Page 166 of The Dixon Rule

“Did you touch him?” I ask gruffly.

Her entire face collapses. “I didn’t do anything. He grabbed my arm and I tried to push him off.”

“Show me,” I order. Not because I don’t believe her, but because I require a visual of this in my head. So I have something to tell the cops after I murder this man. “Is this how he did it?”

I reach across the center console and grab her by the forearm. Gentle but firm.

“He grabbed you like this?”

She nods meekly.

“And what did you do?”

With her free hand, Diana shoves my shoulder.

“And then he punched you in the face.” The rage bubbles up again. “That was his response to you pushing his shoulder?”

“Yes.”

There’s another beat.

“Why the fuck didn’t you go to the cops?”

She flinches.

I immediately collect my temper.

“I’m sorry. No, Dixon, I’m sorry. This isn’t on you. This is on him. I…” I hear my pulse thudding in my ears. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t report this. Why did you lie and say you got hurt at cheer camp?” She told me she took an elbow to the face, for chrissake.

“Because it’s embarrassing!”

Her voice cracks. So does a piece of my heart. I’ve never seen Diana look so destroyed. She sits in the passenger seat, completely stripped away of the confidence I’ve come to adore, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“That’s not who I am, okay?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I can take care of myself.” Her voice trembles wildly. “You heard the stories my dad told you. I’m the one who kicks people’s asses. I’m not the woman who gets hit by a man, all right? I didn’t report it because I can’t be that woman.”

“Baby.” I unbuckle my seat belt, then lean over to unbuckle hers. “Come here.”

“No.” She tries to twist away from me.

“Come here,” I repeat, reaching for her.

This time she doesn’t resist. She climbs into my lap and buries her face in my neck. We sit there in the dorm parking lot, and I hold her tight while barely restrained rage boils in my blood.

Diana straightens up, her tear-streaked face breaking my heart.

“I’m the strong one,” she mumbles. “I’m the unstoppable one, and some fucking asshole punched me on the sidewalk. I can’t go to the police.”

“Yes, you can. And you should,” I say firmly.

She bites her lower lip, which is still quivering.

“You have to, Dixon. You can’t let him get away with this, and I think deep down you want to report it.”

Moisture clings to her eyelashes again.

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