The next morning, one side of Stacia’s face had swollen up to the approximate size of a hot-air balloon. And no matter how much ibuprofen she had taken or ice she’d put on it, the swelling didn’t really go down, and her head hurt like a b***h.
“You look fine,” Bryna insisted for the umpteenth time that morning. “You can cover it with makeup.”
“Do you think the bastard will get kicked off the team?” Stacia asked as she assessed the damage.
“Eric is handling it. Just let him deal with it.”
“So…no.”
Bryna sighed. “I don’t know what will happen. If they found cocaine on him, if there were some proof that he was the one who’d hit you, then absolutely. But you two were alone in your bedroom. There were no eyewitnesses. I don’t know what will happen.”
“This is bullshit.”
“I agree.”
“I bet
