What We Saw(43)

He is kneeling on the carpet and sits back on his heels. His face red now, he peers up at me, ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Really. I wouldn’t—”

“That was some bullshit out there with your mom.”

His eyes darken and he looks away, pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto the couch. “Don’t tell me about my mom. She’s crazy.”

“You know what else is crazy?” I snap. “That you’re way more upset about a stack of paper towels than you are about what’s going on with Dooney and Deacon.”

His eyes flash up to mine. “What do you mean?”

I can’t hold the question in any longer. “Were you there when it happened, Ben?”

He gapes at me. “When what happened? I was dropping you off at home.”

“After that,” I drill down. “When you went back for your truck. What was going on?”

“I went in to tell Dooney bye. That’s it.”

“So, what Stacey says happened . . . you’re saying it didn’t?”

“I don’t even know for sure what she’s saying.”

A response forms in my mouth but is pulled back by a jolt in my chest. It’s the first time this phrase has entered my mind. Ben looks at me, expectantly. Finally I force out the words in rush. “That she was raped, Ben. More than once. By different guys on your team.”

Ben groans and rolls his eyes, but I keep going.

“Sloane Keating said Stacey was in the hospital all day on Sunday—”

“Wait.” Ben holds up a hand. “That reporter? She said this on the news?”

“No. Last night. She told me.”

Ben frowns. “Where were you talking to a reporter?”

I take a deep breath, then blurt it out. Quick, like a Band-Aid. “At Coral Creek. I went to see Stacey. Sloane Keating was hanging out in a news van.”

I see Ben blink twice when I say this. Even in the dim light of a single lamp the color seems to drain from his face. “Kate. What the hell are you doing?” He hisses this in a loud whisper, as if he’s afraid the walls are listening in or the whole house is bugged. “Why did you go talk to Stacey?”

“I didn’t talk to her,” I tell him. “Her mom shut the door in my face, and then I got ambushed by a reporter.”

“We weren’t there,” Ben says. “Nothing happened. And even if it did, you and I were already gone.”

“When ‘nothing’ happens at a party, charges aren’t filed, and reporters don’t show up.” These words slice through the air between us, and Ben rocks back on his heels as they find their mark.

“Coach told us that we shouldn’t talk to anyone about this. Why are you talking to reporters?”

“He’s not my coach. And I didn’t talk to her.”

“She sure as hell knew our names tonight.”

I sigh. “We’re both all over the Buccaneers Facebook page. It’s not hard to figure out. She’s a reporter.”

“Exactly,” he says. “A reporter. She doesn’t care about Stacey. Or any of us. She just wants to make a name for herself. That’s why we should stay as far away from this whole thing as we can.”


“Dooney isn’t staying away from it. You saw him tonight. He’s loving this.”

Ben closes his eyes and rubs his temples like he has a headache. His expression is the same one he has when he sees his mom hauling stuff into the garage—like he wishes he could snap his fingers and make all of it disappear, me included.

Something about this makes me furious.

“Oh yeah. It’s such a pain in the ass, isn’t it? The fact that someone else had something terrible happen to her.” It comes out more sarcastically than I mean it to, but I don’t stop. “And what if Dooney did do this? So now he’s got a hotshot lawyer, right? What if he gets off the hook? Won’t he just think he can go on acting this way forever? Did you see how Coach and Mr. Jessup were smacking him on the back tonight? It made me sick.”

Ben places his hands on my shoulders and looks right into my eyes. “Kate. We are not the police. This is not our problem.”

I wonder if he’s lost his mind. “Not our problem? Your two best friends might’ve raped someone.”

“Why would Deacon and Dooney rape anybody?” he asks. “They can both have any girl they want. You saw Stacey hanging all over them at the party.”

“That doesn’t mean she wanted them to f*ck her.”

These words drop Ben back against the couch like I’ve slapped him in the face. “We don’t know that,” he says quietly. “We weren’t there.”

“Exactly,” I say. “For all we know, it’s just as likely that Dooney and Deacon are the ones lying. Don’t we owe it to Stacey to believe she might be telling the truth?”

“I don’t owe her anything.”

Something about these words cracks me open. I try to choke back a sob, but start crying despite my best intentions.

Ben reaches for my hand. “Kate, no—please, I didn’t mean—”

“What about me?” I choke. “Did you owe me something? I was just as wasted as she was. Why do I get driven home and kept safe but not her? Why not just leave me to Dooney and Deacon and the boys in the basement?”