The Quarterback’s Broken Girl

Elise’s POV

All men terrify me. I have never confessed this to anyone, and I have never asked for help. My fear started the night I was assaulted. Nobody knows what happened, and part of me is convinced nobody would ever believe me.

Why would they? I am not the kind of girl who stands out. Small, quiet, brown-haired, always hiding behind books while everyone else gets on with their lives. Invisible. Forgettable. Yet it was one of the most admired football players on campus who forced himself on me.

Why him? Why me?

Those questions burn inside me, but they are also the reason I stay silent. Who would believe me if I told them Julian Ashford had shoved me against a wall and taken what never belonged to him?

Even now, the memory makes my stomach knot. It happened at my very first frat party, before the semester even began. He was drunk, but that does not excuse anything. What he did was monstrous.

And somehow, I am the one carrying the shame, as if I were the guilty one. Sometimes, the weight of it becomes so unbearable that all I want to do is collapse and cry. But crying will not change what happened. If I ever spoke about it, I know most people would not take my side.

So I stay quiet. I bury it deep and tell myself I can survive without help. Therapy is too expensive, and there are people in the world suffering far worse than I am.

At least I am not pregnant. I checked again and again, terrified of what the result might be. Maybe this fear will fade one day. Maybe I will eventually learn to breathe normally around men again.

But for now, I sit in the library, pretending my thoughts are not loud enough to drown me out. My laptop hums as I work on the assignment our professor gave us. He paired us up in the hope that we would make new friends, but my partner has yet to show up.

Honestly, I am relieved. I was supposed to be working with Damien Lancaster, and while every girl on campus squealed at the thought of being paired with him, I wanted no part of it.

Damien Lancaster. Even his name carries weight. Girls describe him using every cliché imaginable: gorgeous, tall, broad, impossible to resist. One girl even begged the professor to switch places with me just so she could work with him. I will never understand why.

I stretch, covering a yawn, and decide to pack up. Hunger gnaws at me, and maybe my roommates have left something in the fridge. I reach for my laptop, ready to slip away unnoticed.

That is when I hear heavy footsteps approaching.

“Hey, you!”

I turn slowly, my chest tightening.

A towering figure strides straight towards me. His grey hoodie stretches across shoulders built like stone, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his intense gaze.

Football. Wrestling. Some brutal sport that demands strength and power. He has to be at least six-foot-five, maybe even taller. He looks like he belongs in a movie, not in this quiet room.

And he is breathtakingly handsome, in a way that steals my breath before I even realise I am holding it.

I stand frozen, staring at him like a fool while my mind goes completely blank.

“There you are,” he says, his deep, commanding voice filling the space as if he owns it.

My lips part, but no words come out.

“You are Elise Hawthorne, right?”

I swallow hard. “Yes.”

His gaze holds mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. Then he steps closer, so close that his hoodie nearly brushes against me. The table presses into my back as the space between us disappears.

“To think I would find you in the library,” he mutters, almost as if speaking to himself. “Looks like my luck is finally turning around.”

I cannot stop staring. His shoulders are impossibly broad, and he carries himself with a confidence that borders on arrogance. He may be the most intimidating man I have ever met.

“Are you even listening to me?”

No, I am too distracted by the sight of you.

“Y-yes…”

He sighs in frustration. “The professor gave you my number. Why did you not text or call me? We are supposed to work together.”

“Uh…”

“What was that?” His voice drops as he leans closer, pressing me further against the table. My pulse races so fast that I can hear it pounding in my ears.

“Wait. Are you slow or something?”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

He tilts his head, studying me as if he is trying to figure out what is wrong with me. I hold my breath as fear rushes through me. What if he actually hurts me?

I remain completely still, unable to move under his stare.

“Are you on drugs?”

I shake my head quickly.

“Then why have you not called?”

“C-called?” The word tumbles out of my mouth.

“Yes, Elise!” His voice booms through the room as he towers over me. “We are supposed to work together. Explain yourself. Why did you not text or call me? Say something already!”

Work together?

“I…”

His eyes narrow, and his patience seems to be running out. “Louder. Speak like a normal person. Nobody can hear you when you mumble.”

I swallow hard, fighting the sting in my eyes as tears threaten to fall. I run my tongue nervously over my lips, doubt churning inside me. Could he have mistaken me for someone else?

“I am… sorry. But who exactly are you?”

The moment I ask, he lowers his arms and exhales through clenched teeth. He steps back, finally giving me some room to breathe.

Even with the distance between us, I cannot stop staring. He is massive, the kind of man who makes you wonder if he was raised on raw meat and iron instead of ordinary food.

He is enormous. And dangerously attractive, though there is nothing comforting about it. He looks like the kind of man who could either protect your life or end it, and the thought sends shivers down my spine.

Without another word, he strides past me and pulls out the chair opposite mine. He sits down, his expression flat, and gives me a single command.

“Sit.”

My heart skips a beat as I blink at him. “Are you… serious?”

Judging by the way his jaw tightens, he is struggling to contain his frustration.

“Seriously? Do you really not know who I am?”

I shake my head.

“There are posters of me all over this campus, and you have never seen one?”

Another shake of my head.

He groans and runs a hand through his sandy hair, frustration written all over his face.

“Unbelievable. I am Damien Lancaster, your project partner. What is wrong with you? Do you have trouble speaking?”

No, nothing is wrong with me. I am just terrified of men, especially men like Damien Lancaster. Unfortunately, he is my project partner.

Wait. Did he just say there are posters of him all over campus? Why would there be posters of him? Never mind. I should probably answer before he loses his patience again.

In a shaky voice, I manage to say, “No… I can talk fine.”

“Then speak up, alright? I am not failing this class because you refuse to use your voice.”

His gaze shifts to my laptop, and he pulls it closer as if he already owns it.

“What have you got so far? And why are you still standing?”

I lower myself into the chair, moving slowly because my nerves have left me feeling weak. Somehow, I manage to answer.

“I have not gotten that far yet.”

Damien rolls his eyes and drags my laptop towards himself with one large hand. He studies the screen, humming as he scans the details.

My pulse skips and stutters, and my breathing becomes uneven. Being this close to him makes me dizzy, as if my body has forgotten how to function in his presence.

He raises an eyebrow. “Who in their right mind picks Sweden for a presentation when there are so many better options?”

“Uh…”

“And this guy in the picture, what the hell is he doing? Is he skinny-dipping?”

He glances back at me, his expression unreadable.

“You look sweet and harmless, but maybe you are not. Nobody can be trusted these days.”

What? Is he seriously talking about the man in my slide who is jumping off a cliff into the water?

“And by the way, it is Norway. Not Sweden.”

His eyebrows shoot up, but his hard stare quickly returns.

“I knew that. The flag gave it away.”

Yeah, right. Something tells me he had no idea.

“Good,” I mutter under my breath.

At least I was right about that. I am not completely clueless.

For some ridiculous reason, I almost smile. Damien Lancaster is… different.

His eyes narrow, as if daring me to contradict him.

“I was testing you.”

Then he points two fingers at his eyes before directing them towards me.

“Just making sure you are focused.”

Focused? Is this guy for real?

I study him carefully, half-convinced that Damien might actually be unhinged, but I know better than to say that aloud. He looks like the kind of man who could crush me without even trying, so keeping my mouth shut feels safer.

“Are you not happy with Norway as the topic?” he asks.

Norway is stunning. How could anyone not be happy with it?

“No, Norway is fine.”

He pushes my laptop back across the table, and my heart thunders painfully.

“I will overlook the fact that you never called or texted. You have done well enough. But tomorrow, we are coming here straight after class. Together. Understood?”

My lips part, but the words do not come quickly enough. His eyes flash with impatience.

“Do you understand, Elise?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Y-yes.”

His gaze travels slowly over me before meeting my eyes again. There is something commanding about the way he looks at me, as if he is used to being in control and having people bend to his will. It shows in every movement, every glance, every ounce of confidence he carries.

“Louder.”

“Yes!” My voice cracks under the weight of his stare.

“I cannot hear you.”

I draw in a shaky breath and force myself to speak more clearly.

“Yes. We will come here tomorrow after class.”

His eyes narrow as if he is making sure I understand the agreement.

“Together.”

Bossy does not even begin to describe him.

“Together,” I echo softly.

“And you will not stand me up.”

As if I would dare.

“I will not stand you up.”

“Finally. Loud enough to hear.”

Damien rises to his full height, towering over me, still without offering even the smallest smile.

“Keep working on the presentation.”

That is it? He is just leaving?

I find my voice again. “Where… where are you going?”

One eyebrow rises.

“You are not hungry? I am grabbing us a pizza from down the block. Half an hour. You will still be here.”

Before I can protest, he strides away without hesitation.

I stare after him, stunned.

The arrogance of that man.

You will still be here.

Seriously?

A cold shiver runs down my spine. Men like him, men who act as if giving orders is their natural right, terrify me. Damien Lancaster terrifies me. He looks dangerous, yet he is so strikingly handsome that it leaves me feeling even more vulnerable.

Another tremor runs through me, and I struggle to imagine ever feeling safe around him.