Page 40 of The Sweetest Revenge

"I'll be moved to the sidelines or, even worse, kicked off the team, which means I lose my scholarship." Even though my mom recently married into money, none of that money was hers. If I wanted to go to college, I had to do it on my own, and a scholarship was my only option.

"She's right," Journey said, pushing to her feet.

"What does he do to you?" My gaze lifted, flashing between Mila and Journey, each breath feeling heavier than the last.

"He told me to get on my knees," Journey mumbled.

"Me too," Mila added. "Just tell him you're a virgin."

"What?" Journey snapped, shaking her head. "Do not tell him that."

I groaned. I wasn't a virgin anymore. I didn't remember it, but apparently, Zaiden had already taken that from me.

"He's a nasty perv," Journey added. "He will definitely take it."

"I can do this." The lie tasted metallic in my mouth as I pushed to my feet. I raised my chin and squared my shoulders—armor I didn't believe in, but needed them to see.

"Do you want us to wait for you?" Journey asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

I forced a smile that felt like cracked glass on my face. "No, go to Mila's, order food." I waved them off with a hand I was proud wasn't shaking. "I'll meet you there."

What I didn't say: I couldn't bear for them to see me afterward, to watch me try to reassemble myself in the aftermath. Some humiliations needed privacy.

We walked silently to the locker room, our footsteps echoing against the empty hallway's cinderblock walls. The lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across our faces. At Coach Palmer's door, we split up. Journey squeezed my arm once before walking away, her eyes not meeting mine.

The door's peeling red paint stared back at me like a warning. I closed my eyes, inhaling the lingering scent of sweat and artificial pine cleaner that never quite masked what happened in this room. My exhale came out shaky as I opened my eyes and reached for the doorknob, the metal warm from previous hands.

He was waiting for me, sitting on the edge of his desk.

"Yes, Coach," I said, trying not to let my voice shake. "You needed to see me."

His face split into a grin, and I refrained from cringing. "I know this is your first time being held after practice, but I'm sure you know how this works." I nodded. "Great, lock the door and bend over my desk."

My eyes widened, my jaw dropped, and I lost my calm and confident persona. "What?"

"Lock the office door and then bend over my desk." He said it slower this time, like I was stupid. "You can remove your leggings if you'd like, or I can do it. Your choice."

"I just thought that?—"

"Better if you don't think," he cut me off. His tone was rude and condescending.

I had two choices.

My hand hovered over the lock, trembling. The metal felt cold against my fingertips. Click it to the right, and face what comes next. Leave it unlocked, run, and kiss my future goodbye. Each heartbeat pounded louder in my ears as seconds stretched into eternities. My stomach twisted into a tight knot as the truth settled in my bones. There was no good option—only survival.

I flicked the lock and turned back around, slowly walking to the desk as he worked to free his dick. My heart raced, and my stomach churned as bile worked its way up my throat when I stopped in front of the desk. "Either take off your leggings or bend over."

Remove my own leggings? Like I was a willing participant in my own violation? Like this was some consensual encounter. I wasn't here because I wanted to be. I was here because I didn't have a choice. My throat closed up. Every cell in my body screamed to run, but my feet remained rooted to the floor. One thought kept repeating: Scholarship. Future. Escape. Scholarship. Future. Escape.

Drawing in a breath that felt like inhaling glass, I slowly, inch by excruciating inch, bent over the edge of the desk. The surface was cold against my palms. I focused on that sensation, trying to separate myself from what was about to happen.

"Grip the edge of the desk, and no matter what, do not let go." Swallowing hard, a tear escaped, dripping onto the dark mahogany desk. My arms spread, and my hands wrapped around the edge of the desk. "That's a good girl." Acid burned my throat, and my pulse thrummed in my ears, drowning out his disgusting, heavy breathing. He pushed up the back of my tank top, exposing my back before he hooked a finger into the side of my leggings and panties, and I sucked in a deep breath.

"Get. The. Fuck. Off. Her."

Zaiden's voice sliced through the room. My eyes snapped open, neck craning so fast something popped. His massive frame blocked the entire doorway, turning it into a dark silhouette against the hallway light. One hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles bone-white. The other formed a fist so tight I could see veins standing out along his forearm. His eyes—God, his eyes, had gone from their usual bluish-grey to something feral, something ancient and dangerous. They promised violence.

Coach's hands disappeared, and I shot up from the desk. My chest tightened, relief and rage warring within me. I wanted to thank Zaiden and punch him at the same time. I didn't want to have sex with Coach Palmer, but I also didn't want to lose my scholarship.

---