Page 2 of These Wicked Games (Wicked Sins #1)

As if fate is listening, Tripp comes in with our team doctor.

“Hey, boys.” He looks at me and I feel myself standing straighter while Andre rolls his eyes.

Tripp Ostrander is a big man, nearly as tall as my six four, and he’s gained a little weight since his days on the ice.

He’s White, with brown hair that’s buzzed now, and his green eyes seem to look right through me.

He looks like an army general instead of a former hockey player—more than a little intimidating.

I don’t see any of Andre in him, though.

I’ve seen photos of his mother. She was Mexican, with beautiful, curly black hair just like Andre’s, and these warm brown eyes . . .

Andre has her eyes. They’re hazel, but just as warm.

Okay that’s not . . . I don’t . . .

There I go. I don’t know what’s wrong with my brain.

More and more these thoughts have plagued me and I don’t understand them.

Objectively, he is very attractive. Nothing weird about that, right?

It’s an observation is all. I’m not attracted to men, but I can admit that Andre’s beautiful, in the way that beautiful people are attractive.

He has tawny brown skin, and freckles sprinkled across his nose spilling onto his cheeks.

His loose curls are pulled into a ponytail right now, a little frizzy from the sweat and static of his helmet.

His lips are full and always make me laugh at the most ridiculous shit that spills from them.

When he’s laughing, dimples pool at the corners of his mouth.

“Ow!” Andre elbows my side. “Sorry, what?”

“Spacing out there, Oli?” Tripp cocks a strong brow at me.

“Ah, no sir, sorry um, just tired.”

“You really worked your ass off last night. Take it easy tonight. We have a game tomorrow. ”

“Yes, Coach.”

“You both need to take a test before you leave,” he says, and I see the doctor has two cups in his hand.

“Everyone else did theirs while you two were on the ice. Great practice by the way.” The doctor hands us the cups and waits.

“I think we can give these two some privacy . . . unless you want to hold it for them?” Tripp jokes, but the doctor doesn’t laugh.

I take the cup and a sharpie to write my name with, leaving them both on the bench for when I go to a stall. “I can bring them to you,” Andre insists. “It’s fine. We’re going out after this anyway.”

The doctor looks uncomfortable but eventually nods, turning to head out of the locker room.

“Just bring them down to the office when you’re done. And boys . . . do not get into trouble tonight.” Coach says this more to Andre than to me.

“Aye aye, captain.” Andre salutes him, and I think I see anger flash over his face before he shakes his head slightly and leaves.

Andre holds nothing but contempt for his father, and I don’t get it, but maybe I’d feel differently living under his roof.

He’s not Tripp Ostrander at home, he’s just Dad.

Finally he leaves us both to it, and I don’t know how Andre isn’t shitting bricks right now.

It’s like he doesn’t even care, and maybe I just don’t get it because hockey is the only thing I live for aside from my mother.

Andre pulls his long hair out of its ponytail, shaking it out.

Strands still cling to the sweat on his face.

Looking at my friend, I guess I live a little for him too.

I got signed straight out of high school last year, and then met Andre when I joined the team.

My plan was to go to college but I didn’t have the money, and this was the fastest track I could think of to get to my goal.

When I found out Tripp would be coaching this team, it felt like everything was falling into place.

Then my mother got sick. Now it’s like I’m stuck inside an hourglass, slowly drowning under the sand.

Andre is quiet for a moment, and I turn to watch him staring at the cup. “This is it. I’m about to be in a shitstorm of trouble,” he says.

“I thought you didn’t care.”

He shrugs. “I don’t. I mean, I do. I don’t know.

I mean, I fucked up and I only have myself to blame.

” His hazel eyes lift to me. I have to admit to myself, they are striking.

“It’s not like I was thinking about much when that guy was sucking my dick.

Have you ever had a blow-job high, Oli? Incredible. ”

My stomach dips a bit and I have to look away. This is what I mean . . . This warmth fills my stomach, but this time rage weaves its way through that warmth. What’s wrong with me? My mind is a mess today. “Hey, no matter what, I’m here. Whatever you need, Dre.”

“You mean that?” He smiles now, genuinely. “Even if I get kicked off?”

“Even if you’re cheering me on from the stands.”

“Oh, Kuli!” He grins wider, getting up and sidling over to me. “I am your biggest fan!” He bats his lashes before pinching my waist. “I never thought of myself as a puck bunny, but ya know, for you I’d make an exception, baby.” He pinches me again.

“Fuck off with that.” Something flashes in those eyes before he straightens. “You okay? Really?”

“Uh, yeah, just bracing myself for the ass beating I’m about to get when I fail this drug test.” He laughs with zero humor .

“Tripp will just put you in a program. He won’t hurt you. You’re his son, and an amazing goalie.”

His eyes go faraway before he nods. “You’re right. Let’s get this over with.”

I come out of the bathroom writing my name on the label, then look up to find Andre sitting on the bench, marker in hand. “What the fuck is that?” I look at his cup with the little hearts drawn all over it on the plastic. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“You took too long to piss. I got bored.” He shrugs. “Come on, let’s—”

My phone rings. I pull it out, seeing it’s my mother.

“Shit, it’s my mom.” I lift the phone to my ear, still holding the cup of piss.

“Hey, Ma.” I look at Andre, holding my finger up.

My mother’s Russian comes fast but I catch the words quickly.

Hospital. She’s in the hospital again. Andre’s brows pinch.

I switch to Russian. “Ah, one second. I’m still at practice.

Yes. Yes.” I smile as she forgets what she’s saying and asks me about practice. "One second, I just have to—”

“Hey, I’ll take it,” Andre says to me. “I got it. You talk to her. I’ll wait for you, take your time.”

“Thanks.” Andre takes my cup.

With him gone I relax, sitting on the bench, now fully focused on her.

“What happened?” She alternates between Russian and English, telling me she fainted—thank fuck for the life-alert bracelet—and she’s in the hospital.

They’re just keeping an eye on her and she wanted me to know.

I hate being away from her. “Where was Carla?” Her nurse, who now lives with her, costs us a fortune, and this farm league pays basically nothing.

As it is, per game, I only make a few hundred.

Still, it’s the best I can do before I get signed.

And I will get signed. I’ll put myself in as much debt as I need to.

She tells me she was making her dinner when it happened, and I can’t be too mad, even though I want to be. Not at her, or Carla. Just in general.

“Enough about me. How is my zvezdochka ?” Little star.

I smile despite the worry and how weak she sounds.

Despite being nearly six four, I will always be her little star.

I’ll always try to protect her. She’s done so much for me, and I’m terrified I won’t get the chance to return everything she’s given me.

“There were Viper scouts at the game last night.” She gasps and I smile wider. “I’m getting in, Ma. I will. Then we’ll get you a better hospital. Round the clock care. You won’t have to lift a finger.”

“That sounds awfully boring,” she teases, and her thick accent feels like home.

“It’s going to happen.”

“If anyone can make it happen it’s you, zvezdochka. ” I can practically see the smile in her voice. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Ma.” Fuck, I wish I could see her.

I can’t take her away from the hospital, though, or her home.

Only a few more weeks before Christmas break and I can go home.

I still haven’t figured out how to get the ticket money, but I will be home, even if I have to walk from New York to Virginia myself.

I hang up, needing a minute. Every time I talk to her I feel like it’s going to be the last. “There’s hope.

I’m going to beat this.” And I know she will fight, but I’m tired of seeing her fight.

All she’s done my entire life is fight. Fight to leave my father.

Fight to live in this country. Fight to feed us.

Fight to let me play hockey. I’m sick of her fighting.

She deserves to have a life free of responsibility .

Getting up, I head to the showers and finally wash the sweat away, and by the time I’ve changed, Andre still isn’t in the locker room.

Maybe he’s with his father or waiting for me outside.

Opening the doors, I walk down the hall to the medical room, but pause when I see Tripp and the team doctor talking frantically.

Tripp’s eyes lift to mine, turning to stone on me. “Oli, get your ass in here right now!”

What the fuck. As I come into the room, Dr. Wexel’s nervous eyes pass over me before looking back at Tripp. “Close the door, Oli.”

“What’s going on? Where’s Andre?” Oh shit, they found out. Where is he? Did they kick him out?

Ignoring me, Dr. Wexel pushes the tiny piss cup toward the edge of the desk. Little hearts in black sharpie. Why is he showing me Andre’s cup? What the hell is . . . That’s when I see it.

The label.

My name.

No wait, no. Fuck no.

“That’s not mine,” I say. I feel my throat begin to close. “That’s—”