This part of the story…this confession? This one is going to make him angry. Not at me…but angry for sure.

“First of all, I need you to promise me you’ll stay…calm,” I say, mentally crossing my fingers.

“Can’t do that,” he says back fast, and I sink into him, my stomach churning and trying to convince me to backtrack, to not tell this part of the story. “I’m sorry Cass, but I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. I have a feeling I’m going to want to punch someone, and it might even be that Chandra chick by the time you’re done.”

“I’m okay with that,” I laugh, cringing that I’m advocating for a man hitting a woman. I don’t think it counts in this case.

“The day of tryouts…I had that physics makeup test, remember?”

Ty nods, his jaw flexing, his teeth grinding underneath.

“I knew something was off. The teacher, that’s Paul Cotterman…he was…sort of flirty,” I say, testing the waters. Ty’s face hardens even more. Yeah, he’s going to react badly.

“Go on,” he says, his eyes focused on my lips, almost zoning out.

“He was that way with a few people in class, really. Not just me. But when I went in to take the makeup exam, the room was empty. It was just me,” I say, closing my eyes and remembering how dirty his hand felt on my thigh, how hot his breath was on my neck, how demonic his voice was at my ear.

“I don’t like this Cass. If that dude hurt you, I swear to god I will kill him. I. Will. Fucking. Kill. Him,” Ty says, a menacing calmness to his tone.

“You don’t have to. It’s okay. He…he…” I can’t say it, and Ty squeezes my hand to let me know it’s okay. “He touched me, first on my leg, and then he tried to grab my breast. He was holding me to him, and things could have been really bad. But, I hit him, Ty. I hit him hard—first with my elbow, then with my fist. His nose bled, like a fucking faucet. Then I kicked him in the balls to make sure he couldn’t follow me.”

His mouth is slightly open, and he’s still looking at me, just not at my eyes—like he’s taking me in, but not completely. He’s lost in his thoughts, no doubt reconstructing this scene in his own mind. I wait while he thinks, and then finally his eyes shift to me.

“I’ll kill him,” he says, his mouth open just enough to show the pressure of his teeth gnashing together. And I believe if Paul Cotterman were to stand in front of Tyson Preeter right now, he would die. And Ty would gladly take the punishment just to see the deed done. I lean forward and kiss his cheek, the tenseness in his muscles unrelenting.

“As much as I would love to see Paul Cotterman run into you in some dark alley, that wouldn’t even come close to solving my problems,” I say, and his mouth relaxes a small fraction with his breath, his eyes soft on mine.

“This is why your parents are upset, isn’t it?”

Ty is so smart.

“They’re referring to it as the Paul Cotterman issue,” I say, a breathy laugh punctuating the end. “I’m pretty sure they think it’s like what happened with Kyle. I don’t think they believe things happened as I say they did. There aren’t really any witnesses. My dad made sure he resigned.”

“That’s good,” Ty says, not waiting for the rest.

“Yeah, that was good. But it seems Cotterman is thinking of fighting it. And like I said…there really isn’t any proof. I could easily just be a student trying to get out of a bad grade.”

“Faking an assault is a pretty steep move just to avoid getting a bad grade,” Ty says.

“Yeah, but I hit him, Ty. I’m the assaulter!”

“No, you’re not,” he says, his hands quick to my face to force me to look at him. “No you’re not. You’re the victim. And you had every right to fuck that asshole’s face up.”

Without warning, my face grows weak, and the tears slide from my eyes. “Fuck,” I swear, stuffing my face into Ty’s chest, rubbing my puffy eyes against his shirt. “I hate crying.”

“Yeah, well, I hate snot on my T-shirts, but what are you going to do,” he says, and I laugh hard and long. He squeezes me and just lets me feel. He lets me feel bad, let’s me laugh at his stupid joke, and then let’s me just sit here and think about how angry I am at everyone and everything—everything, but him.

“That Chandra chick is a bitch,” I say, finally.

“Yep,” he says, his chin on my forehead.