Before You Go

THIRTY-SEVEN

After class, Noah insists I meet him at the paper. When I get there, he’s at his desk wearing his black-rimmed glasses, looking all Clark Kent sexy, but something isn’t right. His face is strained.

I know just how to fix that.

“How’s is going?” I ask him when I come into his office, pushing his papers aside to settle in between him and the desk. “You look like you could use a stress reliever.”

I grab his belt buckle and wiggle my eyebrows. I’m dying to get my hands on him.

“Tabby,” he grabs my fingers, his face is ashen.

“What?” I’m suddenly worried. “Is everything okay?”

“Not really.” He exhales.

“Is it the article?”

He swallows and nods, unable to meet my eyes.

“Why have you been so secretive? What’s the article about?”

“I didn’t mean to be secretive, Tab,” he begins. “The article is about sexual assault and college athletes. Pretty disturbing stuff. Not exactly something I wanted to talk about during our…time together.”

My stomach drops.

“It’s also about the way universities are helping to cover up the crimes,” Noah continues, running his hand through his hair. “I’ve been working with student journalists from all over the country to get information to include in the piece.”

No. No f*cking way. This has nothing to do with me.

“Today, I got a package from Illinois.”

This can’t be happening.

“I never expected the reporters in Chicago would cooperate,” he starts to blabber. “I had a lead and I tried contacting them, but nobody would talk.”

My knees buckle. If I wasn’t leaning against the desk, I’d be on the floor.

Noah reaches out for me, but I swat his hand away.

“I didn’t know, Tab. I swear I didn’t. I just found out today.”

“What are you talking about? Noah? What happened?” I ask.

But I know. I know exactly what he’s talking about.

He pulls out the stack of papers on the desk and it’s all there. The articles from the university paper. The student blog postings. The response from the university.

I hold still. It’s like my organs are shutting down one by one.

Noah stands, pushing his laptop out of my view.

His eyes narrow and the crease between his brows deepens. He knows.

He knows.

“Baby,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

My arm snakes over him, flipping the laptop so I can see what he was looking at.

Or to confirm it.

When I see the screen, it’s like looking at my own reflection.

It’s my face and body in a slideshow of disgusting photos. I begin hitting the arrows to flip them. Over and over again.

Noah’s expression is unreadable, a cross between murderous and devastated. “What exactly happened, Tabby?” His voice is hollow. “Did these a*sholes rape you?”

He needs to know how damaged I really am. Or maybe what diseases I’m carrying.

“The doctors said no,” I whisper, ashamed I don’t know the answer on my own. “I wasn’t violated in that way.”

I can’t do this. I can’t discuss this with him. It feels like it’s happening all over again. The questions, the suspicion, the judgment.

“Oh, God,” I start pacing.

“Talk to me,” he pleads.

I can’t. Instead, I stare at my past spread out on his desk. Every dirty detail. I can’t look anymore. I want to drift off and not think about any of this ever again.

Reluctantly, I inch away from Noah—afraid it’s for the very last time.

He moves to stop me. “Don’t leave, Tabby. Not yet. There’s something I need to tell you before you go.”

I don’t wait to hear it.

But as I turn around to make my escape, things get even worse.

Jenna is waiting in the doorway. She heard everything, so I do thing only thing I can.

I run. Again.