The Best Defense: A Sports Romance

Tillie

How fucking dare he. He could have left it well enough alone, we could have continued on and possibly been friends but no he had to bring up the bruise like he knows exactly what happened.

"My dad abused my mom, it wasn't the first time I have seen a bruise like that."

My eyes snap up to see his face, to see his jaw tense from him gritting his teeth. Oh.

I can feel my chest rise and fall in a rhythm that's quickly beginning to match the thundering beat of my heart. Tears are welling in my eyes as I am slowly pulled back to that night.

A hand grips my forearm tearing me away from the dance floor. He's pulling so hard my elbow and shoulder are screaming in protest.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He snarles.

"Dancing? What's wrong I was just dancing."

"Like a whore, you were putting on a show for everyone like the slut you are."

"I wasn't, I wasn't, I'm sorry."

He continues to drag me until we are outside beside his truck.

SMACK.

His hand lands on the hood of his truck before he throws me into the side of the truck by the grip he holds on my arm.

"Get in the fucking truck Till."

"Till.. Till..."

I jump back with a small yelp and curl my arms around myself in some feeble attempt to calm down. The flashbacks are the worst, because it wasn't enough to live them once apparently.

"Devon... I... please don't.. I don't want to talk about it, please." I am hyperventilating now, unable to think or speak clearly as the rapid beat of my heart and tingling in my fingers consumes me. Soon everything will sound foggy and far away.

Devon reaches out and grabs one of my hands prying it away from my other arm, covering it with his own then squeezing gently. "Five things, name five things you can see."

I shake my head, what is he doing I can't even breath normally nevermind think.

"Five things you can see Tillie, name them." He sounds so far away, I can't focus.

I lick my lips and try and look around. Blinking hard to clear away the tears that won't stop falling.
"You, I see you."

"Good girl, keep going." My heart stutters in my chest for an entirely different reason as he praises me, making me want to continue but also feel confused. How is it in the middle of my mind in chaos he can force me to focus?

"I see laundry, and laundry machines, and my shoes, the lights." I choke out between shallow breaths.

"Okay, now five things you can touch."

"The table, your hand, the dryer, my clothes, the wall." Slowly the world is coming back into focus. Whatever he's doing, it's working.

"Keep going, five things you can hear."

By the time we complete all five senses he's holding both my hands in his and is standing close enough that his scent envelopes me. I'm glad he left smell until last because really all I can smell is him.

"Thank you, how did you know what to do?" I ask gently staring at our joined hands as he rubs his thumbs in small circles along my skin.

"My mom gets panic attacks, her therapist told her to do it. It always worked for her so I thought it would work for you too."

Beep.

"I'll be right back." He pulls one of my hands to his mouth and places a featherlight kiss on the knuckles sending a kaleidoscope of butterflies aflutter.

I'm left pondering how someone I had been so judgemental of could prove to be so very different to the reputation he holds. I want so badly to believe this is real but instead I'm left dreading the proverbial foot that will drop. It always drops. I don't get good things, I haven't for a long time.

I can feel the wall he was knocking on reinforcing itself, the cracks filling with newly discovered doubt.

After placing his laundry in the dryer Devon saunters over and leans against the table beside me.

"Do you think you can talk about it now, or better yet just answer one question?"

I let out a sigh, "one question, I'll answer one."

"Are you still with him?"

"No." I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and chew on the skin, a nervous habit I guess, "he, uhm, he hasn't spoken to me since the last time." I shake my head, not wanting to share anymore or really at all.

"You know it's not your fault, right?"

Inhaling sharply I stand up to look at Devon, his eyes are filled with what I can only hope is understanding because if it's anything else, I will break again.

"Isn't that what they tell all victims? It's not our fault. But, what if it was my fault? What if he told me not to do something but I did it anyways." Like dance with a group of girls at a stupid house party that I never wanted to be at in the first place. I just wanted to have a little bit of fun, and I paid the price for it.

"He didn't own you Till, you never deserved that." I hear his words but I don't know if I can believe them. What if I did deserve it?

"Well, it's over now." I rush out wanting to be done with this topic as quickly as possible. "Can we talk about something else?" A small smile tips the corners of Devons mouth, which strangely enough has my mouth doing the same.

"You mean like how you're my coaches daughter? Or how about that you are Gemma Harris' sister? Are those topics on the table?" He must see the shocked look in my eyes because smug satisfaction is plastered all over his gorgeous face. Bastard.