The Rake (Boston Belles #4)(89)

It’s been three weeks since Coach came back to work. He’s tried to corner me almost every day. I always dodge him, but it’s getting harder and harder. The thing is, I can’t tell anyone. Maybe if he wasn’t married … if everyone wasn’t fawning all over his baby, which his wife brought to school the other day in her new blue car. She pushed Stephen in a little stroller and stopped for everyone to coo over him. And then when Coach saw her there, he looked very flustered—almost apologetic—but had still kissed her on the lips before tucking her in the teacher’s lounge.

A story about a coach and a student getting busy together is shameful enough, but when you become a homewrecker too? No thanks.

“Don’t hold your breath, Dad,” I say, finally. “I’m not into the whole dating scene.”

“You will be, at some point,” Dad sighs regretfully.

My mother piles more casserole on his plate, laughing. “Leave her alone, honey. Maybe she’s not ready yet.”

I’m starting to think I’ll never be ready.

The next day, Coach Locken is in a sour mood. He makes mistakes. Yells at us during practice. Makes us do a hundred push-ups because he says we were late, even though we weren’t.

Practice is excruciating. My knee is killing me, but I dare not complain, because I don’t want his hands anywhere near me, so I push through, even when I can barely walk it hurts so bad.

“Penrose, see me in my office in five,” he barks when we’re done. I squirt water into my mouth, eyeing him with open resentment.

“Can’t, Coach. I need to pick up my baby sister from the library.”

Not exactly a lie, although Persy is used to waiting for me.

“She’ll wait.” He storms off to his office.

With a groan, I follow him. I have to lock my jaw not to scream from pain because of my knee. My muscles are strained. I haven’t had one of his massages in weeks. When we walk into his room, he locks the door again.

This time, I feel nothing but dread. I’m on the defensive. My senses are on high alert.

“Sit down,” he instructs.

I do. He leans on his desk, folding his arms over his chest. I look the other way. I’m not going to cry, no matter what.

He puts a hand on my thigh. My eyes jerk up, meeting his.

“Don’t,” I hiss.

“Or what?” He lifts his eyebrows. “We both know you can’t tell anyone what we did. I’m a married man. That makes you a little slut. No one’ll believe you, Emmabelle. It’s going to be your word against mine, and I’ve worked at this school ever since I graduated from college and am well loved and respected. Just get over your little petty drama and accept that this is the way things are going to be. I’m going to have to stick with Brenda for a little while longer.”

“Stay with her for eternity.” I jump to my feet and try hard not to wince when my knee almost collapses into itself from the strain. “It has nothing to do with me. I’m done.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” His fingers lace around my arm.

I pull away, but he tugs me back with force. He is going to leave a bruise… and I don’t think he cares.

Panic climbs up my throat. This is getting out of control. I need an out. I rack my brain for something to say that will make him leave me alone.

“I have a boyfriend,” I blurt out.

He gives me a pitiful look, cocking his head sideways. “Please don’t insult my intelligence. We both know Ross Kendrick is gay.”

“It’s not Ross!” I protest. “It’s someone else. He’s in college. He’ll kick your ass if you get close to me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“What’s his name?”

My eyes wildly scan the bookshelf behind his shoulder. Run Like the Wind by Jeff Perkins stands out.

“Jeff,” I say, finding my voice. “His name is Jeff and we’re in love. And you know what else? He’s a football player and huge. He can kick your ass if you as much as try to touch me!”

I whirl, trying to make an escape to the door before he asks more questions about Jeff, but he catches the back of my hoodie and pulls me into a headlock, his lips finding the shell of my ear.

“Well, tell Jeff to back off, because you already have a boyfriend.”

I don’t cry. But I don’t try to fight my way out of his embrace either. I’m too scared he’ll kill me, right here and now.

“Now tell me, Emmabelle, did he fuck you?”

I know I should say no. Poking the bear is not a great idea. But I can’t help it. I think I’ll always be wired to fight back.

“Yeah,” I say. “He did. A few times. It was great.”

Steve releases me unexpectedly, and I scramble to the door, unlocking it with shaky fingers and shooting out of there like an arrow.

Close call, I think. But even hours after the incident, I still can’t breathe.

Because I know there’s more coming.





She wasn’t going to the police.

I was certain of that more than I was certain the sun would rise tomorrow in the east. Astronomy was full of unfathomable things.

Sweven, however, was as predictable as a Swiss clock.

Even if she thought she would go to the police tonight, she was going to wake up tomorrow morning and rebel against every notion that she should be careful or timid or scared.