Songs for Cricket by Laine, E. (ebook reader .TXT) 📕

smart and would know what to do. I hadn’t mentioned my mother because she wasn’t in a position to help, and I didn’t want her to worry.

“I will,” she said.

“Farrow, in the locker room,” Coach demanded.

I nearly cracked a smile when she said, “I’ve got cramps. I have to run home for supplies.”

He knew she was lying, but Coach had no way to prove it.

“You better be here for afternoon practice, or you’ll be benched.”

She nodded and followed us down as Coach went back to talk to the team. What would he say? No doubt some had heard. How would I be treated once this was all resolved?

“There she is,” someone barked out.

We’d made it to the bottom where a film crew had gathered. A woman with a mic stared with open curiosity.

“Wait,” she ordered. “There might be more of a story.”

As they hustled me outside, I caught Finley’s gaze.

“Don’t follow me,” I nudged my head in the direction of the crew.

I wasn’t sure she heard since her phone was to her ear.

“I’m coming.”

She was oblivious to the cameras and what would happen when they tied the first female football player at Layton to an accused rapist. I had to stop her. “Listen to me. Don’t come. I don’t want you there.”

That was all true, but I hated the hurt in her eyes. I’d used the anger I felt at being wrongfully accused to force a blistering cool tone to my voice.

It had stopped her cold. I was roughly shoved in the back of a cruiser, hoping for once in her life Finley would listen to me. It wasn’t the first time I’d taken a ride in one of these. I closed my eyes and thought about what I faced.

When we arrived at the station, I was read my rights once again after being placed in a small room with a one-way glass. The metal chair was uncomfortable, but that was the point.

An older, surprisingly fit balding guy came in with a younger one both dressed in plain clothes.

The younger one spoke first. “I’m Detective Greg Hastings, and this is my partner Detective Pete Miller. Do you know why you’re here?”

Though I knew exactly who’d pointed a finger at me, I didn’t understand what evidence they had to file charges.

“No, because I didn’t rape anyone.”

Detective Miller coughed out a laugh that sounded like he was losing a lung.

“Maybe he doesn’t get no means no,” he said to his partner as if I wasn’t there. “How about we start with have you had sex with anyone in the past seventy-two hours?”

“No. I haven’t had sex in weeks.”

You might have thought I was a comedian the way Detective Miller hooted with laughter.

“A pretty boy like yourself hasn’t screwed in weeks?”

Detective Hastings hadn’t broken a smile. He studied me like a science project.

“Let’s start from the beginning. What happened Friday night? And let me remind you of your rights . . .”

Detective Miller glared at his partner. “If he wants to talk, let him. It could have been your sister.”

“But it wasn’t. She graduated from Layton, and he’s entitled to a lawyer,” Detective Hastings said to him and then aimed shrewd eyes at me. “Do you want to contact a lawyer, or we can arrange for one to be appointed for you?” he asked as he recited the Miranda warning.

It was the third offer that had been made for a lawyer. But I’d seen enough cop shows to know if you did, you looked guilty as hell.

“I don’t need one because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

I shifted in my seat, my hands still bound behind me. I wasn’t sure if that was procedure or not. I hadn’t been fingerprinted nor taken a mug shot. But apparently they saw me as a threat. What the hell had Lacey told them?

Detective Hastings nodded. “So tell me about Friday night.”

The first thing I thought of was my bungled attempt to tell Finley how I felt about her. But she was the last person I’d mention in this interview. They would bring her in for questioning, and I didn’t want her a part of this mess.

“I went to a party, and then I left.”

Detective Miller jumped in. “Come on. Don’t dick us around. What happened at the party?”

“Why that party?” Detective Hastings asked instead.

“It was a sendoff for the football team.”

“Your first game isn’t until next week. Why not Saturday night or next Friday?” Detective Hastings asked.

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask them.”

Detective Miller spoke up. “What does it matter? Little shitheads like him don’t need a reason to party. They just want to get laid, and in his case the willingness of the girl doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t touch her,” I declared.

“Oh yeah. So you deny leaving with her.” The older detective was either really good at playing bad cop or he’d tried and convicted me based on what she’d told them alone.

“She offered me a ride home,” I answered.

“Did you arrive there alone?” the young one asked.

“No.” I hated to bring my friends into it. But if they decided to ask anyone who I’d arrived with, they’d find out I was lying and wouldn’t trust anything else I told them.

“You didn’t wait and ride home with whoever you came with?”

Detective Hastings sounded reasonable, but he was just trying to put me at ease so I’d slip up. I had nothing to hide except Finley. I wouldn’t say her name even if it meant never seeing outside of a jail cell.

“I don’t have a car, and my friends didn’t drive there.”

“You could have walked or called an Uber,” Detective Hastings said.

There weren’t cabs in the small college town. I shifted in my seat, knowing my answer could add to my troubles.

“I was drunk and wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“You got that right. Rape is a felony, and now we can add underage drinking to the list of charges against you,” Detective Miller spat.

Underage drinking was the least of my worries. It wasn’t a felony and wouldn’t send me