There was a time I would let those words tear me to shreds, like a whip across my skin. Now, my skin has become my armor, repelling the hatred spewed toward me.

  “The last thing you expect when you sleep at your best friend’s house is for her father to rape you, but that’s what happened to me.”

  The arguing that had started in the crowd stops. Everyone goes silent.

  “I needed to use the bathroom. I didn’t know anyone else was awake until I walked out and headed back to her room. He grabbed my arm in one hand and covered my mouth with the other. Before I knew what was happening, he had me lifted up and carried me to their couch.”

  There’s not a sound as I tell the story of my young body being brutalized. How he put a throw pillow over my face so no one could hear my cries. I thought I was going to die from suffocation as he threatened to kill my mother if I told anyone what happened.

  “He left me crying on the couch and went to his bedroom where his wife slept. Like he hadn’t stolen my innocence.”

  I pause, letting them imagine a broken child and the heartless man who went to bed, lying beside his wife after what he’d just done.

  “I didn’t say anything at first. I made excuses to my mom and friend about why I wouldn’t go to her house. Then my period was late. I tried ignoring it, but two, then three, and four weeks went by. Panic set in, and I had to talk to someone.”

  I scan the crowd. Some people have tears and hands to their mouths, and I wonder if they’ve lived the same kind of nightmare.

  “Fear of what he would do…fear of what was happening to my body, I reluctantly told my mom. It was the first time I saw her cry. She asked a lot of questions. So many, I was uncomfortable answering, then she called two places: the police and my pediatrician.”

  I let that last word sink in. Pediatrician. A children’s doctor.

  “The next few days were a blur as I made statements and went through testing. The pregnancy test was positive, so I was referred to an OB, who got me in as an emergency appointment due to my age. She spoke about what pregnancy would be like for my still-developing body, adoption, and abortion then sent us home with printouts to read.”

  I step from behind the podium, the mic in hand, and sit at the edge of the stage, wanting to be as close to the audience as possible—wanting them to see how this still affects me.

  “I hadn’t even begun to handle being raped. I was twelve. In the sixth grade. I had never kissed a boy. Never even held hands with one. And I was pregnant. It was too big for me to handle. Too much. I couldn’t be a mom. I couldn’t look at the thing—that’s what I called the baby he forced inside me. I was in no way prepared for a pregnancy. Not mentally, emotionally, or physically. Fortunately, my mom recognized what I was trying to tell her and helped me articulate it to the doctor.”

  “You killed a baby!” someone screams. “How could you hate a child so much?”

  That person will never understand, but I hope some out there will, so I explain the best I can.

  “I got an abortion, but I never hated the baby. I felt bad for it.” This is the part that’s always the hardest to put into words. “I’ve had many people ask me why I didn’t go through the pregnancy and give it up for adoption. The truth is, I couldn’t. I couldn’t put a child into the world knowing it may try to find me one day. I couldn’t harm it by letting it know the truth about its father. That he’s a monster. That I couldn’t love it because of how it came to be. You call what I did hate, I call it mercy. I saved myself because my life matters too. If I had been forced to have that child, I would have committed suicide. Of that, I have no doubt. Would you have called me a murderer then, or just a sinner? Would you have been sad for me? Felt rage for me? Or only for the baby that was lost?”

  Silence greets me.

  “We walk fine lines in our beliefs.”

  I pause, letting the room absorb my words.

  “As I said before, I’m not here to tell you how to feel. I can only share my experience. I have been called a murderer since I was twelve. My mother had to move us from the town I grew up in because people sided with a rapist. They said he should have had a say in what I did about the pregnancy. Why is that?”

  I let them think about it. Talk amongst each other. Many are outraged. Part of the crowd says a father should have rights too. There are always those who defend him, and it hurts but this issue is bigger than what happened to me. That’s what I hope to leave them with.

  The ability to hear and respect each other’s opinions.

  “He was a little league coach. He owned a business in town. He was well known and respected. And because my mother was a single mom, she must have taught me how to come on to older men. He had a family. He wouldn’t do such a horrible thing. It must have been my fault. It was easier to blame a twelve-year-old child. This man was a criminal. A monster. He stole something from me I’d never get back. He forced me to deal with things no twelve-year-old should ever have to think about. And people I’d known my whole life felt he should have had more rights to my body than me—my body that he had already taken the rights to without permission. This is why I’m going college to college talking about this.”

  “So you can tell people not to have babies? To murder them?”

  It’s the same person as before. She wants to fight. I’m not here for that. I’m hoping to help people find peace.

  “No. If you want to have babies, have them. I plan to someday. If you don’t, then don’t. You want to adopt? Great. If you want an abortion, get one. It’s your choice. You see, I believe pro-choice is pro-life if you give others the choice to live their lives as they wish to. I can’t say what the future holds for this country. I can only say I never want anyone to face anything like I did. Our bodies should not be a battleground.”

  I look out, trying to find the woman who keeps yelling, but there are too many faces.

  “Nobody’s body should be a battleground. If we can stop with the negativity, the name calling, the hate, and come to the middle with calm conversations, maybe, just maybe, we can start to find our way back to humanity and healing.”

  “You’re naïve,” someone yells.

  Another shouts, “Let her fucking speak.”

  A ripple of unrest starts to billow.

  “Please, stop!” I raise my voice. “We all should have a say. If history has taught us anything, it’s the moment we silence even one person, we fail. We can have our own opinions and beliefs. That’s okay. What isn’t okay is when our thoughts and feelings harm another person. This is why discussion is so important. Experiences are important.”

  I breathe for a second, scanning the room.

  “Kindness is important. All that leads to change, and I think we can all agree change needs to happen.”

  Cheers erupt. After they calm down, I open the floor for questions. A few come from the woman who wants to fight over beliefs and others who think she’s being unfairly treated, but mostly, it’s calm. Varying opinions filter through the air, but an overall theme prevails: women don’t feel safe or equal.

  I do my best to comfort them with how incredible my mother was. “She accepted my choice and helped me understand my decision didn’t make me a horrible person. It made me a survivor. She understood how fragile I was and helped me come to grips with how my choice saved my life. Her love and acceptance are why I know I’ll be a good mom someday.”

  I can’t fix the hurt many of these people feel or remove the worry from their hearts, but I’m proud I can share my journey to healing.

  I may not be able to hug them individually, but I can give them hope.

  Hope sparks conversations, and conversations bring change.

  Change is needed. For all of us.

  Chapter Two

  TILLY

  I couldn’t leave the area without stopping at Lick-Itz. Classmates used to tease about how dirty the name sounded. They were too immature to talk to the owner, Judy. Had they, they would have known she had named it after her granddaughter, who used to call ice cream cones lick-its. It made her smile, so when she opened the shop, there was only one name that fit.

  The bell rings, and Judy’s eyes widen before a smile brightens her face.

  “Tilly! It’s been too long!”

  Such an understatement. I’ve missed coming here and chatting with her.

  “Hi, Miss Judy.”

  “Your usual?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tears prick the backs of my eyes. This place feels like home. So many nights, I spent tucked away in the back booth, eating her homemade strawberry cheesecake ice cream while I worked on assignments. It had been so much better than the overcrowded coffee shops.

  Judy would sit with me and ask why I never brought anyone in with me. She was the only person who knew about—

  “Is this seat taken?”

  Hazel eyes, hidden behind too-big glasses, peer down at me, a grin widening his beard-covered cheek. His hair is swept back perfectly. Long enough on top, a girl can get her fingers in it. Short enough on the sides to look professional. Why does he still have to be so sexy?

  So much for avoiding your mistake.

  “Mr. Bradley, I…uh—”

  “You’re not my student anymore, Tilly. I think you can call me Alton now.” Motioning to the empty seat across from me, his eyes silently ask again.

  “Please,” scratches up my throat.

  It’s just one conversation, then you can go home.

  “That was quite the speech. I never pictured you as a public speaker.”

  “You were there?”

  I’m not sure which surprises me more: seeing him here or that he was at my event. He shouldn’t be anywhere near me after what I did.

  “I wouldn’t have missed the opportunity.”

  Butterflies flutter in my stomach as his lips tilt into the smile I’ve dreamed about for six years—the one I told myself I had no right to think about.

  Judy delivers two waffle bowls overfilled with ice cream and winks at me before walking off. I’m not sure why she’s winking, but I’m happy for the distraction—until I realize he never ordered.

  I shift my gaze from his dessert to him to Judy, trying to make sense of it. He laughs, and the sound wraps around me, warm like hot chocolate on a snowy night. “I’ve been coming here for years, hoping you’d come back someday.”

  “Me?” I put my hand to my chest. “Why?”

  “You never said goodbye. Nothing so bad happened you had to run away and change your whole life.”

  His gaze softens into a look I know too well. I’ve seen it since I was little. Pity. Fuck that. I don’t want his pity. I want him—wanted him.

  “You could have lost your job, Mr. Bradley.”

  “Alton.”

  “Whatever,” I huff, swiping my hand in a don’t-interrupt-me swoop. “I was young and thought you were giving off you-like-me vibes. I misread the situation.”

  “You didn’t misread anything.”

  “I never plann—”

  Words fail me as what he said sinks in.

  Grabbing the spoon, I shovel a massive bite of ice cream in, needing a minute to think. Not that it’s going to help. Mr. Bradley—Alton—the man I thought I fucked over, is saying I didn’t.

  What in the this-can’t-be-happening hell is this? I’m in the Twilight Zone. It’s the only explanation.

  “Shit! Brain freeze!”

  Head in my hands, I pinch my eyes tight.

  Alton chuckles, and I would so tell him off if my head wasn’t splitting.

  “I wanted that kiss. I’ve never been attracted to a student before, but you were different.”

  His words move the pain from my head to my heart. I needed to hear this six years ago. When I thought I forced myself on him. When I worried I ruined his life.

  “You were so honest, raw, vulnerable. You were unapologetically yourself. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was wrong of me, as your professor, eight years your senior, to send you the signals I did. I tried not to, but hearts fight for what they want. They don’t care about consequences.”

  The witty comebacks I’d normally have are gone. I don’t know whether to be flattered or pissed. I gave up everything I wanted thinking I was protecting his honor.

  I became someone I didn’t recognize.

  “You left so quickly, I never got to tell you how I felt. I tried finding you. I went to every business showing a picture of you I had from a group project, asking if anyone had seen you. Judy finally recognized you. I’ve been coming here several nights a week since, hoping you’d come back. I even got hooked on your favorite ice cream.”

  He nudges his bowl.

  Mixed emotions swirl through me. I’m all over social media. I’m not hard to find. He could have contacted me at any time.

  “Why didn’t you message me on any of my accounts?”

  His lips tilt up. I can’t imagine why on earth he’s grinning.

  “I’m a face-to-face kind of guy. I don’t believe in handling things online or over text. If we were meant to be, I knew we would see each other again. I’ve held onto that belief since you left—and here you are.”

  Is he kidding? He has to be.

  He scoops up a bite of ice cream like he didn’t just drop a crazy bomb on me.

  Nope, not kidding.

  “Dean Ellsworth wanted to fire you after Professor Antina caught us kissing. I went to him and told him it was all my fault, that I would give up my scholarship and leave that night—to save your job. Because I thought I misread your interest in me. You’re telling me I practically starved for two years while you believed faith would reunite us?”

  “Sounds about right.” He smiles like he isn’t a complete ass, and fire burns mine. How dare he. I gave up everything. My scholarship. The cushy dorm room. Good food. For what?

  A seedy motel room next to the community college I switched to? Nights of living on Saltines and lukewarm ramen because there was no oven or microwave?

  I lived on rations while he still had everything.

  “Ugh, unbelievable!” His smile drops as I stand, dump my ice cream into his lap, and yell to Judy, “I’ll come back to visit you soon.”

  Chapter Three

  ALTON

  * * *

  As a professor of English and Communications, I should be better with words, but Tilly Wright turns my brain to mush. And my crotch to ice. Deservedly so, I think as I wipe the mess up the best I can.

  What the hell was I thinking dumping all that on her without even asking how she was doing or how her life has been?

  Asshat.

  Tilly never gave herself credit for how strong she was. Worrying because she never fit into any crowds. She couldn’t see she stood out because she didn’t need to conform. She was a force all on her own.

  And her force has grown fiercer. Her blue eyes are ice, and I swear smoke billows from under her blonde curls as she says goodbye to Judy, giving the older woman the gentlest hug, then storms out without looking my way.

  “You better go after her.”

  Judy’s words follow me as I slam out the door, waving and racing after the woman who has haunted me for years.

  “Tilly. Wait—please.”

  She stops.

  “I handled that all wrong.”

  “Just that?” she asks, back still to me.

  “Everything. I should have chased you after Professor Antina walked in. You never should have had the chance to run away from your life—away from what we may have had.”

  She cocks her head back to me, then turns, facing me, her arms across her chest. “We would have never had anything. You would have lost your job. I would have been ostracized for getting everyone’s favorite professor fired. We would have been—”

  “Great. You want to end that sentence with ‘great,’ right?”

  Her blank stare is devoid of emotion, but I hold onto hope. She cares. Maybe only slightly, but she wouldn’t have gotten so angry, wouldn’t have stopped if she wasn’t curious what I’d say, if she didn’t.

  We have a chance.

  I step toward her. “You are beautiful and brave. Smart and compassionate. You had my heart from the moment you offered your seat to a student who wanted to be hidden in the back more than you did. Your lip quivered as you walked to the empty seat in the front row, but you kept your head held high.”

  “My lip didn’t quiver.”

  “It did.” I take another step. “I wanted to kiss your fears and insecurities away. I’d never had an immediate reaction like that before. Try as I might, I couldn’t hide it from you.”

  We’re only a few feet apart, her eyes wide as she takes in my truths. I push a little farther, shortening the distance one more step.

  “I called on you more than I should have. Looked your way to see if you were watching me. Lingered by your desk. Prayed you’d ask me for help—anything to give me even a few more seconds in your presence. You intoxicated me.”

  Her gaze stays on mine as I close the gap between us, leaving just enough space for cool air to wisp between us. With shaking fingers, I brush a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “It’s been hell waiting for you to come back.”

  The air crackles between us. Electricity tingles my skin. When her tongue peeks out and licks her lower lip, it breaks the thin hold I have on my control.

  Gripping the hem of her sweater, I pull her to me. Our mouths connect in a kiss full of fear and anger, happiness and longing, time missed and what-should-have-been mingling with what-could-be.

  We’re breathless as she breaks away, our foreheads leaning against the other.

  “That was… One kiss has never been enough. I promised myself if we saw each other again, I would make sure you know how I feel and fight for you.”

  She moves back, her eyes full of something I’ve never seen. Confusion. Mischief. Revenge. Adventure.

  “You’ll fight for me?”

  “Of course.”

  Her lips part in a smile so beautiful, it’s blinding.