Page 99 of Work It Out
Rayah’s sigh came from her toes, ripping away pieces of the tension and doubt of the last two weeks with each bit of air. “The judge denied our request for a continuance. She said it’d be a waste of everyone’s time, since she had every intention of throwing out the breach-of-contract case based on their lack of standing. We didn’t even have to show her the record of where that tabloid paid Dad fifty thousand dollars. Then she told them they’d better have a hell of a lot of ammo if the class action suit lands on her docket.”
Blaine’s brow shot up. “How many have come forward now?”
“Fourteen.” Rayah fiddled with her seatbelt strap. “Nine from before my time. Five from after.”
“Don’t you dare,” Blaine said in that deep, harsh tone he’d probably learned in some godforsaken desert. “Don’t you even think about feeling guilty.”
She had to laugh. She’d cried enough in the last few weeks to do for a lifetime. If she started up again, she might never stop. “Why would I feel guilty? For taking hush money? For letting him roam around, free to keep hurting girls who only wanted to compete? Don’t be silly.”
Tires rumbled as Blaine pulled onto the berm, threw the truck into park, and turned his whole body toward her. “Let me ask you something, Ray. You don’t have to answer, but I want you to think about the question. Do you blame them?” Before she could ask who—because there was plenty of blame to go around—he continued, “The other women, the ones he hurt before you. Do you blame them for what he did to you?”
Her gut reaction was to say no, but she also knew where he was going with this. If she said no, he’d point out that she was less responsible than they were. At least she’d tried. It had cost her the only future she’d dared to think about, everything she knew, and all of her friends, but she’d reported him. The USGA had gone out of their way and spent a fortune to bury it. According to some of the others, they’d done the same before.
If she said yes, he’d remind her she was a rotten liar.
“No.” She turned toward him and finally met his stare. “I don’t blame them. They were young and scared, and I know better than anyone what it’s like to be called nasty things by stupid people because I wasn’t willing to stay silent. But more than that, a victim’s only job is to heal.”
“The world’s changed in the last few years,” Blaine pointed out. “Not nearly enough, but the rules are shifting. Did you ever think maybe you helped start that, women like you, who were stigmatized and marginalized and still refused to back down? You’re the reason fourteen women felt safe enough to come forward. You gave them a voice and the strength to use it.Youdid that.”
Rayah shrugged, the motion jerky and childlike as she fought to keep the tears welling in her eyes from slipping free. It didn’t work. Blaine reached into the center console and pulled out a stack of napkins. She snatched them out of his hand and ripped one free. “When did you get all deep and shit?”
His big, booming laugh, so familiar yet rarer than diamonds for anyone but her, soothed her more than any placating words. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “At the risk of compromising my newfound depth,” a faint hint of pink bloomed in his cheeks, “that’s basically what your boyfriend told your father two weeks ago. I just happened to be there to hear it.”
That bomb fell between them, ticking for a beat in time before she exploded. “What? But…” Finally, she said it out loud, the thing that hurt the most. “He’s moved on.”
A beleaguered sigh gusted past her face. “Grace said you’d been off the grid. She didn’t say anything about being under a rock.”
She might as well have been. As soon as the case against her had been dismissed, she’d unplugged from nearly everything and everyone. She’d fled Indiana for a quiet rented house on a private beach in North Carolina to binge-watch her comfort shows and process everything that had happened with her therapist.
Grace was the only other person she’d kept in touch with. She’d done an excellent job of running Explosion and keeping the guys in line in Rayah’s absence. She’d even managed to get the boys to stop pestering her to come home so they could cosset her. But the company Christmas party (which they’d made a Thanksmas party to get her home sooner) was tonight, and Grace insisted it was time for Rayah to come home or she’d buy them all pacifiers for Christmas.
She’d packed her bags and booked a seat to Flagstaff on the last flight possible. She’d hoped it’d be delayed and she’d miss the party.Oops, I tried!
No such luck.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not under a rock, thank you very much. I was lying on a beach.”
“Well, you missed a lot while you were sunbathing.” He pulled the truck back onto the road.
The sun had set during their talk and the dash was all that illuminated his features. She waited, but when the truck reached cruising speed and he still hadn’t spoken, it was all Rayah could do not to slap him silly. “Blaine Kenneth Dawson, you start talking right this minute.”
“Oooh, no. Not the middle name,” he deadpanned. “You’re my best friend, but I am not getting in the middle of your love life. Boundaries, Ray. We’re going to need some serious boundaries. If you want to know what happened with Jake and that biscuit eater, you’ll have to ask him.”
“Biscuit eater?” In her best impersonation of Jean, Rayah clutched her imaginary pearls. “Such strong language. And in front of a lady.”
“Hush,” he said around a smile.
Rayah’s stomach churned as he slowed for the turn that would take them to the gym. Only a few minutes more. “I’m scared,” she blurted. “I’m scared to call him, because I’m afraid he won’t answer and terrified that he will. I’m too chicken to listen to his voicemails or read his texts or emails.” After that first week, her therapist had been hassling her, too. She still hadn’t been able to. “My heart hurts so much already. I don’t know if I could take another cut right now, and hearing him say goodbye will cut, Blaine. It’ll cut so deep, I don’t know how I’ll ever seal it up again.”
“What makes you so sure he’ll say goodbye?”
“There’s nothing for him here. Even if he doesn’t get the part, he still has the show. His whole life is in L.A. Mine is here. Besides,” she stared at her hands as if the dips and valleys of her skin held all the answers, “he has Yvonne.”
“Yeah,” Blaine drawled. “You were definitely under a rock.” He’d no sooner stopped the truck than her door flew open.
“Jake,” Rayah gasped.
Blaine popped her seat belt buckle free and pointed one long finger at Jake. “Do not have sex in my truck. Disembowelment. Dismemberment. Pain.” With that threat hanging in the air, he slammed the door shut behind him.
