Page 25 of His Reward (Omegas After Dark: Omega Auction #2)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Lucien

It felt weird to be alone in my own home.

Even though either Mom or Boston showed up every day to drive me to rehab, even after the Christmas and New Year’s holidays came and went, when the January weather turned nasty and dumped either snow or ice on Barrington, I still spent more time alone in my condo than I’d ever spent before.

“You should come down to the new rink just to be around the ice and us,” Oliver said when he called me one day in early January, about three weeks before the Winter Games opening ceremony. “We’ve all definitely missed you.”

“I don’t want to get in anybody’s way,” I lied, absentmindedly touching the left side of my head.

Oliver laughed. “You won’t be in anybody’s way, believe me. We’ve all been dying to see you. Mike says he tried to drop by and visit you the other day but you were at rehab when he was free.”

I felt my whole body flush. Mike had called the week before, asking if he could come over on one of his rare days off from training.

I’d lied and said I wouldn’t be home. I wasn’t sure I was ready to see any of my old friends yet.

Or rather, I wasn’t sure I was ready for them to see me. Or what was left of me.

“You’re three weeks away from the Winter Games,” I told Oliver. “None of you need my ugly face distracting you when you’re so close.”

I tried to sound flippant, but I meant it literally. I still had a hard time looking in mirrors. I was just so…changed. It was worse than the pain of regrowing skin.

I could practically hear the pity in Oliver’s voice as he said, “You should be here with us. We all know that you were the one who had the best shot of standing on top of that podium.”

I swallowed hard, deeply aware of the tightness, tingling, and whispers of pain in the left side of my body.

“I’ll be back on top someday,” I said, trying and failing to sound confident.

“It’s just going to take a little more time and work before I get there.

And I need to convince my father that I’m serious about wanting to return to skating. ”

Oliver was silent for way too long on the other end of the line. It wasn’t great when he spoke, either. “Um, Lucien, you know that your father has started coaching Stephen Dousegard, right?”

It shouldn’t have, but the bottom dropped out of my stomach. “Oh yeah?” I said, my voice coming out too thinly to be casual.

“Yeah,” Oliver said. “And he’s been working with the Winter Games committee to have Stephen declared eligible for this year’s games.”

“He’s still a junior,” I said hollowly. I knew as well as anyone that he could qualify.

“He turned eighteen and had his first heat a few months ago,” Oliver told me. “Technically, he’s old enough to compete on the senior circuit. Your father is trying to have his junior championships declared sufficient for eligibility for the Winter Games.”

“That would suck for Mike,” I said. “Me dropping out meant he could take the last spot in male omega singles.”

“Yeah, he’s not happy about it,” Oliver said. “We all know your father gets his way in the skating world whenever and however he wants it.”

We changed the subject and talked about nicer things for a few more minutes before I told Oliver I had rehab soon, which I actually did. Once I ended the call, though, I flopped back on my sofa and just stared out the window at the grey, icy, windswept ocean.

My father had taken on another skater. Not just any other skater, Stephen Dousegard.

Knowing it had happened like some abstract concept was one thing.

Seeing it with my own eyes was another entirely.

For the last year, people had been whispering that Stephen would give me a run for my money as soon as he became a senior and that I’d better win gold at this year’s Winter Games, because there was no way Stephen would leave room for me to win it in three years.

Essentially, my father had just replaced me with a newer, better model.

Was there any point in trying to make a comeback in skating if Stephen Dousegard was already reaching for my gold?

Who was I without skating? I couldn’t do anything else.

I’d gotten okay grades in school, but I’d mostly studied with tutors while training.

I hadn’t gone to college. Skating was the one and only thing I’d set my sights on.

Was I even me without it? Maybe Father was right and all I was good for now was popping out babies, babies who might reach the heights that I had tasted and then lost someday.

A knock at the door shook me out of my increasingly depressed thoughts. I dragged myself up from the sofa and went over to answer it. By feel alone, I already knew it was Boston.

“Hey,” he said as soon as the door was open. His bright smile dropped as soon as he looked at me. “You okay?”

“Do I look that bad?” I asked in return, touching my mangled ear before I could force myself not to.

Boston knew. Whether it was the potential bond that seemed to swirl in the air whenever we were close or whether I looked as awful as I felt, he knew. He reached for me, pulling me into a hug.

“Hey, hey,” he said, enveloping me in his large, comforting body. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

I didn’t want to answer. I wanted to lose myself in my alpha.

I wanted to pack away everything that was Lucien Monteverdi, has-been figure skater, and become Boston’s omega, his slave.

I wanted him to tie me up and order me around, taking away my will and all the frustrations and disappointments that irritated me more than the itch of my healing skin, which was saying something.

I wanted him to knock me up and force me to have his baby for real instead of just pretend.

It was the easier option. Maybe it was the only option left for me.

“It’s nothing, really,” I said instead, leaning my forehead against Boston’s chest for a moment before pushing back and smiling weakly up at him. “I was just talking to Oliver about everyone’s prep for the Winter Games.”

Boston nodded. “Oliver Sagwa is one of your besties, right?”

I laughed, loving the way he was so earnest in trying to learn my life. “Yeah. Are you ready to drive me over to the hospital?”

It was a blatant change of subject and Boston probably knew it. He cut me some slack and helped me into my thick winter coat before walking down to the parking lot with me.

I should have been happy about rehab that day.

I’d hit a milestone. I’d gritted my way through all the pain and the fear as Dr. Barber’s team had gotten me over the first hurdle of healing and preventing my scar tissue from becoming a tight, restrictive mess.

My therapy was stepping down another notch today.

“Your mobility is in the ninety percent range for people with similar types and severity of burns,” Gemma said enthusiastically as she massaged the tissue on my side. “You’ll probably end up more flexible than me.”

I laughed, but underneath that, I was worried.

Skating at the level I was used to took so much more than muscles to jump with.

It required flexibility and artistry. It didn’t matter how much I worked to keep my body pliable, there were certain spins I simply wasn’t capable of now.

Spins were just as important as jumps to the judges.

“We’re so proud of him,” Mom said with a smile and a sentimental tear in her eye as she stood beside Boston, watching Gemma wrap up the treatment. “Lucien has come so far, and I know that the sky is the limit for him.”

Between Mom’s faith in me and Boston’s increasingly possessive presence, I was going to break down in tears again, a habit I’d worked hard to overcome.

All that sentimentality was blasted clean out of the water when my father marched into the therapy room. And he wasn’t alone. He had Jennifer Collier and a cameraman with him.

“There he is. Our little trouper,” Father said with a strange sort of pride that felt sharp and false instead of Mom’s warm and soothing pride.

“What the fuck, Father?” I blurted, reaching for the blanket on the side of the massage table where Gemma was working with me.

I had stripped down to my underwear so Gemma could get at all the scars. Mom and Boston were there with permission and I didn’t feel self-conscious around them anymore. Father hadn’t earned that level of trust, and inviting Jennifer and her cameraman in was a massive violation of my privacy.

“Pietro! What are you doing?” Mom snapped, sharing my aggravation.

Boston said nothing, but slipped into place between me on the massage table and the cameraman. He glared at the beta behind the camera and reached for the lens. The cameraman was smart enough to back away and lower the camera before Boston crushed it like it was made of sugar.

“Hi, Lucien,” Jennifer said in her usual bright and bouncy way. “Your father tells me today is a red-letter day for you. We wanted to come along and share it with you, and maybe share it with the entire skating world.”

“Excuse me,” Gemma said, coming to my defense as fiercely as Boston. “It’s a huge violation of medical privacy law for you to just barge into a treatment room like this. The hospital has a whole team of lawyers, and believe you me, we will not be afraid to use them.”

“I’ve spoken to the lawyers,” my father said, looking at Gemma like she was a bug. “We’ve been cleared to enter.”

“But you—”

“So, Lucien,” Jennifer cut Gemma off, maneuvering closer to the massage table so that she could wedge Gemma out of the center of activity entirely. “How goes your recovery?”

I’d scrambled to sit and put my shirt and sweatpants on during everyone’s protests, but I was reasonably certain the cameraman had already gotten a quick but good shot of my mangled body.

“It’s going fine,” I growled, then launched right into, “I don’t want you here.

This is private. You have no right to surprise me like this, without warning or permission. ”