In one of my lowest moments of college, I woke up overnight on the shower floor. My clothes were soaked and chilled my skin down to the bone. Shivers trembled through my entire body and my lips quivered violently as I stood up slowly against the painful throbs in my head.

With my wet clothes stripped off and puddled, literally, on the bathroom shower floor, I stumbled down the hall to my bedroom with just a faint moonlight path from the hallway window as a guide. The hallway blurred and my feet stumbled a few times, which pitched me against the wall for support.

Why the fuck did they put me in there? Or more importantly, why the fuck did I stay?

The rumpled spots in my white comforter triggered flashes of what I'd walked in on earlier tonight, and I groaned loudly. Once inside my now thankfully empty bedroom, I dragged my hands down my face, then flung myself onto my bed with a grunt. My heavy eyes slid closed and I passed out quickly.

A low groan vibrated my dry throat when sunlight streamed in through my window over my eyes. The memories of last night, what I'd seen in this same fucking bed, crashed back into my conscious faster than I woke up.

Fuck, what a mess.

Just when I thought things couldn't get more fucked up with Harper.

My shitty mood was only broken up with my phone ringing and the only thing that kept my hand from flinging it into my wall was the unknown caller ID.

"Hello," I grunted out with heavy, half-closed eyes.

"Always knew she'd fuck you over," a haughty, unfamiliar, male voice taunted me. "Fuck you, Harrison."

"What -" I started when the caller hung up. Before I responded, message after message flooded into my phone. At first, I thought it was spam but the contacts were legitimate ones, my teammates.

Evan: Nice, bro. Stupid, but nice. 👍

Griff: 🤮 I was eating bro.

Jax: The fuck, Jake? I can't unsee this shit.

Grant: Uhh... Jake? Is that you?

Another scroll down clenched my stomach inward.

Ellie: Jake!!! Did you know about these!?
Ellie: link
Ellie: I can't unsee this shit.

Dread filled my chest like slow-mix cement as I clicked on Ellie's link, which brought up some random girl's blog website. With its girly layout and swirly, script fonts, it looked weirdly similar to the 'I Hate Jake Harrison' page and... yep, included a link to that one.

Coupled with my hangover, my forehead throbbed painfully hard at the title's obnoxiously large, bold font.

Jacob Harrison, USC's quarterback and now top of my new naughty boys list!!! 🔥🤭🔥🥵🔥 link

Fuck, if Ellie's sent this...

I had no idea how Ellie had been sent a link to a Pornhub page but clicked on it anyway. My blurry eyes read, reread, and reread the title because I honestly couldn't believe it was fucking true:

"Jacob Harrison, USC quarterback just how his girlfriend sees him!"

"What the fuck..." I mumbled at my phone like it answered me, then rolled my thumb down the page.

It can't be. How the -

Seven explicit pictures were posted on the site, all of them me, completely nude.

Oh, fuck... How? Just how the fuck did this happen!?

By the time I dressed, washed my face with cold water, and popped a few painkillers, any sliver of doubt was washed over by the mounted evidence thrown in my face. All my social media accounts were spammed, over and over, with the same damn link as more and more sites picked up the 'news.'

TMZ was the worst, by far. Its article featured all seven pictures, with my cock blurred out in every one, cropped out, or covered with a large, black rectangle, or worse, an eggplant emoji. Most of the pictures were blurry, even grainy, but three aspects were completely obvious - it was me, I was naked, and while the poses were taken at different times in my life...

...I'd only ever sent these pictures to one particular person.

My feet stumbled down the hallway, until my toes pointed at Drake's door. With both fists, I pounded it so hard that it rattled in its hinges, then creaked open and revealed his hands rubbed at his eyes.

"Was this you!?" I roared out, pulled my phone out of my pocket, and jammed right up in his face.

"Huh?" His eyes read over the screen, then widened before his head shook. "No, I'm not on Pornhub, Jake."

"Are you sure?" I demanded. "Is there any fucking way your phone tap thing did this?"

"I disabled it," he mumbled quietly, then took my phone and worked it over with his fingers. "Unless..."

"Unless what!?" My arms crossed over my chest as his eyebrows drew together. His hand flipped my phone around, which showed my data usage charge had a giant spike in it on the rightmost point. "You had a data surge on your phone last night. Maybe you uploaded them."

"Drake," I spat out bitterly and pressed my hands into my biceps at the anger that flamed inside me. "Tell me right now and do not fucking lie. Did you do this?"

"Did I take the fucking pictures? No," he growled back and shoved my phone into the center of my chest. "Did I play girls that my teammate and roommate liked into climbing into your bed? No."

He stepped forwards and I stumbled back. Fire flashed in his brown eyes. "Did I selfishly take whatever I wanted from people, over and over, no matter how hurt they were in the process? No!"

What the hell?

"Drake..." My voice strained and I swallowed tightly. "I've always been upfront and honest. Emily means nothing to me."

"You're so fucking selfish, you really don't fucking get it." He reached up and clenched his hair between his hands. "You meant something to her, whether you cared or not, Jake."

"I didn't act on it, Drake," I warned him and gripped my phone tightly. "Tell me right now. Are you behind this shit?"

"No," he mumbled but the way his eyes dropped showed he wasn't entirely innocent. "Ethan Burke took them, along with the video. All I did was give him our wifi password last night."

"Fuck, why!?" My neck slacked and I groaned up to the ceiling. "The fuck did I do to that guy!?"

This is too much for football rivalry shit. Especially after we beat their asses on the field, this is personal.

In an eerily quiet, even tone, Drake replied, "Because you fucked over his sister."

I snapped my head upright and my mouth dropped open at him. "I... what?"

Think I would've remembered if I'd...

My hungover brain needed a moment before Drake's actual words clicked.

Wait, he said fucked over. Not fucked.

"Proving your own point, Jake." Drake rolled his eyes, then slammed his door shut.

"This isn't over!" I yelled into the door. He mumbled something back but I unlocked my phone and retreated back into my room.

My mind worked faster than my fingers, which didn't say much about my productivity level.

Burke's sister?

With a quick search, I pulled up 'Ethan Burke sister UCLA' and my stomach clenched at the returned photos of a short, brown-haired girl with sparkling brown eyes.

Taken a few years ago while she was in high school, my eyes took in Sarah Burke... except I knew her only as Scarlett.

Fuck, I'm such a dumbass for not knowing this.

Meade's ex-girlfriend is Burke's sister.

A weight sunk in my stomach until it filled with nausea. My phone slipped out of my hands and quietly bounced onto my carpet. Small trembles shook my fingers as I dragged them through my hair and clutched onto the back of my neck.

Fuck, how did I not know?

Harper's voice practically screamed the answer within my head.

Because I'm a fucking selfish prick who treats girls like absolute shit.

After Drake and I exchanged mumbled apologies, he invited me into my room for a damage control check. On my end, I traced enough of a trail to an initial post of the anonymous Pornhub site to links on Brit's accounts, which she took down but not before enough of her catty followers had chomped down on it. It went viral after Shayla shared it on her page, to fourteen million followers, and a thumbs down emoji.

Within an hour of Drake's digging, my own social media accounts were all locked for content review, so my only response was a team-released statement.

In their post-game interview last night, USC and Coach Campbell issued a lot of, 'No comment,' or 'news to us, so we're investigating'-type statements about the leaked video footage. I couldn't imagine Coach's reaction to this bullshit but he'd already called an emergency team meeting for this afternoon at one pm.

This is a fucking nightmare.

By the time the team assembled, I'd pieced enough of the truth that I pulled Coach aside as he walked towards the auditorium we normally used for film study and team meetings.

"It's my fault," I mumbled quietly, my chin dipped into my chest. "I'm sorry, Sir. Three years ago I slept with Ethan Burke's sister. I didn't know who she was and she... didn't take the rejection well. Ended up in the hospital overdosing on meds."

"Fucking hell, Harrison." His eyes closed under the weight of my words. "How could you let this happen?"

My shoulders shrugged. "She came to a party at our house on a bet, I swear I didn't know."

Thankfully, Coach jumped over the obvious fact I'd slept with Sarah and pieced together what followed. "So Burke was behind the video prank." He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at me. "Connect any of the rest of the dots before I go to the Athletic Department Head and Dean of the University."

"Sarah dated Kieran Meade at the time," I mumbled quietly. "He also dated Brittany Manfield... My ex-girlfriend, the -"

"The social media oversharer," he groaned and scribbled across his clipboard, then lifted his strained eyes over the edge at me. "Jacob, I am going to ask you these questions just once so you'd better be honest with me."

"Yes, Sir," I mumbled but looked straight into his eyes, weighed down with actions he didn't want to take but was obligated to.

"Were you aware of those photos?"

"Yeah," I nodded, heaved a sigh, and dragged the tip of my tongue over my dry lips. "I took them for my... girlfriend."

His gray eyebrows arched high. "The oversharer?"

"No, one from... high school. She transferred to UCLA this semester," the admission formed a pit in my stomach because I knew which direction that information steered Coach Campbell into.

"Name."

My eyes closed for a moment. "Harper Reynolds. I... don't think it was her though. If I get a guess then it was Ethan Burke."

"Still might not be a coincidence," he muttered on his clipboard. "Did you yourself share those photos online?"

"No." My head shook so fast, my forehead throbbed. "I really don't think she did either, Sir. She's not... like that. And I got an anonymous phone call this morning, some guy, right before they were leaked."

"Leaked, so not authorized... he muttered with a slight head shake but wrote that down too. "Jake, I appreciate the clarity but this shit runs deeper than my worst nightmares."

Guilt soaked my voice at the shame I'd brought onto him, the team, fuck probably the whole university. "Mine too."

"So, back up... You said Meade's involved too?" Coach scribbled down his name but my hand grabbed his wrist. "Was he the one who called you?"

"No. I don't know that he's involved..." I warned him. "Actually, he's probably not either. Kieran, Harper, and I were all friends in high school."

"Making your mistake that much more colossally stupid," he warned me with narrowed eyes. "Jake, you've really fucked up here and I won't sugarcoat how disappointed I am in your personal life's choices. All this bullshit before the playoffs?"

"Think that was the idea," I mumbled.

His salt and pepper-colored head shook again, he squeezed his eyes shut, and just shook his head. Back and forth, he looked like he wanted his own thoughts shaken out of his head.

"So... We've got a scorned brother, ex-roommate, ex-girlfriends plural, and possibly an ex-boyfriend retaliating." His eyes opened and roamed over his clipboard notes. "UCLA is already conducting their own investigation about the video prank, although it probably would've dead ended. Since you mentioned Burke and Meade, UCLA will dig deeper and dole out their punishments. I just need to know if there's anyone inside our team who was also involved."

"Maybe." My shoulders slumped. "Not that I know of for sure but I'll find out."

"So will I," he warned me with heavy eyes. "Jake, if we weren't headed into the PAC-Twelve playoffs next week then your ass would be benched, possibly kicked off the team, for the rest of the season."

"I'm sorry," I offered lamely as my eyes blurred over with hot tears.

The weight of Coach's silence hurt almost as much as his subsequent words. My shoulders rounded and curled inward. Only the soft ticks of the nearby wall clocked cut through the disappointment I felt, practically tasted in the air.

"Sorry isn't good enough sometimes, Jake," he finally said with a hand clamped on my shoulder. "But I stand by what I said on the field. Use this."

My eyes snapped up to his, which held the weight of a father who'd been disappointed in his son. Since mine no longer graced my life, Coach Campbell's look struck hard into my heart. I knew if he looked down on me, then he would've been incredibly disappointed in me too.

"Fix your life off the field so it doesn't spill over." Coach Williams squeezed my shoulder harder with each word he spoke. "I turn a blind eye to most of the partying but stop fucking random girls. From personal experience, what I've seen over and over from guys who've been there, it's meaningless and empty. Find someone who makes it a real connection, not a cheap, mind-numbing release."

My mouth opened in protest because that's what I'd done this season, at least I thought I had. He was right though, my past mistakes had led me here and I had no one to blame but myself.

Time I owned up to them.

"Anything else?" He tapped the tip of his pen over his notes.

"I want to be included on Meade's explanation," I pleaded quietly. "Harper's too, if they ask her."

"Not up to me but I'll pass along the request," he murmured quietly. "I'm sure they'll be speaking to you, at least behind closed doors."

"I'll do whatever you want."

"Good, because your schedule just got a helluva lot busier, Harrison." He smiled but the weight of the situation still hung heavy in his eyes. "This is an absolute PR nightmare. You've made some dumbass mistakes but I'm also hearing that you're also a victim here. I assure you that you'll have the team's and university's full support on that front."

"Thank you." My head dipped down until my chin pressed into my chest. Hot tears itched my eyes as they rose up, not from the stress of the situation but the shame that filled me over how disappointed he was.

How disappointed he should be.

His hand patted my shoulder again. "We'll get through it Jake. Just... stay offline and keep your damn dick in your pants until this clears over."

"Yes, Sir," I whispered and squeezed my eyes closed. Before the tears rolled out, I pinched the insides of my tear ducts and wiped them away.

Coach Campbell wasn't kidding, he conducted a full team investigation over the next two days. Every player was interviewed by him and representatives from USC's Athletic Department and the Dean's Office.

My own interview was two hours long, conducted twice. I was the first guy, then the last guy interviewed, but I openly answered any and all questions they threw at me. The dean's office representative was particularly hellbent on determining Harper's involvement, since she'd been identified by the media as the source of the leaked photos.

While I knew I'd only ever sent her those photos, I took full responsibility and said they'd been taken off my phone. The timing of the data surge on my phone supported that theory. I owed it to myself to confess my idiotic decisions but just couldn't believe Harper would've gone along with Burke's revenge.

Worst part? I completely understand why he did it.

In high school, I'd given out black eyes and broken jaws to any guy who looked at my sister Ellie. Fuck, three years after Ryder Stevens had sexually assaulted her, I'd broken his ribs and sent his pathetic ass to the hospital.

My only defense, which I openly expressed as much as I could during my interview, was that I hadn't known Sarah was his sister at the time we slept together or even when I saw her afterwards. Arrogantly, I hadn't even gotten her last name, or even remembered her real first name. While I had corroborations of my innocent ignorant, one painful fact remained obvious.

Drake was right. Kieran was right.

Harper was right.

I really do treat girls like shit.

Coach was right too; I needed my personal shit locked down. After my last interview early Tuesday evening, in a moment of pure disgust at myself, I paced around my room with my phone clenched tightly in my right hand. My shoulders and neck sagged with fatigue, but my brain clicked on overdrive.

This really is all my fault.

"Fuck!!" I roared out and pulled my right hand back, like I did during every passing play. My abs crunched just as hard, my thighs squeezed together, and I threw my phone with a grunt.

It slammed into the wall with a loud bang, a few pieces of black plastic popped off of it, and it slid down the wall onto the carpet. My nostrils flared wide, blood surged through my veins, and chest pitched with uneven breaths as I seethed internally with self-loathing deprecation.

I really am a selfish asshole.

My past night, hookups, moments that I used to boast about or looked back with a bloated ego replayed in my mind. Each random, detached experience slapped me over and over like a reality check.

The tension that wrenched my jaw shut softened when I stepped over the now black screen and saw my enraged reflection. My eyes lifted up to the dent I'd made in the drywall, then my hand followed. My fingers reached out and trembled when I realized it was smack in the center of the dent from where I'd smashed Harper's back against the wall.

Reporters were like sharks, when they smelled blood, they circled.

"Bro." Griff frowned at me from across the breakfast table. "This lockdown shit sucks. I need a candy run but those assholes are blocking my car. My stash is low."

'Those assholes' were the small encampment of reporters who squatted on the sidewalks around our house and within a one-block radius, desperate for any shred of gossip or sound bite.

"Delilah got blasted by reporters and won't come back here." Evan glared at me.

"I got stopped outside class today," Zach grumbled into his cereal.

"I got stopped at a Starbucks urinal," Jackson one-upped him.

I closed my eyes because while I knew this shitstorm was at its height, like all storms then eventually it blew over. But, fuck, the timing was awful. With the week in between our last game of the season and the playoffs, 'Jake Harrison's leaked nudes' was the headline on all the sleazy tabloid outlets.

My poor Mom and sister.

Publicly, both Ellie and Logan issued 'no comment' on their social media pages and deleted any and all questions. Privately, Ellie called - the house phone since I'd broken mine - and ripped into me about personal privacy and how stupid I was that I'd taken any of those pictures in the first place.

She's not wrong but hindsight is everything.

Courtesy of Evan's phone, I'd already apologized to Mom, who stayed largely silent. She was obviously disappointed in my poor judgment but also concerned over the potential fallout.

"For both you and Harper," she'd confessed quietly. "She's getting blamed, Jake."

"I know," I replied with a heavy sigh. "But I can't see her now or even say anything. It'll just draw more unwanted attention."

"You're forgetting that girl doesn't care what anyone else thinks of her," Mom replied in a dry voice. "But this is... a lot, Jake. Even for a strong person like Harper."

"I'm sorry Mom." Heavy-lidded with guilt, my eyes closed. "I'm really sorry."

I blinked away the conversation from my mind and glanced around the pissed off faces at the table. "Let's just get this over with."

Coach Campbell's investigations were confidential but I wanted the house air cleared. So, I'd called a house meeting and all twelve of us assembled in the living room. To a few complaints of being kicked out this morning, no outsiders were allowed because this had spilled over the line of personal and professional relationships.

"Listen up everyone," I barked out and paced a few times in front of the television. "I know this is hard but I just want to say -"

"Why the fuck did you do it, bro?" Griff glared at me. "Seriously, I could've happily lived without seeing your dick splashed everywhere, even censored, or asked about it every fucking five minutes."

I stopped and faced him, then locked my eyes onto every one of my roommates. "I took the pictures... but I only ever shared them with my girlfriend."

"So, she's just a vindictive -" Jackson started with a glare when I lifted up my hand.

"She didn't do it," I interrupted.

"Know that for sure?" he spat out in return.

"I don't." My eyes shifted to Drake, who looked down at his lap. "But they were taken off my phone, I know that much."

The entire room fell so silent, the only sound was the quiet hum of the kitchen's refrigerator. My hands clenched and unclenched as mentally I willed that Drake did the right thing and spoke up.

With a quiet sigh, he palmed the sofa and stood up. "If she did, it wasn't on purpose," he admitted. "I put a... tracker on Jake's phone. Someone hacked into it and... his private stuff was leaked."

"The fuck, Drake?" Evan stood up and threw the first accusation, followed by an uproar, but I stepped in front of Drake because he deserved a chance to come clean. "Did you leak his crying video too?"

"Evan," I groaned quietly at that reference.

"No." Drake's head shook back and forth. "I didn't leak that video."

"Everyone, just sit down and let Drake explain," I glanced over my shoulder at him. "Then we'll do a house vote as to what happens after we hear him out."

Drake's hard swallow hit my ears, but he silently nodded. While he spoke, his words were probably harder for me to hear than him to admit, but I deserved every one of them.

"I was... jealous," he mumbled. "And angry. Jake just takes whoever he wants and doesn't give a shit about anyone else in the process."

"Yeah," Evan stated bluntly. "But that's his fucking business -"

"Not when it involved someone, actually two someone's, that he liked," I interrupted.

"You're... defending him!?" Jackson's wide eyes weren't the only ones who looked at me incredulously.

"No." My head shook a few times. "I'm defending his right to explain himself, that's all."

"Ethan Burke approached me during training camp..." London revealed an insight I hadn't heard about. "He told me how Jake had screwed over his sister, to the point she almost committed suicide. Kieran Meade too, said you... fucked his girlfriend behind his back. And we all know what Jake does in this house but I'm literally right near it, every damn time. The shit I hear going in and out of his room..."

While a small part of me wanted to feel sympathetic towards Drake, the rational part of me suggested he could've just moved out into his own place if he'd wanted that much privacy.

My eyes closed for a few breaths, which twitched my nostrils but I let Drake continue. "I blew Burke off at first. He approached me again after the Notre Dame game, called you heartless and spineless, Jake. He already had the video of you hurt, showed it to me again and said that was going to be me once you were done teasing and fucking Emily... He said the girl I've liked since freshman year was next, after you got tired of Harper."

While internally I wanted to punch Drake's lights out, the low groans of disapproval lifted up both my hands.

"Then I saw Jake and Emily, in his room over and over. Saturday night... her being there naked, with Shayla... I just snapped. I had written a program that stole Jake's phone content remotely, but - but hadn't taken the pictures. Burke called me right after and... I was so mad, Jake, I'm sorry."

He paused for a moment, his eyes full of the same regret reflected in his voice, "I gave him our Wi-Fi password but I swear, Jake, I didn't leak your shit online."

"But you exposed him, sold him out," Evan spat out angrily, his eyes narrowed into thin slits. "The fuck, London!? You're supposed to be our teammate. Who gives a fuck whoever Jake sticks his dick into?"

"Would you have that reaction if I fucked Delilah?" I tossed back at him, which earned me a heated glare. "I don't like what Drake did but I'm... I can see how he thinks I'd deserve it."

Honestly, I probably deserve a lot worse, from the girls' perspectives.

How the fuck did Harper even agree to being with me again?

While the guys debated around me, with opinions and angry emotions flung around the room, Drake's shoulders slumped. The noise blurred into background fuzz for a few moments as my thoughts drifted back to my relationship with Harper.

I shouldn't even call it that.

With a blink, I brought myself back into the issue at hand. "Quiet everyone. Here's what we're going to do. Everyone votes their opinion, anonymously, about whether Drake stays or goes."

"From the team!?" Griff chirped up and I shook my head.

"From the house, team shit is Coach's decision." With a quick look behind me, Drake's eyes filled heavily but he nodded.

Silently, Grant stood up and walked into the kitchen. Normally, the way he had to turn sideways to pass into the room made me smile, but not today. He returned with a piece of paper, some pencils, and a pair of scissors, which he cut up the paper with into ten slips.

"Obviously Drake, you don't get a vote," I warned him as Grant passed out the papers. "But neither do I, unless we need a tiebreaker."

With a low grunt, I flopped down onto a sofa and cupped my face in my palms. After every guy scribbled their answer and passed the papers to me, I uncurled each one and mentally tallied up the votes.

Yes. Yes. No. No. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. No. No.

Fuck.

"Looks like -" I started when Drake's hand clamped onto my right shoulder.

"It's okay," he assured me quietly, then looked out at our housemates. "I'll go."

"Drake," my voice strained with a warning.

"It's... for the best," he muttered and headed upstairs without another word.