Page 211 of Hide and Keep

Pushing my raging jealousy aside, I try to picture a seventeen-year-old Crue being so carefree with his crush. I doubt it’s something I’ll ever get to witness myself. I don’t think he knows how to be carefree anymore. I’m assuming because of what he’s about to share.

“Things were going…well. So we decided to sneak away…just the two of us.”

Just like that, the jealousy is back, trying to shove all rational thought out the window.

Crue studies me carefully.

I wave him on. Let’s get this over with.

“The plan was to only be gone for a little while, twenty, thirty minutes at the most, before getting Yaz back to her friends so they could take her home. The second we got in my car though, she wanted to…” His eyebrows pick up what his voice just put down.

“Mm-hm.” Got it. He’s not a virgin. I knew that. I know that. We’ve both been with other people.

We’ll both be with other people.

I don’t exactly want to hear about either, but again, I asked for this.

“I never found out whose it was but someone in our group snuck alcohol into the dance and Yaz had been downing that instead of the water and punch I’d been drinking. I was trying to drive us somewhere private but she was fucking relentless. She was leaning over the center console, grabbing at my zipper, making it hard to even see the road. When we were hit by an actual drunk driver, my head was turned toward Yaz, trying to hold her off and…”

“Your scar.”

“Yeah, from the airbag. That and the seat belt kept me in the car. But Yaz wasn’t even seated, let alone buckled, so she flew through the windshield. I was able to make it out to her before the cops got there and the only thing, the only fucking thing she cared about was her dad finding out about us.”

“That’s why you lied.” He threw himself under the bus just like he did with me to Officer Ronny Veen.

He nods. “How else was I supposed to explain missing a fucking car headed directly at me?”

“Is that why you weren’t charged with anything?”

“The cops knew I was sober. I blew a zero on the breathalyzer.”

“How did it still end up on the news that you—”

“Because Yaz didn’t want her dad to know the truth about why we were together. Me being drunk only explained why I was distracted, not why Yaz was in my car. She spun a story to her dad that made it sound like I tricked her into coming with me.”

“She put it all on you?” As if I couldn’t hate this girl any more. She put Crue in danger, then lied about it to save her reputation.

“Why didn’t she just say she was sick and that you offered her a ride home? Other than you supposedly being under the influence, it wouldn’t have been all that scandalous. You two knew each other through her father. It’d make sense for you to want to see your coach’s pride and joy home safely.”

“I couldn’t tell you. Maybe because she was drunk. Maybe because she’d gone through a windshield. Either way, her brain obvious wasn’t working at full capacity.”

That doesn’t excuse her painting Crue to be a predator though, especially when it sounds like it was nearly the opposite. I don’t know if Crue sees it that way. He wanted Yasmin that night, but did he at that exact moment? If he told her no at any point, then she was the aggressor.

“You never got to ask her before…”

“No. Apparently, the worst of her injuries were internal, so… I never could’ve guessed that Yasmin being loaded into the back of that ambulance would be the last time I’d ever get to see her. Her dad was already there, by her side, so she… She ignored me. Wouldn’t even look at me.”

That’s why it’s such a big deal for him—me looking at him. Because she wouldn’t. It also explains why he doesn’t drink and why he’s so adamant about consent. Wrongfully labeled as a drunk and a rapist, Crue goes out of his way to not be anything even close to either one.

“After that…” Crue’s voice takes on a hard edge. “Her dad made it his mission to put all the blame on me. There was no evidence to back up Yaz’s claims, not even that I’d been drinking. But I thought I was protecting her by staying quiet, by not refuting any of them. She didn’t care to protect me back. Coach dropped me from the wrestling team while she was still alive and she didn’t do anything to stop him. My life was over before hers was.”

My stomach churns at the stark realization that my father and I are no better. At the end of this, I, too, will turn my back on Crue without a backward glance. I’ll have to. And my father? My father could, and would, do even worse to Crue than some high school wrestling coach did.

“I’m really sorry,” I whisper, unsure if he can even hear me over the buzz.

He shrugs the shoulder of the arm not being worked on, and when he speaks, his voice is softer, kinder. “If it turned out any other way, I doubt I’d be here with you now.”

I almost choke in disbelief. Nothing about this predicament is a consolation prize, certainly not me. Or the money he’s banking on but will never actually see.

---