Page 15 of These Wicked Games (Wicked Sins #1)

I blend the wood, finishing up the ship, then set my pencil down.

I’ll do more tomorrow. My eyes are growing heavy and my mind just won’t let go of seeing Oli earlier.

He’d worn a loose, deep-red dress shirt, with the top four buttons open letting those tattoos that seem to cover every inch of him show.

That sexy son of a bitch.

What did seeing him tonight mean, that’s the question? Grey looked comfortable being there, but Oli looked like he wanted to jump out of his own skin. There was a woman with him, but Oli wasn’t really paying her much attention.

Nope. His attention was all on me.

I have to stop thinking about it. I’ll drive myself crazy.

I get up, putting my coloring book down to go into my room.

At least the mattress is new. Dropping into bed, I think of all the things I need to do this week.

I thought taking this day off would help my mind settle, but I just feel restless.

Starting over is a pain in the ass. I’m safe, though, I remind myself, and that thought makes me smile.

I’m finally safe.

“No fucking way.” Jess doesn’t look up from her desk—her eyes don’t even lift to greet me. Her pale blonde hair is pinned back in a slick bun, and her slender fingers type away furiously at her computer.

Jessica McLaren is every hockey player’s dream agent.

She is vicious, firm, and doesn’t compromise her players and their lives for money.

At the same time, she also has the highest paid athletes on her roster.

It’s almost like you don’t have to be a crook to make it in this business.

I’ve heard a lot of horror stories about agents taking advantage of their clients, and while my old agent was not like that, he was still picked by my father and did not have my best interests at heart most days.

“I haven’t even said anything.”

Finally she pulls her eyes away from the screen, looking at me beyond her glasses. “Let me guess, you fucked over your last agent when you abruptly left in the middle of the night with no warning or explanation and now you want me to sign you.”

“What if I told you I had a good reason.”

She steeples her fingers, giving me a sickening smile. “And what would that be, love?”

“I . . . can’t tell you.”

She sighs, going back to her computer typing again. “Have a good day, Andre.”

“Wait, wait.” I think. I don’t want to do this but it’s the only chance I have. “If I tell you why, and you decide not to be my agent, will you keep my secret anyway.”

She pulls her gaze from the computer to look at me. “That depends. Will I have to hide a body?”

“Uh, no.” I shake my head .

“Good, because I only do that for my clients. Which you are not. Oli is, though.”

“Jess—”

“He’s not going to be happy you’re breathing the same air as me, Andre. I’d be crazy to sign you.”

“When the fuck is he ever happy? Do you like money? This is business, and you know I’m worth being on your roster.” She stands and oh shit, I’ve made a mistake. While nearly two feet shorter than me, she rounds the desk with the energy of a lioness.

“Listen here, and listen real good.” Her voice is deadly quiet.

“My clients are family to me. I will not have you cheapen how I do business. Got it? And yes, Andre . . .” Her lips pinch.

“I do love money.” I bite my cheek to prevent a laugh.

“Now, tell me why the hell you thought it was a good idea to travel across the United States and join a team your rival is on.”

“My father beats me.”

It’s like I slapped her. “Wh—” She shakes her head. “What?”

I don’t want to burden more people with this but I need her, and she’s right, this is business, but I know she treats her clients well.

I need that. I need to know someone fucking cares about me, even if I’m paying her to care.

“He always has, but after my mother died it got worse. He trained me constantly. He wouldn’t let me stop some days even to eat.

I had to be the best. When I decided to be a goalie, I thought it would help.

I thought if I wasn’t playing the same position he had, he wouldn’t want to train as much.

Wrong. He’d shoot puck after puck, full force at me.

If I did poorly, he’d take my equipment and make me stand there and take hit after hit.

“It didn’t stop when I went pro either. I lived with him, and he had control over everything.

I have to get my own bank account this weekend, which is why I delayed the contract.

Not because I’m going to up and leave, but because I need a new bank account before that money hits.

Money I would give you a percentage of if you take me on.

” I know I’m doing shit backwards, but I have to convince her.

“Look.” I sit down in one of the seats by her desk.

“The night I left, he beat me and threatened me with a gun.” Her hand flies to her mouth.

“I needed to get out and the Otters needed a goalie. It was my out. I didn’t come here to personally irritate Oli.

Believe me, that was just a happy accident.

” Her lips purse. “Kidding.” I offer her a tiny smile, which she almost returns.

“I came here because it was the furthest and fastest I could get away from him.”

“Andre . . .” She shakes her head. “You need to tell someone he—”

“I can’t.” I swallow. “You don’t understand. No one will believe me. I just want to be free. He’s not a danger to anyone else. It’s just me. He just hurts me.”

She leans against her desk, wrapping her arms around her body.

The tan pencil skirt she’s wearing stops just below her knees, and her white blouse hugs her thin frame giving the illusion of curves.

She’s fierce and tough, and I fucking need her.

“Andre . . . Oli, he’s . . . You know the deal there, he . . . I mean with you—”

“I didn’t switch our cups, Jess. I know you know what happened between us.

I didn’t do it. I don’t have anything to hide, and I would never ever jeopardize his career like that.

I mean that. I swear on my mother’s grave.

I had nothing to do with it. Oli won’t believe me, but I’d never hurt him like that.

I lo—” I swallow the words because I hate the feeling they bring up.

Still, my intrusive thoughts can’t help filling in the blank .

I loved him.

She sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Anything else you need to tell me?”

“Oh um, I’m gay, but that’s whatever. I just thought you should know. I don’t want to come out publicly.” My mind goes to Oli and Grey seeing me at The Treasure House, but I don’t think Oli would do that, and if my assumptions about Grey are right, he definitely won’t.

“Christ.” She shakes her head. “This is a lot, Andre.”

“I know, please, I just, I need you, okay? You don’t get it, but I need you.”

“You could get someone who isn’t also representing Oli. I have some recommendations.”

“No!” My fists ball. “You give a shit about your clients, and that’s what I want.

I want someone, even if I’m paying them, to give a shit about me.

Please.” I feel a small hand on my shoulder, and I hadn’t even realized my eyes were pinched closed.

I open them slowly, looking up and ignoring the pitying look she’s giving me.

“A trial run,” she says softly. “For the rest of this year. I’ll see how it goes. I’ll have a contract drawn up this afternoon.”

“Thank you.” I scrub my face. “Thank you.”

“No bar fights, no arrests, no drunken disorderly conduct, and I don’t personally give a shit who warms your bed at night, but if you want to come out, all I ask is that you let me know first so I can help you.

Alright . . .” She comes around in front of me, leaning against her desk. “What do you want to do about Tripp?”

“Nothing.” I just want to leave that life behind .

“Andre, he’s being inducted next November. He can’t just . . .” It hits me then; she believes me. I need her on my side. “He’s going to be inducted next year and this is—”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to go public.” The fallout that would cause would be unbelievable.

No one would believe me anyway—not over him.

Tripp is a legend. It doesn’t matter that I’m his son.

“No offense, Jessica, but no one will believe me, and we both know why. They just won’t.

He’s White, he’s rich, and everyone fucking loves him.

He's the golden boy of hockey. The media shitstorm that would follow is something I want to avoid.” I don’t want people to pry.

I don’t want anyone digging into my past. I just want to be left alone.

I want to be free.

“Andre—”

I shake my head. He can live his life away from me. He can take his accolades, medals, and trophies, and shove them straight up his ass. “I just want to be free of him.” She pats the side of my face, and I ignore the way the simple warm touch makes me feel. “Thank you.”

“Oh, honey. Don’t thank me yet.” She laughs softly. “And let me tell Oli, please.”

“Okay.”

She sits back at her desk, typing away. I still have to make it to the arena for practice before the game, but I feel better than I have since coming here.

I stand, feeling ten times lighter than when I walked in here.

“Andre?” I pause at her door. “If you ever need to talk or need a therapist to talk to, I’ll help you, okay?

” She swallows, focusing a little too hard on her computer.

“I know how you feel, and I’m here to help. ”

“Thank you.”

“No, Andre.” She swallows a bit before unbuttoning her blouse.

I’m confused, as the first three buttons pop free revealing a camisole and—holy shit.

Burn scars decorate her otherwise flawless pale skin.

“I know how you feel. Anytime you need to talk. I understand, okay? If not to me . . .” She buttons her shirt back up. “Then to someone.”

I let that confession sit for a minute, although part of me wants to ask her what she means. I leave it at that, though, opening her door. “I will. Thanks. For everything.” I leave her office feeling better than I have for days now.