The Replay (Boys of Richland #3)

5. Cecilia

cecilia

. . .

"Pull around back," Jaymin says to her driver, her voice low but with the kind of authority that doesn't invite discussion. As the SUV shifts into reverse, moving down a narrow alley, I catch a flicker of dread in the pit of my stomach. The alley dead-ends, brick walls rising on either side like a tomb closing in around me. I peer out the tinted window, trying to pinpoint where we are, but nothing here looks familiar. Richland isn’t that big of a town, but this... this is unfamiliar territory.

The engine cuts off, leaving an eerie silence, and I feel the weight of it press against my chest. Jaymin unbuckles her seatbelt with a slow, deliberate click, her manicured nails tapping against the console before resting in her lap. The locks are still engaged. My breath catches. I listen for that telltale click of the doors unlocking, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the driver’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror—dark, impassive, waiting.

Swallowing hard, I try the door handle, pushing with my shoulder.

It doesn’t budge.

Shit.

I shove against it again. This time a little harder.

Nothing.

Jaymin sighs softly, as though mildly inconvenienced by my panic. The driver, without a word, opens his door. The dull thud echoes in the narrow alley, and my pulse kicks up a notch. When he rounds the car and yanks my door open, I almost stumble out. His large frame blocks the exit, towering over me with a blank expression, as though this is just another Tuesday afternoon for him. Keys jingle in his hand, a subtle reminder of who’s in control here.

“If you’ll follow me,” he says, his voice calm, too calm. His hand gestures toward the stone steps that lead to an old wooden door. But my legs refuse to move. I glance down the alley, weighing my chances. The walls feel like they’re closing in. How the hell do I get out of here?

My mind runs a mile a minute while my body stands frozen on the pavement. His hand flexes, and he presses a button on the key fob. The locks disengage. Jaymin opens her door and steps out before I’m able to react.

“Miss?” With a huff, I step toward the driver and allow him to herd me toward the stone steps where Jaymin now stands. Her purse is clutched between her hands. The same purse that has my freaking cell phone in it. She climbs the steps before unlocking the heavy wood door and stepping inside. It’s obvious Jaymin expects us to follow, but I don’t. My sandaled feet are frozen on the bottom step as I stare up into the open doorway. Dread sits heavy in my stomach, the doorway like an open maw waiting to consume my soul as soon as I pass the threshold. Going inside is a mistake. And I’ve made enough mistakes for one day.

Taking a step back, I’m met by a large palm in the center of my back. Swallowing hard, I look up and over my shoulder at the driver. He has over a foot of height on me, and with him this close … I suck in a ragged breath and step forward, putting some much-needed distance between us.

"You could just let me go," I mutter, my voice shaky but defiant. "Say I ran off, kicked you in the balls, whatever. It could work." Please. I silently pray. Just say yes. Say you’ll let me go.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he's fighting back a smile, but there’s no humor in his eyes. He steps closer, his hand resting firmly on the small of my back, and my breath catches in my throat. I can feel the warmth of his body, the press of authority in that simple touch. I’m being herded like cattle up the steps and through the open door.

As we ascend the steps, dread builds, pooling low in my belly. The wooden door creaks open, revealing Jaymin who is seated in the formal sitting area.

Her red-manicured nails drum against the arm of the sofa. There’s cold calculation in her gaze. “Have a seat,” she says as soon as I step into the room.

“I’d rather stand,” I tell her. “What is this place?” I’m halfway through the door when I feel the weight of the driver’s hand leave my back. Too late to turn back now. My feet drag on the polished wood floors as I’m led deeper into what looks like a colonial-style sitting room, but everything here feels wrong. The air is too still, the walls too clean. It smells faintly of pine and disinfectant, like someone wiped away any trace of life here. There are no photographs, no personal touches.

The sitting room is laid out more like a coworking space with three large wooden desks positioned against the back wall, each desktop neat and orderly. There are two more desks arranged on the opposite side of the room and a small bar top in one corner that’s set up as a coffee station. In the center of the room is the sofa Jaymin sits on with a pair of masculine club chairs seated directly across from it and an ornate wooden coffee table nestled between them.

The walls themselves are painted a deep green with picture frame molding adorning each wall. It’s pretty, something you might find in a magazine, but there’s no warmth here. Just clean lines and a cold, professional sterility.

“This is one of my company's properties. Mostly used by our associates. But, for today’s purposes, it will serve as a waiting room." Her voice is smooth, but there's a sharpness underneath, like a blade hidden in silk. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Comfortable? Right.

“I’m good,” I bite out, my arms folding across my chest as I take a step closer to the window. The glass feels cold beneath my fingertips, the world outside so close and yet so far away.

“Very well.” Jaymin’s eyes narrow slightly, but her expression doesn’t change. She leans back into the plush cushions, unbothered. “While we wait, I believe it’s prudent to discuss the pending charges against my son and what you can expect should this move to trial.”

She’s kidding, right?

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re my rapist’s mother.” The words spill out before I can stop them, venom coating every syllable. “Pretty sure it wouldn’t be prudent to talk to you about anything.”

Her lips press together in a thin line, but she doesn’t flinch. “There are no charges of rape being brought against Austin,” she reminds me coolly, her tone clipped.

“Right. My bad.” My voice cracks with sarcasm.“It’s attempted murder this time around. I sometimes get all of the times your son has attacked me a little muddled. You know, since there are so many.”

She huffs out a breath as I fight to keep hold of my temper. The anger at least helps keep the panic at bay.

"I understand you have a tumultuous relationship with my son," she says, her voice as cold as the room around us.

I snort. Tumultuous? The word grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. "Austin hurt me," I say flatly, my voice cutting through the air like glass. "He held me down while his friends drugged and assaulted me. He laughed while they did it and then he raped me himself,” I grind the words out through gritted teeth. Then, when I told the University what happened, you and your husband stepped in and defended him. You threw your weight and money around and made it all go away. He didn’t even get a slap on the wrist. No suspension. Nothing.”

Jaymin’s expression remains blank, unbothered. Her gaze stays steady, cool and collected, like none of this is affecting her in the slightest.

My eyes screw shut as angry tears burn the backs of my eyelids.

“I’m—”

“No,” I grit my teeth, the anger bubbling up again, white-hot and suffocating. I need her to understand everything her son has done to me and that she’s played a role in it. “You didn’t just protect him—you enabled him. You made him invulnerable. Whatever worries or doubts Austin might have had, whatever consequences he may have braced himself for, it all went away. You showed him he could hurt people and get away with it. That being called out for his crimes was nothing more than a minor inconvenience that money could easily sweep away. So, of course, he didn’t stop there.”

Tearing my gaze from the window, I turn to face her, my anger and frustration mounting. Does she see her own complicity in all of this? “After he got away with it, he taunted me. He took every opportunity to throw his actions in my face and told anyone who would listen how much of a slut I am. He said I retaliated with lies after being stung by his rejection. He made people hate me. My own friends turned their backs on me.” I pause just long enough to catch my breath. “Austin took everything from me. Every shred of my dignity. And it still wasn’t enough.”

The silence in the room is deafening. My heart is pounding in my chest, my pulse so loud in my ears that I can barely hear myself think. I want to scream, to throw something, but I know it won’t make a difference. Jaymin won’t crack.

“Your son took pleasure in my discomfort. In my pain. When I didn’t give him the reaction he wanted, he picked and poked and prodded some more. He threatened to silence me for good and slammed my head into a brick wall on campus when he thought I told one of his teammates what he did to me. Spoiler alert, I didn’t,” I bite out. “And then he tried to drown me in a fucking swimming pool after his own actions got him kicked off the team.”

Adrenaline floods my veins just thinking about that day. I didn’t think I was going to make it. He held me down for so long …

I watch her face closely, waiting—hoping—for some sign of guilt, some flicker of regret in her cold eyes, but there’s nothing. Her expression is like stone.

“Tumultuous is putting it mildly, but no, I have no relationship with your son. He is my attacker, and I, his unwilling victim. Nothing more.”

“I sympathize with what you’ve been through.”

I snort. Sure, she does.

Jaymin’s lips press into a thin line, her gaze dropping for a split second before returning to mine. "I didn’t come here to fight with you," she says, her voice calm but firm. "I came here to prepare you. You deserve to know what’s going to happen next.”

I blink, the confusion cutting through my rage like ice water. "Prepare me? For what?"