Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(63)

“You mean we don’t exist.” I hung my head as a solitary tear dripped from my cheek onto the expensive concrete floor.

Matt braced my shoulders with his hands, his face filled with agony, his smile gone. “When he walks in that door, the only thing that matters is your soccer career.”

I reached for him, fisted his shirt in my right hand, and pulled him close. “And when he walks out?”

Matt’s eyes fell to my mouth. “I wish I knew.”

The doorbell rang.

He crushed his mouth to mine then.

And I hated that kiss.

I hated it more than I hated anything.

Maybe even Erik.

Because it tasted like good-bye.

“I’ll get it!” Willow yelled in her usual everyone-must-be-wearing-ear-plugs-so-I-need-to-double-the-effort fashion.

Matt hung his head, and we broke apart. I counted the seconds from the time his fingertips left my skin, from the moment he backed away, and then, when he left me standing in the foyer to greet the coach, I had to ask myself, Was this the most important dream I had?

Or had Matt given me another one?

I was too confused to think.

All I knew is I wanted both.

The man, the dream. They weren’t complete without each other, I just didn’t know how to have both while still protecting him, protecting us from my past, my reputation, without killing his and my future with my new team—that is, if they still wanted me.

“Parker!” Darius waltzed right in and shook my hand. “I hope you got some rest last night?”

My mind flashed to images of Matt and me in the shower, him licking down my neck, my hands pressed against the cold hard tile as he filled me, as we became whole and just stayed that way as water cascaded over our bodies.

“Yeah,” I croaked. “I crashed pretty early.”

Next to me, Matt didn’t as much as smirk. He was back to being the asshole agent who’d screw his own grandma in order to ink a deal, wasn’t he?

I thought that was what I needed.

What I wanted.

But now I knew the truth.

Behind all of the business was a man, a wonderful man who made me laugh, who held me when I cried, who helped me chase a dream I wasn’t sure I could still chase without getting laughed out of the stadium.

“Willow, why don’t you grab some coffee?” Matt flashed his megawatt grin toward Darius. “So what would you like to officially discuss?”

Darius folded his hands as he sat, his cheeks pinked a bit, making me even more uncomfortable as I waited.

“It’s none of my business, it really isn’t.” Darius cleared his throat a few times, then pulled off his ball cap, ran a hand through his thinning, buzzed gray hair then put it back on. “Someone called and said they saw you two kissing after tryouts. Normally that kind of thing is not any of our business, but they prefaced it with a story about your relationship with your coach in college.” Darius cleared his throat. “This person said you were in a sexual relationship in hopes that he would help further your career.”

My entire body stiffened.

“Again, this isn’t any of my business. I was getting ready to offer you a starting position, but our club is newer than others. Our reputation banks on girls who are good role models, so I need to know that we have nothing to worry about.”

I couldn’t find my voice as Willow waltzed over and handed him a cup of coffee. “What are we talking about?”

“Um . . .” I shook my head. “Let me start with college . . . I was . . .” This was it, wasn’t it? The crossroads people talk about. Where you’re forced to do the right thing even though it feels wrong, like you’re standing in front of a firing squad ready for the countdown to begin.

My heart thumped painfully against my ribs.

My body was sore.

My head hurt.

And then I opened my mouth and the words just came out. “I want to be a good role model. I just don’t think I’m that person, at least not as I am sitting across from you right now. Because I kept a secret.” Tears filled my eyes as Matt’s stunned expression met mine, one of shock and then pure love as he nodded slowly. “I was raped by Erik Sluvan when I was twenty-two years old. He was my coach. He was an authority figure. I had no romantic relationship with him. No relationship whatsoever outside of being one of his star athletes. I punched him in the face because he punched me in mine when he tried to rape me. I punched him because he didn’t understand the word no. And the only other person I’ve ever told is Matt, who’s been trying to convince me to come forward. But I’m scared. I’m scared you’re going to look at me as someone who’s playing a victim.” I found strength in my own voice even as my hands shook, as my body jerked forward. “I am a victim. I’m a victim of a man who would do anything to get what he wants and who preys on innocent women. He sent me to anger management after the first time, you know.” I shook my head and stared down at my hands. “When I confided in the therapist about what happened, she told Erik everything. I later learned that they were sleeping together, so my complaint is not even in the school records, and according to everyone involved, I’m just an angry girl who got pissed at her coach and became a diva. I’m still angry, but I’m angry because if I cry anymore over this, I’m afraid it might break me. This isn’t about soccer, Coach, this is about . . . someone helping me heal and fight for my dreams, the very dreams Erik tried to kill the minute he told me to take my clothes off.”