Page 18 of Believing Bailey (Granton University 2)

Realizing I’d just completely ousted myself, I flushed hotly before stuttering a second, then saying, “B-but what if he’s not? I mean, has he been found guilty yet? Has he confessed? They just said he pled innocent, didn’t they?”

Of course, he would plead innocent. He was innocent. I’d been there. I knew he was innocent. I’d seen and heard the whole thing. He had not raped that Melody girl. And he’d been in no condition after that encounter to go off and rape her or anyone else later after I’d left either. This was all just bullshit.

My stomach churned with guilt as I glanced at the picture they showed of Beckett. There was really only one reason he was in jail right now.

Because I hadn’t been able to tell anyone, not even my best friends, what I’d seen.

To be honest, or maybe just really hopeful, I hadn’t thought this would blow up as big as it had. The guy was innocent; there could be absolutely no evidence against him, right? So how could he still be in jail? How could this make the national news? How come I kept feeling guiltier and guiltier every second of the day, as if my little confession would be the only thing to get him free? That couldn’t be the case. There had to be something else to help him.

Right?

I gulped and looked down just as a new nasty meme popped up on Tess’s Facebook feed. It didn’t seem to matter if what he’d done was true or not. Social media had found him guilty; he was as good as fucked. Poor guy.

“Bailey?” Paige said slowly, making me jump and remember everyone was still staring me at me.

Tired of faking it, I just clutched my new curly blonde hair in my hands and gave up. “I don’t know what to do,” I confessed.

No, actually, I did know what I needed to do. I just didn’t know if I had to nerve. Was I really supposed to waltz into the police department and tell some cop I’d watched two people have sex? Confessing that was exactly the kind of mortifying thing I had nightmares about, right next to dreaming about showing up to school naked and dreaming about making out with one of my brothers. Who could confess that kind of shit?

“Okay, that’s it.” Tess plopped her laptop onto Jonah’s lap and sprang to her feet, before rounding the couch to grip my arm “We are girl talking, and you are going to tell us what’s going on. Right now.” Then she motioned toward Paige to follow us before she dragged me down the hall.

Twenty minutes later, in the privacy of my room with my door shut and the boyfriends locked out, I hugged my pillow to my chest and tried to hide my face in it while my two best friends gaped at me as if I were insane.

“Bailey! You have to tell the police.”

I lifted my face in order to shake my head. “I don’t know, are you sure? What if they don’t need me and my story is completely irrelevant and I just look like a freaking voyeur for going to them and telling them what I watched?”

“You need to tell them,” Tess stated more adamantly.

“I don’t think I can.” I sighed and buried my face back into the pillow, where everything was soft and nice and smelled like shampoo. I s

hould live in that pillow forever. Pillow paradise.

“Beckett Hilliard’s freedom is at stake,” Paige said.

The words came so plainly and practically and yet they hit the mark harder than anything, because dammit, she was right. I couldn’t do this to that poor guy. I lifted my face from the pillow, returning to reality.

I should’ve known the moment Beckett had spilled beer down the front of my shirt he would forever more be a pain in my ass. Stupid, idiot boy. He really, really should’ve stopped Melody when she’d unzipped his pants, like I knew he’d wanted to, so I didn’t have to be stuck in this predicament right now. Hell, so he wouldn’t be stuck in it.

Who knew one spilled beer would tie two complete strangers together so inexplicably.

I blew out a breath, but had no other choice except to admit, “Okay.” Then my stomach churned as a new idea hit me. “Oh God, you guys are going to tell your men about this, aren’t you?”

They were going to know I was a voyeur. They’d probably wonder how many times I’d spied on them having sex.

I was never going to live this down.

Chapter 7

BECKETT

Infirmaries weren’t such bad places. You got your own private cell, no one tried to kill you, and, okay, honestly, nothing topped the no-one-tried-to-kill-you aspect. That was my favorite part of the whole place, I was not getting beaten to a bloody pulp.

Sure, it hurt to breathe, I was pissing blood, and the nurses—I guessed that was what you called the guards who patched you up—were less than gentle. But I was not afraid for my life in here. I felt safe and secure.

I kind of wanted to stay here forever.

My welcoming committee in general population hadn’t been lying; they really, really hadn’t liked rapists, or even accused rapists for that matter. I was lucky to survive that encounter before a pair of correctional officers caught on as to what was happening and put a stop to it. Since then, I’d been safe, in complete utter pain from head to toe, but still safe, in my cozy, little infirmary cell.

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