Page 23 of These Wicked Games (Wicked Sins #1)

ten

Oli

W e all get ready and I do my best to focus and keep my mind centered.

After Giselle gave me the key to the canceled room, I went in and crashed.

The bed was hard as fuck, but it didn’t matter.

I was alone for the first time in what seemed like forever on the road.

I was too tired to think much more on what had happened in our room, and I haven’t seen Andre until now, but I ignore him as best I can.

Thankfully, he hasn’t said a word to me.

“Kuli.” I lift my gaze and see Rod come in, but it’s what’s in his hand that pisses me off.

“I just fucking did it with the rest of the team last game.” Seriously, what the fuck! I know better than to argue, though. It looks bad for one, and it gets me nowhere for two.

“Sorry, just random, you know that. ”

I snatch the cup out of his hand. I know it’s not his fault, but I’m pissed and he’s in my line of sight.

I get up, and feeling eyes on me, I look to my left.

Andre’s watching me. His gaze flicks to the cup in my hand and I think I see something like shame in his eyes. Yeah, this is your fault, you prick!

Walking to the bathroom, for the first time I really don’t want to do this.

It’s simple, I know that. It just . . . pisses me off.

It’s like a constant reminder of what happened, of what Andre did to me.

It’s like this little pinprick of pain in my soul every single time I have to do this.

A little piece of me being chipped away.

I am . . . exhausted. So fucking exhausted.

I’ve never had another positive test. I’ve never taken anything to enhance my performance or to drown out the feelings that ball in my chest. I drink, that’s it. Even when I get injured I take my meds sparingly. I’m just so done with this.

Inside the stall I fill it up. At what point will it be enough? How many negative tests do I have to take, because by now they must be in the hundreds?

Walking out of the stall, I pause when I see Andre in the hallway connecting the bathrooms to the locker room. His hazel eyes flick to the cup again. “If you’re here to sabotage me, too bad. I keep this shit close now.”

Andre doesn’t reply, he just watches me. Maybe it was the shit night’s sleep, the way I came listening to him having sex, or just the utter defeat leaking into my bones, but I have no fight in me right now. “Where did you go last night?”

“Why the fuck do you care?” I wash my hands in the sink, trying so hard not to let him bother me. That’s all he does, though. He fucking bothers me. He’s under my skin, slowly separating bone from flesh.

Andre’s quiet for a moment—a goddamn blessing—but I can’t help looking up into the mirror at him as I finish washing my hands.

Since coming here he’s grown out his beard a bit.

There’s something different about him now than when I used to see him, but I can’t place what.

He looks, I don’t know . . . alive. Alive and happy.

I guess that makes sense. He can torture me from a short distance now.

“Oli, can we talk about—” I pick up the cup, ignoring him. I am absolutely not speaking to him about this. I hear the guys talking and laughing in the locker room, and I want to know how the hell Andre slipped in here. Where the fuck are Grey and Atlas? “Oli.”

“Fuck off. I mean it. I want you to fuck off. I have to defend you on the ice, but I don’t want shit to do with you outside that.

” Andre begins to open his mouth and my mind drifts back to last night.

“Listen to me clearly. I fucking hate you. I hate the sight of you. I hate being close to you. I. Hate. You. You are not my friend, you’re my teammate.

Outside of this you are nothing. Do you understand me? ”

I watch the way his throat swallows, and my chest tightens watching his hazel eyes glaze then harden on me. His jaw clenches tight. I’m surprised he doesn’t crack a tooth. Finally he gives me a stilted nod.

Good. Now let’s play a fucking game.

Body-checking Cedric Orlov into the boards as Atlas slaps the puck toward me, I look to my left and see Ryker waiting for me.

I drive the puck toward him, then fall forward, stumbling a bit but catching myself before I can eat ice.

Ryker skates toward the goal, then slaps it Atlas’s way.

He takes it, skates away, shooting the puck to Grey who looks behind him and sees Martin waiting.

As fast as I can, I skate toward Grey before he shoots the puck.

Another player on the Hydras knocks into him, letting another Hydra take the puck and skate toward our net.

Everything is happening so fast I don’t see faces or numbers, just blurry spots, while I try to outsmart everyone with a baby-blue jersey. The Hydra skates toward Andre. I swear to fucking god he better block it.

The number on his jersey comes into focus.

Rich Durzi, one of their better players, skates down the ice on a breakaway.

Andre comes out, getting ready, flinching in one direction as Rich fakes him out, shooting the puck.

Andre blocks the shot, but the victory’s short-lived when Colton goes for the puck only to lose it.

The Hydra shoots it back, passing it to another player who drives it home.

Fuck!

Six two. Six to fucking two.

While the Hydras celebrate, I skate down to the pathetic excuse for a goalie we have.

He can’t even blame me today. I’m not playing my best, but everyone else is on fire.

It’s Andre. He grabs his water bottle, shooting some into his mouth and shaking his head.

“Hey!” I snap. “I don’t know if you know this, but you’re supposed to block those shots. ”

His hard eyes level me. “Would be nice to get some fucking help! You haven’t stopped shit from coming my way.”

“How pathetic is it to have an actual fucking legend train you all your life, cheat your way to the top, and still be a shitty goalie. What are the mechanics of that, please enlighten me?”

He pushes me back, fire in his eyes. “Fuck you, Kuli.”

I shove him back. “Block the fucking shots. Players come. They shoot. You block. Do I need to break out the crayons? Is it too simple? Is that the problem?”

“Maybe I could get some help, yeah? Tell your team to actually make some fucking shots. Nineteen shots in the third period. What the fuck. They’ve shot forty-seven times, Oli! And where the fuck has the defense been?”

“We’re making shots, but you see, the other team actually has a goalie who knows how to fucking play!” He shoves me back harder, and I’m so shocked I stumble then fall on my ass.

Everyone in the arena quiets.

Slowly, still stunned, I get to my feet.

That fucking asshole! I charge him, spearing him down onto the ice.

I drop my gloves and don’t even wait for him to lose his before I take his mask and throw it across the ice.

I land a punch then too. The crowd roars with excitement.

I don’t give a fuck about any of it. Andre finally gets his bearings, gripping my jersey and throwing me off him.

He’s strong, I’ll give him that. Losing his gloves, he struggles to stand before punching me.

I swing back, then grab him to tackle him back onto the ice .

“Worthless piece of shit!” I grit, and he knees me in the stomach. I swing again, jerking back as I’m restrained. Andre somehow pulls away from the grip of the players holding him to charge me, but three refs snatch him by the jersey and he stops so he doesn’t hurt them.

I’m not as smart, struggling out of the hands holding me back.

Oh, I’m going to kill him. How fucking dare he.

I lunge, then feel someone grab the back of my neck.

Stop Kuli! You’re going to get suspended.

Knock it the fuck off, Kuli!” Atlas yells in my ear.

My breathing is heavy; I can’t get a hold on it.

I can’t imagine what I look like. All the blood in my body is in my face, my neck.

I’m boiling with rage. Andre’s hair is spilling down onto his shoulders, out of the tie it was in when we started this fight.

Sweat mats strands to his face, and he’s breathing just as hard.

Grey skates around me, looking me in my eye.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” He gets the other guys to let me go, then pushes me toward the tunnel.

Fuck, this isn’t good. My eyes lift up and it’s now I see the chaos we’ve caused.

The other team is watching us skate off the ice, and I feel nothing but shame.

I meet Coach Lafleur’s molten eyes when I pass the bench, then find where Jessica is standing pinching the bridge of her nose.

Shit! I glance back and Andre is skating behind me. He follows me out of the arena. The announcers say something, but I can’t hold my attention on any of their words, and can barely hear them as we’re escorted to the locker rooms.

My shoulders roll. I realize now it’s Wolf, Colton, and Atlas who pulled me off our goalie while three refs had Andre restrained.

Grey gives me a scathing look before leaving with Atlas right behind him.

Andre pushes through the door, one ref staying behind.

I know our coach will be joining us shortly.

He’s going to kill me. “Pro tip.” The ref smirks.

“You’re supposed to fight the other team. ”

“Oh shit, my bad. Got confused.” Andre grins. “No harm, right?” I’m going to fucking strangle him. As soon as this ref leaves.

Ignoring him, the ref looks back at me. It’s a pitying thing I want to wipe off his cocky face. “Rule number one, never touch the goalie. Especially your own.”