The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football, #1)(54)

Bryson. So that’s his name. I twist my ring.

“Never in a million years would I believe you did.” I’d like to pay a visit to this douchebag. “He was a grown-ass man and shouldn’t have touched you.”

She stares at my comforter. “I was—am—surprisingly na?ve even though my parents encouraged me to be a free spirit.” She touches her throat, rubbing it. “I never went to a real school, never got to spend time with people my own age. If my parents got the urge to go anywhere alone, they went and left me with friends, usually artists, writers, scholars. Most of the people I stayed with were wonderful. I learned some cool things, you know? I saw Mount Everest, the Great Wall of China, the pyramids in Egypt, the Colosseum in Rome…” She breathes in deep. “It sounds weird, me and Bryson, but just… I want you to know that I loved him, as much as a seventeen-year-old girl can, and I thought it was normal, because I didn’t know any different.” She lets her breath out slowly.

He hurt you.

“Talk to me, Anastasia.” I prop my elbows on my knees.

She dips her face and stares at my comforter. Her shoulders hunch. “Did he take advantage of me? Yes. He was thirty, and I was inexperienced.” She bites her bottom lip. “I didn’t know he was married. My parents didn’t know. His sister and another girl lived there at the beginning, otherwise my parents wouldn’t have left me. I could have called and told them I was alone with him, but I didn’t. The day I met his wife, my whole world fell apart. We never had any contact after he dropped me off…” She sighs. “Anyway, Donovan’s parents managed to dig all that up. It’s crazy. I didn’t steal his car, either. He let me have the keys. I thought I was his girlfriend.” A rough sound comes from her throat. “I didn’t know he got a divorce.” Her brow furrows. “He had a toddler. Maybe more kids, I don’t know. There’s a family out there that I messed up—”

“He messed up his family,” I say firmly. “And if I ever see him, I’m going to punch him.” My jaw pops.

She inhales a deep breath. “Wow,” she says softly as she stares at the floor. “Underneath your exterior, you aren’t what I thought at all. Just layers and layers.” Her eyes find mine. “You’re making me like you too much, Snake.”

“It’s impossible to resist me.”

“Hmmm, enough of that.” She glances back at the notes in her hands. “Let’s chat about Lady Chatterley’s Lover.”

Do we have to?

“Right. The book.”

That is why she’s here.

“I get that they used sex. Their passion covered up their problems.” I pause. “The issue is…” I can’t read these books fast enough and comprehend them. A long exhalation comes from my chest. “I struggle to put my ideas on paper.”

“What’s your reading comprehension level?”

Anxiety ripples over me. “Why?”

“It’s a difficult book, River. I just want to get an idea—” She stops, her eyes squinting at me. “Is there more than just the ADHD going on?”

My heartrate spikes. I jerk up from my seat. “You want a drink? I need water.”

She blinks. “Sure. Water is great.”

I leave the room and stop in front of the fridge. Unfocused, I open the door and peer inside. The football game plays in the background, and I’m not sure how long I stand there, my head tumbling. She and I… It feels as if we’re speeding closer and closer to something, and I’m on the edge of my seat with anxiety.

She’s so fucking smart. And I’m not.

She’s going to figure me out and—

“Everything good?” Hollis calls out.

“Perfect,” I mutter.

I grab two waters and head back.

She’s moved on my bed, propped up against the headboard as she gazes down at the notes. She glances up. “Just a guess—you’re dyslexic? It would explain your reluctance to read, the audio, and speech-to-text notes.”

My eyes flare as my mouth opens but nothing comes out.

“Judging by your face, I’m right, which means you didn’t tell me because you’re worried about what I think. You can trust me, River. I’ve done tutoring for athletes, and it’s not uncommon. Everything we discuss is confidential.”

My breathing escalates.

The silence in the room builds, and I’m aware, totally aware, that I’m backed into a corner.

She crawls to the edge of the bed and stands in front of me. “Wait—do you think I’d think less of you? If anything, I think more of you. Look at everything you’ve accomplished.”

“I don’t want pity.”

“It’s not pity. Your differences don’t define you. It makes reading harder, and probably a host of other things I can’t even imagine. It means you’re different, yes, but in a good way. You see things with a unique viewpoint, and honestly, the world needs more of that. I know we haven’t been…close, but I-I see a side of you that’s amazing and sort of beautiful. There’s a softness under your evil smile.” Her hands flutter in front of her, an uncertain look on her face.

I realize two things: she’s as nervous as I am, and she sees me.