“A friend,” I said testily. “The downstairs neighbor. The guy who isn’t talking about that freaking picture.”

Graham’s glance dismissed me. He sat down on Bella’s bed right beside her, putting an arm around her. “Seriously. Who did that? And what’s with…” He picked up her arm and pushed up the sleeve of her T-shirt to expose a few inches of her wrist.

Bella yanked her arm away. “I’m fine.”

“There is nothing fine about—”

“I’m FINE!” she yelled. Her face was a bright shade of pink, and her eyes glittered.

“Come on,” he pressed. “I need to know.”

“Not true,” she clipped, turning her face away from him.

Rikker sat down on the other side of her, so Bella ended up burying her nose in his shoulder. Rikker put his palm on her cheek and pulled her close. “Bella,” he whispered, and I watched her back rise and fall as she tried to hold herself together.

“I am done with guys,” she croaked. “Men suck.”

The two guys on the bed turned in toward Bella, gathering her in their arms. “No,” Graham crooned. “Some guys are awesome. We love you.”

Bella gave her head a single shake. “I just… The whole team saw it, didn’t they?” she gasped. “I’m never going back to practice.”

Rikker made an unhappy noise. “But then the asshole wins.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yeah, you do,” Graham said, rubbing her back. “We don’t let the assholes win.”

“I just can’t…” Her back heaved. “Stand this.”

My throat got tight, and the other two men held her even closer. They murmured soothing things while Bella began to sniff.

I don’t know how long it took me to realize I was no longer needed. It was hard to just walk out of the room, but I’d done what I could, even if it did not feel like nearly enough.

When I slipped out, she did not even look up.

Sixteen

Bella

How mortifying to end up crying in Graham’s arms.

I pulled myself together after a few minutes, wiping my face on my sleeve. “I’ll be okay,” I promised.

“Yeah, you will be,” Rikker said softly. “But we have to get that picture taken down. Who’s the asshole? We want to help you with that.”

“Absolutely not,” I said. There was no way I would contact him. Ever, ever again. And I wasn’t going to turn Graham and Rikker on him, either. How ugly would that get? My two gay friends, beating down the door of the football fraternity? That was the worst idea I’d ever heard.

“What they did must be against a whole lot of rules,” Graham said.

“Don’t be so sure,” I argued. “It isn’t a Harkness website. It isn’t even an official…” I almost said “Beta Rho website,” but caught myself just in case they hadn’t already made the connection. “It’s just a random spot on the web, where no names are given. Including mine.”

“So you’re just going to ignore it?” Graham yelped.

I pressed my hands against my hot face, trying to stay calm. “In a few days they’ll humiliate someone else, right? My picture will sink down on the page.”

“That is so fucked,” Rikker complained.

“What would be so fucked,” I said icily, “is making a complaint that doesn’t stick.” I’d thought about this for many hours already, and I was positive there was nothing to be gained by reporting Whittaker. “Humiliation is not against the law. And if marking up a drunk person was illegal, every frat in North America would be shut down. If I make a big stink, then anyone who hasn’t seen the picture will see it.”

“Sexual harassment is not okay,” Rikker said quietly. “The college is obligated to put a stop to it. I could have won a judgment against St. B’s if I’d gone after them. And I don’t see how this is different.”

“You’re right,” I said brightly. “It is the same thing. And you didn’t go after them in court, did you?”

“No, but…”

“But nothing. I’ve seen what happens when someone like me goes up against someone like him.”

“Like who?” Graham asked.

God, did he think I was that stupid? “Nice try, Graham. But I’m not exactly Snow White. Nobody cares if somebody says a few shitty things about me. Right now, my name is not on the front page of that newspaper you write for. If I report him, tomorrow it will be. How is that better?”




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