Almost: a love story Part 34

Mom takes the now sobbing Kika into her arms on the staircase, while Dad struggles to his feet and helps me up. He shoots a pointed glare at Coach Williams.

Coach Williams glares back.

"It's my fault. This was all my idea," Kika pipes in. "I made Jess a *how to be normal' checklist before the interview. It was a joke. One of my suggestions was that she land a boyfriend. I never knew she'd use it. This is my fault. Don't you see?"

My heart clenches. "This is n.o.body's fault," I say. "Isn't that what you all have been hammering into me for three years? This is n.o.body's fault. It's pretty clear we all did some stupid stuff, and we all lied. Or didn't tell-or whatever. But it's all about what happened three years ago and...I finally believe this is n.o.body's fault. Not even mine. I could blame you, Mom and Dad, and you too, Coach, for the whole summer. Three years ago, you should have told me everything. If you had, I'm certain I would never have asked Gray Porter to sign onto my scheme during that interview, that's for d.a.m.n sure."

Mom starts sobbing harder than Kika.

"We couldn't tell you. It was too terrible. And since you didn't remember anyway, we thought we were helping," Dad says.

"I know, Dad. But if any of you are holding back other secrets about Gray, or that night, then I want to know. I deserve to know," I insist. "It's important. Please."

Mom pulls herself together. "Gray Porter offered himself as a witness to your attempted rape. He even confirmed you'd been drugged because the other kid told him. But your therapist and the police advised us not to prosecute."

"Why?" My heart sinks and I'm flooded with a new wave of anger.

"Gray's offer made legal action possible, but you were so depressed. Our attorney said you wouldn't be a credible witness. You had no concrete memories of the event, and because you'd been drinking, we were told the other attorney would tear apart your reputation."

Mom chokes up so badly she can't say more. Dad continues, "We didn't want to drag you through the courts -we didn't want you to have to face kids talking about it at school when you didn't remember the events yourself. We thought it best to leave it all alone. No one knew what you'd been through besides all of us, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who started it all-and Gray. But he promised to keep your secret," Dad says.

"And the guy who did it? He-never even got in trouble? How did you shut him up?" I ask Dad.

"Our attorneys worked it out. If he'd ever approached or spoken to you we were on standby to prosecute. After the team won state and the kid signed to a university, they moved out of state. No way was anyone in that family going to talk. Not with the kid's college hockey on the line."

"I couldn't kick him off the team, but you can bet I tried," Coach adds. "Your family would've had to fill out a school district incident report. A report that would have exposed the details of that night; but again, even the report might not have held any weight. It all happened off school property, and you didn't remember." Coach sighs. "The kid denied everything, of course. His parents hired one of the best attorneys in Denver. The school superintendent told the princ.i.p.al that if I continued to make noise, I'd lose my job. I had my family to consider," Coach mutters. "And Gray, well he-he went through a lot after that. He hated me after the file was closed. Hated everyone. Hated hockey."

"Oh my G.o.d. Oh my G.o.d." I imagine the puny version of Gray Porter in the oversized hockey gear confronting my parents and Coach because of me and that night.

I meet my sister's gaze and whisper, "You were so right the other day, Kika. I suck. I completely suck," which only makes her start crying all over again.

"Gray-he got beat up-because of me?"

Coach nods.

I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from crying as I remember the magazine article and what Mich.e.l.le had told me about Gray quitting the team. The realization of what he gave up hits me. "He needed the money from the internship because he has no scholarship money. Because of me. Right?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Coach says. "Gray made his own choices. I've offered him a spot on the team every year. He just hates me too much to accept. He's got a great heart, and he's a talented kid but he's also stubborn as h.e.l.l. I won't let you take the blame for his bad choices, Jess."

I let my own tears crash in. Gray has every right to hate me. Double hate me. Only he'd sworn all along that he loved me-that he'd been trying to protect me-that he simply wanted to be near me. To help.

"Oh, guys. I treated Gray so badly. I said so many terrible things. I told him-oh G.o.d. I told him that I'd hate him forever. But I don't. I don't hate anyone...I don't," I sob.

Dad takes me into his arms. "Honey," he croons, wrapping me up into a bear hug. I sniffle against his shirt, while I get control of my tears. "Jess, you were so young-you're still young to me and Mom. After-you were like a wounded bird. We only wanted you to forget. h.e.l.l, we all still wish for that."

"But none of us can forget, can we?" I ask, looking up into Dad's face. "It happened, and none of us are ever going to forget. It's made us all-even Gray-completely different people. I'm so tired of everyone blaming everyone. I want it to be over."

I pull away from my dad and sit heavily on the bottom step.

Dad follows suit. "I'll never be able to forgive the a.s.shole who did this to you. To all of us," he says. "I can't."

I meet his gaze. "I want you to try. Mostly, I need to forgive myself for lying to you guys when I snuck out. I need to forgive myself for getting drunk that night. I need to forgive myself for being stupid enough to believe that jerk when he called me beautiful. I need to forgive my body for not being able to move after he'd drugged me. I couldn't fight him, you know? I hate that the most. I was wide awake, and I couldn't move."

"Oh, Jess," whispers Mom.

"Mom, I've hated myself for that part of it for so long. I don't want to do that anymore." My voice cracks.

Tears course down Mom's face. "I'm sorry-for everything. If there's anything else you want to know, I'm here."

I meet her gaze and resist my ingrained habit of keeping her at a distance.

I don't paste on any practiced expressions. Though it feels strange and a little scary, I go with what's real and smile through the last of my tears. "No. I'm good. I'm really good. I think the only fact I don't know is the guy's name. And I don't' want to know it. It doesn't matter, does it?"

"No," Dad says. "As long as you're fine with that, it doesn't matter. He's long gone."

"I promise never to lie again. If you guys can consider trusting me again-after you get over being mad about this summer?"

"We will consider it, Jess. Apology accepted," Mom says.

I smile again. "There is one good thing I have to mention about all of this. I finally believe what you've been saying all along: That I was lucky. Lucky I wasn't raped. Lucky that Gray stopped it."

"Jess, you don't have to talk about this," Dad says.

"No-let me finish-I need to be clear with you guys, but also with myself. I was almost raped, and you all lied to me. I got an internship and a fake life, and I lied to you."

I stand and look at each of them and smile wider. "I'm actually happy right now. It sounds crazy, but I'm even happy Gray couldn't figure out a way to tell me the truth all summer long. I can hardly believe I've meant something to him from the start. You know? Any other way might not have worked. And he meant it-he means it. I hope he means it. Do you think he still does?"

Everyone's looking at me like I'm crazy-that's nothing different-but this time, I'm crazy in love-not just plain-crazy, and it's the best feeling I've ever had!

"Jess. What's your point?" Dad asks, his gaze moving rapidly between me and my mom. "I can never understand the girls when they get like this. What's my next move? Do I pulverize some poor boy named Corey Nash, or kill Gray Porter? Does she like him or hate him? What do you want us all to do?"

I walk over to Mom and hold out my hand. "Mom, I really need my phone-so I can read Gray's messages. I also could use some advice on how to approach a guy without offering him money to hang out with me. And Dad," I rush on, before Mom can answer. "Do you think-if I can get Gray to agree-do you think we could still have that barbecue this afternoon?"

"Whether he agrees or not, honey, the grill will be on at four."

"And you promise not to kill anyone?" I ask, raising my brows.

Dad shoots me a small smile and a nod. "Coach, you up for one of my chili burgers? I believe I owe you an apology and a beer or two...or three."

Coach lets out a long breath. "I'm in, but we're only good if you let me buy the beer."

My mom and I lock gazes. "The phone, Mom. Please."

She sighs and hands it to me. "You have one day of reprieve. But tomorrow, you'll turn this phone into me, and you will inform Gray Porter-friend or foe-boyfriend or not-that you are grounded. Deal?"

I throw my arms around her neck and hug her tight. "Deal. Thanks, Mom." I pull away and quirk a brow to my sis. "Kika, I'm going to need a checklist, an outfit, some make-up and a huge squirt of that peach lotion to get me through this. I can't do it without you. Please. I'm sorry I ruined the summer."

Kika still looks wounded but then catapults herself into me and we hug. "We still have a few weeks to turn it around. And now that you're grounded we can catch up on the lost time," she says. "Let's eat, and go Google *how to fix your break-up'. I can't wait to meet your boyfriend," she adds. "No way any guy would turn down a second chance to date you."

"Please." I laugh. "I don't want to wish for too much after all I said to him yesterday. But at the very least, I hope he wants to still be my friend."

Chapter Thirty-Eight.

Gray We're all gathered in Gran's front sitting room watching the clock tick. We usually aren't allowed to sit in this room. I actually avoid it. But today, gathering among dangerous, spindly-legged furniture, breakable gla.s.s thingies, and the spotless white couch feels simple compared to what we're about to do.

I survey the a.r.s.enal of people I've a.s.sembled to crash Jess's barbecue.

My first weapons: Corey Nash, overdressed on purpose in his dad's blue blazer and a hilarious b.u.t.ton down shirt. Mich.e.l.le Hopkins is equally decked out in a flowered dress, and low heels lent to her by Gran. The wicker purse is a bit much, but Mich.e.l.le swears it will work as a decent whacking tool before I'm caught and murdered by Mr. Jordan.

I'm also dressed like a grandpa going to church on Easter. My b.u.t.ton down shirt and blazer are in place, only I've chosen slippery polyester for mine. Hopefully, when Jess's dad gets his hands on me, I'll be able to squirm out of this lame outfit before he can drag me away completely. And I mean to be standing in front of Jess and talking fast when that happens.

Because that's the goal.

Corey and I have practiced the, "h.e.l.lo, sir. I'm Corey Nash," bit with Mich.e.l.le standing in for Mr. Jordan over twenty times.

As we go in, I'm going to huddle up hidden behind Corey and Mich.e.l.le. When they're in full talk-mode, I'll slip around them and try to gain access into the house and search for Jess. If the "shake and howdy dash" doesn't work, I'll have another excellent weapon in place: one screaming little old lady with a fake cane and a flowered hat.

I just dare Mr. Jordan to match wits-or cane moves-with my grandmother.

Gran, now fully recovered from her hospital stay, has agreed to back me. Even if that means she has to fake a stroke on the Jordan's front porch in order to let me have my chance to talk to Jess. She's currently pa.s.sing around a plate of her lemon cookies and fretting over exactly what she's going to do if Mr. Jordan actually does. .h.i.t me.

"I'll smack him right back, Gray. No one hurts my baby boy," she says.

G.o.d, how I love Gran.

"It won't come to that. Don't worry." I toss Gran a confident, lying smile. What if this doesn't work? What if Jess refuses to see me?

My phone starts buzzing and lights up on the coffee table. "It's from Jess! I can't believe it. She's texting me back."

My heart twists when I read her message: Do U h8 me 4 what I said last night?

Mich.e.l.le and Corey crowd around the phone.

Gran is only two seconds behind them. "Gray, what does that gibberish mean?" She's leaning on my shoulder to get a better view.

"She wants to know if he hates her," says Mich.e.l.le.

"Poor little dear," says Gran.

I don't move the phone away while I respond: Have I not made that clear. I don't-won't-can't hate you. I love you. R U ready to talk?

The phone dings back quickly: No. No more talking.

My temper flares as my heart rate increases from my frustration.

We will. I'm on my way. And we R going to talk-this time with MOS DOS.

NO!! NO!! NO MORE TALKING. IOTP. KO KO!.

I share a glance with Mich.e.l.le. "What in the h.e.l.l does that mean?" she asks.

"No idea," Corey answers.

"It means she's relentlessly stubborn," I fume, shaking my head and pulling away. "I'm going over there. If this goes badly, I'll be back for you guys. I need to see her, now. I can't wait for the BBQ start time."

I search for my keys in the basket by the door with one hand while I awkwardly thumb-text: Translate: IOTP and KO? Plze. I don't understand.

"What about our plan?" Corey asks. "You need us."

"Like I said. I'll circle back and get you either way. Please hang tight just in case."

Not finding my keys in the basket, I head to the kitchen and scoop them off the counter. Racing through the living room, I toss a half smile at Gran and meet the gaze of a very worried looking Mich.e.l.le. "Wish me luck?"

"Luck."

As I whip open the door, my phone buzzes and dings again.

I read her reply as I run out.

IOTP=I'm on the porch.

KO=Kissing only.

Then we can talk.

Chapter Thirty-Nine.

Jess The door opens and Gray careens into me with a loud, "Oooof!"

But he's so huge he's knocked me back. The door slams behind him so quickly it sounds like a gunshot.

His phone goes flying. "c.r.a.p!" he says. I catch a glimmer of his surprised green eyes flicker over me as my iPhone also shoots out of my hand and lands somewhere behind me. I try to track it, but that move puts me even more off balance. I'm about to fall off the porch steps. I fling my arms out, searching for the railing, but the back of my hand connects to Gray's chin with a crack instead.

He says something again that sounds like, "Ouwffc.r.a.poof."

I hold my breath, grasping for anything that might stop my fall. All I see is the concrete landing and wonder how it's going to feel when I hit.