Page 45 of These Wicked Games (Wicked Sins #1)

twenty

Andre

W alking into the locker room, I’m on high alert. I haven’t answered any of Oli’s phone calls or texts. I don’t want to deal with his shit right now. He kicked me out like I was some one-night stand.

That’s because you are.

Stop it! I’m so tired of the ugly voices in my head. I’m tired of feeling like this.

Sitting down on the bench, I focus on getting ready. I feel like everyone’s staring at me even though I know they aren’t. Logically, I know that no one else knows what’s going on between Oli and me. Well, except Grey now. Maybe Atlas. I wonder what excuse Oli told him.

Ugly and potent, my thoughts eat at me when I think about what he may have said.

He’s nothing.

It was one time.

It’s just sex.

All of the thoughts that months ago were true for me.

What we were doing was just sex. But shit has changed and I don’t know .

. . at one point everything became so real for me.

Maybe it was on the anniversary of his mother’s death.

Maybe it was before that, when he bought me a coloring book.

Maybe it was that first night Oli rammed himself down my throat.

I sure as fuck have been slowly losing my mind since then.

No matter when it changed, though, I can’t make my mind or my heart go back to before.

And I don’t want it to. I finally have my friend back and I don’t want to let go now. Not when I have him the way I’ve always dreamed I could.

I feel eyes on me and lift my own, expecting to see Oli, but I see Grey instead. He’s trying to watch me subtly, without really looking at me. I look away, I can’t help it, but confusion slaps me when he grabs his gear and squeezes my shoulder as he passes me before walking away.

That one gesture calms all my nerves.

Though they ratchet up a second later when Oli comes into the room. It’s like I feel him before I see him. I look up, watching him walk in fully dressed in his jersey and gear. His gaze finds me and something unreadable fills his blue eyes. I look away as he comes toward me.

He kicked me out like I was trash. Like I meant nothing.

Coach saves me a moment later as he comes into the locker room with a wide smile. “Alright, listen up. We have a special guess here tonight, gentlemen. ”

“Gentlemen.” Ryker snorts next to me. I laugh at him, before my laughter dies and burns a moment later as I watch my father walk into the locker room.

Fuck no.

Ice squeezes my lungs. I think I’m going to black out.

I knew he wasn’t gone. I’m just surprised it’s taken this long for him to show himself again.

This was supposed to be my escape, but I knew logically he would find me.

What has he been doing since that practice?

He’s in my fucking city, not his! My new city.

He can’t find out where I live, he can’t taint this part of my life. I won’t let him.

Even as I say this in my mind, I know he will.

Tripp’s hold on me is something no one else would understand unless they’ve been in this situation.

Why not tell him to leave? Why not tell him off?

It’s all so simple, right? But abuse is one of the most complicated things someone can experience.

It’s not just physical, it’s not just feeling pain.

It’s a mindfuck rotting your brain. It manipulates you to do things you otherwise wouldn’t.

Abuse is just as psychological as it is physical, and my father is the great circus master of manipulation.

He did it to my mother for years, and then me.

He can’t find out where I live.

I feel something to my left and I look over, seeing Oli’s eyes on me. They’re hard. Angry almost. He looks like he’s studying me or seeing me for the first time. “Fuck you , ” I mouth, then look back to Coach and my father.

“Tripp is going to do the puck drop for the game tonight. We’ll have a photo opp with both captains,” Coach is saying .

I look at Oli again and see pride flash over his gorgeous stupid face. I hate it. I want to scream the truth at him. I want to shout. I want everyone in this locker room to know what’s going on. This man is a monster, and you all need to get him out of here.

Instead, I sit here in silence, unable to look at my father. “Andre?” Coach’s voice snags my attention. “Would that be alright?”

So lost in my own thoughts I didn’t hear him. “What’s that?”

“He’s asking if we can take some photos together tonight.” Tripp smiles at me, and it’s so fucking fake I want to wipe it off his smarmy face.

Just play the part. Come on. You’ve done it all your life, what’s another game. “Oh uh, yeah, sure.”

“Tripp will be inducted into the hall of fame in November.” Coach continues to talk, but it’s like I’ve plunged into water after falling off a cliff.

I can’t make sense of anything; I don’t know where the surface is.

I knew he’d do this. To think I could just move and that would be that.

I was kidding myself. It’s just so fucking unfair.

You could tell them all.

Who the fuck would even believe me? I feel heat on me and lift my eyes, instantly wishing I hadn’t.

Tripp is glaring at me, his brown eyes holding me hostage.

I’m sure at one point in his life he was quite the charming fuck.

Now in his fifties, age and his life as an athlete have taken their toll on him.

Still, he’s no less terrifying.

He will always be my boogeyman.

He will always win.

I swallow hard, looking away, only to collide my gaze with Oli’s.

He’s looking at me still, something unreadable in his eyes.

I wonder what he told Grey. While I have been avoiding him, right now I just want to talk to him.

Maybe it’s because of my father; maybe I’m just searching for more of that safety Oli gives me. That’s what it feels like, doesn’t it?

Safety.

Oli hurts me in the sweetest way. He gives me pain in a way I crave, and while he is rough with me, it’s only when I need him to be. It’s only when I want him to be. It’s all on my terms.

With Oli I am in control.

“Alright, guys.” Coach’s voice pulls my attention back. Right. Game time. Fuck, I feel so off. I almost want to ask Landon if he can take this one, but I know my father will have something to say about it. “Any words for the guys?” he asks my father.

“Great players aren’t born, they are honed by hard work and determination. All of you have worked your asses off, and I know you guys will make the playoffs this year. Every single one of you has discipline, skill, and talent only years of grinding can get you. Let’s kick some ass, fellas.”

Everyone cheers.

I feel sick.

If you don’t block this one, I will beat you twice as hard when we get inside.

I’ve seen mangy dogs with rabies that have more coordination than you.

When are you going to stop being such a fucking disappointment?

I’m so happy your mother isn’t here to see what a fucking loser you are.

“Hey.” I flinch at the hand on my shoulder. “Whoa, you okay—”

“Don’t fucking touch me.” I pull away from Oli, ignoring the look he’s giving me. “Ever again.” I think I see hurt flash in his eyes but I don’t care. Fuck him very much. He kicked me out like trash. He kicked me out like shit hasn’t changed between us.

Maybe, though, it hasn’t for him. Maybe I am just a hole for him to use.

Even as the ugly thought orbits my mind, part of me wants to deny it.

Lately something has shifted between us, and I’d like to think Oli feels it too.

In that parking lot looking over the Christmas lights.

At his house making food his mother used to cook him. I thought shit was different.

Yet he kicked me out.

“Dre—”

“Don’t,” I snap, grabbing my helmet, ready to get this game over with.

It’s now I’m glad I’ll be on the ice playing, because my father no doubt will be sitting on our bench.

“You wanted to be alone so goddamn bad . . . Congratulations. Wish granted.” I shoulder past him, ready to get this fucking game over with.

The more distance between us the better.

Rolling my shoulders, I try to get my head in the game.

Here goes nothing.

I’m not superstitious. I’m not saying if we fuck, we win, because that’s just dumb. What I will say is that coincidences are plenty. We lost. Terribly. While I’m sure in Oli’s mind that’s part of the reason we lost tonight, I know what the real reason is.

Tripp.

On the ice tonight it was like I could feel him.

His eyes didn’t leave me for long. The pressure was too much.

I was sloppy, I know it. The team knows it.

The guys played great, and that feels worse somehow.

We would have won if it weren’t for me. If my head had been in the right place, it would have been a landslide.

Nothing like a five–seven loss to really bruise the ego.

Coach berated the whole team, but we all know who the real problem was tonight.

Me.

I avoid Oli and his attempts to speak with me.

No one’s in the mood to talk, and most of the guys have already left.

I know Oli has. He left with Grey after his millionth attempt to talk to me.

He gave up, and while I don’t want to talk to him, it still upsets me.

I’m a mess. I just want to go home, color for a bit, and relax.

We have practice tomorrow and some media to film, but other than that I have a free afternoon.

I shower and change, and it’s quiet out now.

I almost think I’m alone. Then I feel it.

It’s like this dark web of anxiety covers the rain-slick streets as I make my way to my SUV.

I feel him before I see him by my vehicle.

Oli had waited a little while after the game ended, but I made it clear I didn’t want to talk to him.

I painfully regret letting my pride get the best of me now.

It’s not pride, though. Oli treated me like trash, and I’m not so lovesick that I’ll forgive him for that.

I get that he doesn’t want people to know, and this is new, but having him switch up that fast hurt me.

It was Grey. What would happen if it did get out?

How would he treat me then? I’m almost positive Grey is queer, and I’m even more sure he’s suspected for a while.

He’s definitely caught me checking out Oli’s ass.

“I thought for a while there you knew what you were doing leaving home like you did.” I see the bottle in his hand as I step further into the parking garage lights.

I noticed it during the game too. It seemed like he always had a cup of amber liquid in his hand.

I’m not sure how much he’s had to drink, but the closer I get, the more I can guess . . . a lot.

“I’m going home. Get off my car.” I try to bypass him, and although he’s getting up there in age, the force with which he grabs me is shocking.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me, you little shit.” I get yanked back, and I’m so fucking tired of this. The weight of the last few days is crushing me.

“Go back to whatever cave dwelling you crawled out of. You’re drunk.”

“Don’t you turn away from me, you ungrateful shit.” I’m done with this bullshit. I hate him, and I don’t have to swallow it anymore. I don’t live with him; he can’t control me anymore.

The grip on my bicep tightens, and I often wonder if I scare him, just a little bit. I’m not small by any means. Although age has shrunk him slightly, we’re about the same height, though he still treats me like the thirteen-year-old boy he used as a puck target.

I wrench out of his hold, not wavering as I glare right at him. I’m tired of this and I move away. I don’t have to deal with this anymore. If Tripp wants to peacock his ass around my team, whatever, but I’m no longer giving him this power over me. “Get your filthy fucking hands off me. ”

I shove him back, and he stands there, stunned for a moment before he moves.

Fast. So fucking fast. He punches me in the ribs.

It catches me off guard allowing him to hit me again, and again.

I block one, then punch back. Never in my twenty-eight years on this earth have I hit back.

The stunned look on his face says it all, and it’s quick, but I see a flash of fear.

It catches me off guard. Something flashes through his eyes.

I see him swing, but my reflexes, honed from years of being beaten and pucks flying toward me, catch his hand before he can connect with my face.

What I miss is the glass bottle that comes flying at me, striking my forehead.

Warmth drips down my face, and when I touch it I pull back blood-soaked fingers. Fuck.

His beer bottle is busted all over the ground, and I don’t wait any longer to leave. I push him back away from me. He’s in shock, either from what he just did or being so drunk he doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.

I slide into my vehicle. Warmth runs down my face. Fuck, I may need stitches.

While I think this and put my SUV into drive, I know where I’m headed, and it isn’t the hospital.