guess in some ways, it did. It sure as hell bought me a lot of brownie points in the romance department. When I lit up that lantern and watched her eyes round at everything I’d done, my inner jock hollered, Touchdown! Because clearly, Blondie liked what she saw.
What I said to her was the truth. I didn’t judge her about what happened with Zach. Yeah, I was pissed off and hurt when I first found out, and I experienced an unfortunate case of diarrhea of the mouth, but I never thought badly of her.
Then I found out it wasn’t consensual. I found out it was rape.
How does a man digest that shit? To know the most vile, horrific act was done to the woman he loved?
My God, when would the abuse toward women ever end? It seemed like every single woman in my life was the victim of a man.
My mother, Rimmel, Ivy.
To see how it ripped them apart, to watch them try and hold it together, was fucking hard as shit. It might be the hardest thing I’d ever had to witness.
I wasn’t able to help my mother. I was too young to step in and stop my father from beating her. And when he did, he’d hurl hurtful words at her that seemed more painful than any punch, kick, or slap could ever be.
I’d likely hear those words in the back of my mind forever.
I wasn’t able to stop the pain Rimmel endured from her own family, from Zach, and from the people who wanted revenge against her father. And she had Romeo, my best friend, a man I knew without a doubt would shelter her as best he could.
But who did Ivy have?
She was a victim who didn’t even know she was.
I could protect her. I could make sure her pain didn’t have to be any deeper than it already was.
And that’s why I hid the truth. That’s why I beat myself up on a daily basis, wondering if the choice I made was right.
“Is that wine I see over there?” Ivy asked, sniffling a little.
She cried when I told her I didn’t care about Zach. Her tears were just proof that those were words she needed to hear.
“Girl, you know I ain’t gonna drive out to the middle of nowhere for some private time without a bottle of the good stuff,” I drawled and leaned back so I could snag the bottle.
She giggled. “So what kind of good stuff is that?”
“Fuck if I know.” I shrugged. “I never drink wine. You know this. I got it from one of the guys on the team.”
“Let me see.” Ivy held out her hand. Her lips were pursed, but I could see her trying hard not to laugh.
I surrendered the bottle so she could pull it into her lap and turn the label around to face her.
Her laugh burst out almost immediately, and she clutched the bottle against her chest as a bad case of the giggles rocked her body.
I frowned. “What the hell’s so funny?”
Ivy laughed even harder, like me not knowing was somehow the cherry on top.
“Blondie,” I growled.
She sat up and wiped a tear out of her eye and cleared her throat. Amusement shone in her eyes when she turned the label around to face me.
“What?” I shrugged.
“It’s Boone’s Farm.”
“Is that like a bad brand or something?”
“Well, we are sort of in a cornfield. It’s actually totes appropriate.”
“ Totes what?” What the fuck was she talking about?
Her teeth flashed white, and she practically hugged the bottle. “Boone’s Farm I guess is technically a wine. I wouldn’t necessarily call it the good stuff.”
“Why?” I asked dubiously.
“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of this stuff. Every high school girl drinks this.”
“I’m not a high school girl,” I pointed out, sort of disgruntled yet slightly amused.
“Well, surely you went to high school parties. You know the ones where the girls all acted super tipsy even though they smelled like cherry lip-gloss but swore they were drunk.”
I grinned. “Yeah, I remember those days.”
Ivy smacked me.
“What?” I demanded. “You asked.”
“This has barely any alcohol in it.” She snickered. “I didn’t even know they still made
What I said to her was the truth. I didn’t judge her about what happened with Zach. Yeah, I was pissed off and hurt when I first found out, and I experienced an unfortunate case of diarrhea of the mouth, but I never thought badly of her.
Then I found out it wasn’t consensual. I found out it was rape.
How does a man digest that shit? To know the most vile, horrific act was done to the woman he loved?
My God, when would the abuse toward women ever end? It seemed like every single woman in my life was the victim of a man.
My mother, Rimmel, Ivy.
To see how it ripped them apart, to watch them try and hold it together, was fucking hard as shit. It might be the hardest thing I’d ever had to witness.
I wasn’t able to help my mother. I was too young to step in and stop my father from beating her. And when he did, he’d hurl hurtful words at her that seemed more painful than any punch, kick, or slap could ever be.
I’d likely hear those words in the back of my mind forever.
I wasn’t able to stop the pain Rimmel endured from her own family, from Zach, and from the people who wanted revenge against her father. And she had Romeo, my best friend, a man I knew without a doubt would shelter her as best he could.
But who did Ivy have?
She was a victim who didn’t even know she was.
I could protect her. I could make sure her pain didn’t have to be any deeper than it already was.
And that’s why I hid the truth. That’s why I beat myself up on a daily basis, wondering if the choice I made was right.
“Is that wine I see over there?” Ivy asked, sniffling a little.
She cried when I told her I didn’t care about Zach. Her tears were just proof that those were words she needed to hear.
“Girl, you know I ain’t gonna drive out to the middle of nowhere for some private time without a bottle of the good stuff,” I drawled and leaned back so I could snag the bottle.
She giggled. “So what kind of good stuff is that?”
“Fuck if I know.” I shrugged. “I never drink wine. You know this. I got it from one of the guys on the team.”
“Let me see.” Ivy held out her hand. Her lips were pursed, but I could see her trying hard not to laugh.
I surrendered the bottle so she could pull it into her lap and turn the label around to face her.
Her laugh burst out almost immediately, and she clutched the bottle against her chest as a bad case of the giggles rocked her body.
I frowned. “What the hell’s so funny?”
Ivy laughed even harder, like me not knowing was somehow the cherry on top.
“Blondie,” I growled.
She sat up and wiped a tear out of her eye and cleared her throat. Amusement shone in her eyes when she turned the label around to face me.
“What?” I shrugged.
“It’s Boone’s Farm.”
“Is that like a bad brand or something?”
“Well, we are sort of in a cornfield. It’s actually totes appropriate.”
“ Totes what?” What the fuck was she talking about?
Her teeth flashed white, and she practically hugged the bottle. “Boone’s Farm I guess is technically a wine. I wouldn’t necessarily call it the good stuff.”
“Why?” I asked dubiously.
“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of this stuff. Every high school girl drinks this.”
“I’m not a high school girl,” I pointed out, sort of disgruntled yet slightly amused.
“Well, surely you went to high school parties. You know the ones where the girls all acted super tipsy even though they smelled like cherry lip-gloss but swore they were drunk.”
I grinned. “Yeah, I remember those days.”
Ivy smacked me.
“What?” I demanded. “You asked.”
“This has barely any alcohol in it.” She snickered. “I didn’t even know they still made
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