitation. Abuse both mental and physical. Illegal videoing and public release of non-consensual porn for profit. Blackmail. Extortion. Solicitation and promotion of prostitution.

And our names, mine, Ryder’s, Finn’s, and Jameson’s, were all over the article. She’d named us each specifically, but factually, she was way off base. I hadn’t pandered or solicited, promoted, released, abused, taped, extorted, or exploited anything. Like the women in the videos, I was a victim. Not that Avery would ever see it. How could she when she wouldn’t even talk to me to hear my side of the story?

I reclined my seat and shut down the article on the tablet I was supposed to be using to learn plays. As soon as we landed, I was going to call her, convince her of my innocence, that had I known what they were doing, I would’ve stopped it. As much as I hoped she would listen, there was no way she was going to answer her phone and I couldn’t blame her. Not after the party. After the way, they’d laughed at her and the comments that had been made.

I wanted to hold her, to whisk her away from all of it, to tell her I loved her and needed her and that I would do whatever it took to make this better for us.

And when the flight landed, I made the first of a thousand calls to her. Left the first of a thousand voicemails. Begged her to listen the first of a thousand times.

It was when I was in the locker room after a long and grueling practice that Sheriff Max Greenwell of the Levy County Florida Sheriff’s Department served me with restraining and cease and desist orders signed by a Maine judge and expedited to me. Under penalty of law, I was forbidden from contacting Avery Stroh in any form; physically, by telephone, mail, or electronically.

So, I did the only thing I could do. I let her go.

25

Avery

After a few hours of moping, a couple bouts of tears, and a dozen aborted text messages, I sat on my sofa with no idea how to fix the mess I’d made. But the doorbell chimed, and I stood, hopeful that Keaton had come back.

Instead, I opened the door to find Alex.

“I brought beer.” He held up a six-pack and walked in past me.

And Susie. “I brought pizza.”

She carried the box through the door.

And Jameson. “I didn’t bring anything.”

He slid around me to stand with the others.