Page 93 of For Emery

Grady

I pounded on Emery’s door, probably attracting more attention than I needed. But she didn’t answer. Neither did her roommate. Where the hell was she? I didn’t want her alone, especially in the room where she’d been attacked. If my uncle hadn’t confiscated my phone, I would’ve already known exactly where she was.

I ran downstairs and hopped in my truck. It had been parked outside her dorm since before I’d been arrested. I drove home, needing a shower to remove the blood still staining my hands.

Dammit.

Reporters, with fucking cameras, lined the sidewalk.

I pulled into the driveway and immediately their lights switched on and the cameras were pointed in my face as I hurried to the door.

“Jordan, can you comment on the attack?” one reporter shouted.

“They’re saying your football career’s over,” another said, trying to get a reaction out of me.

“You think you can handle jail?” another asked as I climbed the front steps and pushed my way inside.

I slammed the door behind me and sat down on the sofa. I sank back into the cushions and covered my head with my arms. “Shit!” I yelled.

“What the hell happened to you?” Abbott asked, entering the room.

I lowered my arms and shook my head in disbelief. “Things got real.”

He sat down on the loveseat. “What’s that mean?”

“Sorry, man. That’s all I’m allowed to say.”

“Well, at least tell me if you’re okay.”

“Awww, were you worried about me, Abbott?”

“Dude, you have no idea the rumors that are spreading around campus.”

I shrugged. “Nothing I can do about what people say. I learned that a long time ago.”

“There was footage of the guy. After you beat him up. Dude, he was a mess.”

I shrugged. “He shouldn’t have broken into someone’s room.”

“Those reporters have been here for hours.”

“What’d you tell ’em?”

“I didn’t answer the door. Girls see that interview and they’d be knocking down the door to see my pretty face.”

“Then you’d open your mouth.”

He laughed, and I appreciated him trying to make me feel better.

A heavy silence descended before he asked the question we were both thinking. “You gonna be able to play?”

“No idea. My uncle’s meeting with the director of intercollegiate athletics first thing in the morning.”

“And?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Is there anything me and the guys can do to help?”

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