Page 46 of These Wicked Games (Wicked Sins #1)

twenty-one

Andre

I hate myself.

That’s nothing new, though. I’ve lived nearly my entire life hating myself, so this feels like coming full circle. Running from one person who hates me into the arms of another.

Only, that doesn’t feel right. Oli hasn’t hated me for a while, and I’m starting to think he never did. Or maybe my mind is so fucked right now, I’m seeing things that aren’t there. Wishing for things that can’t exist.

He kicked you out of his house. You’re nothing to him

Today on the ice, everything between Greyson and Oli seemed good, but he tried to talk to me and I let hurt feelings keep me away.

I think about Grey squeezing my shoulder.

He’s Kuli’s best friend, so maybe he’s fine with it.

Fine with him. Fine with us. Maybe that’s what Oli wanted to talk to me about, but I was too hurt to hear him out.

Or maybe he denied everything, said we were drunk and passed out.

Fuck, I hate that option?

Still, here I am. I park my car and get out, running toward his gate.

Sheets of rain begin to soak my street clothes, and a chill clings to my skin.

I don’t slow. My legs burn. My brow stings.

I’m sure my cheek is bruised. I can feel it swelling.

With years in the NHL under my belt, you’d think I’d barely feel shit like this anymore.

But I feel everything my father does to me.

It’s like a new mark on my soul each time he hits me, each time he calls me some derogatory name.

I never want to go back. I never want to see him again.

Who would believe me, though? No one. I’m the son of a beloved icon; I should be “grateful” he handed his legacy to me.

I sometimes wonder whether I’d love this game more if he hadn’t tainted it.

It’s not that I don’t love the game. I do.

I love goaltending. The best decision I ever made was switching from defense to goalie.

And I love playing with my team. But then someone will mention my father, and it’s like all the joy gets sucked out of the game.

His number is on my fucking helmet. Every single time I pull it on it’s a reminder. Since moving I’ve thought of commissioning a new one, I just haven’t had time.

After ignoring him all day today, I wonder if Oli will even let me in.

We lost. It’s my fault. My fault! My muscles ache, and my eyes burn.

Still, I can’t stop, as if I’m being pulled by an invisible string.

I remember the code to his gate and punch in the numbers, then I run up the path to his place, not knowing what to expect. I’m not even sure why I’m here.

Liar. I can feel it in my bones. I know why I’m here even if I don’t want to admit it.

With Oli, I’m safe. Even when we fight, even when it turns physical, I know I’m safe.

Oli would never hurt me without my consent.

I’m in control with him. Even if I also feel like I’m constantly losing my mind around him.

It’s the illusion he likes to give me. He likes to make me feel like I have to take what he gives me.

I know with one word Oli will stop it all, back off, and let me breathe.

I’m in control.

I slow when I reach the stone pathway lit up with tiny lights. It’s so quiet right now, I half expect my father to jump out of the bushes and attack me. Walking up to his porch, I catch my breath. I’m soaked, and now the chill is starting to seep into my bones.

Taking a deep breath, I swallow. Anxiety slides through my bloodstream making my skin feel too tight and shaky.

The only thing I fear right now is Kuli’s rejection.

It’s the one thing I know I won’t be able to recover from.

I ring the bell and wait. It seems like I’m out here for eons.

Then the front porch lights come on and I wait again, my heart in my fucking throat.

The door swings open and I can’t say a fucking word.

Oli stands in the doorway, confused as fuck, his blond hair dark and wet from what I’m assuming is a shower.

He’s wearing no shirt and his tattoos pop against his broad chest and biceps.

Again I’m hit with that feeling I get when I’m near him.

I feel small. I feel like Oli will protect me from all the evil out there.

He’s just massive, and I want nothing more than to fit inside his arms .

I should be angry at him. I am angry at him.

I should scream at him for kicking me out yesterday.

Some part of me understands it, though. I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing.

Oli owes me nothing. While I’d known who I was most of my life, realizing I was gay was so low on the things I had to deal with growing up.

Coming to terms with my sexuality was the easiest thing I’ve ever been through.

I have to understand that Oli’s still figuring this part of himself out. “Dre?”

I can’t fucking speak.

So I don’t.

Instead I lunge at him, connecting our lips together.

Oli’s frozen for a second before something in him snaps and he kisses me back harder.

It’s brutal, just the way I like his kisses.

Oli doesn’t kiss, he consumes like an incubus coming for my soul.

With his hands on my hips and his lips on mine, he can fucking have it.

I grab him to me, pulling his body against mine, but his large hands grab my biceps, pushing me back a step.

“You’re soaked,” he says. In more ways than one .

I almost laugh at the stupid joke that pops into my brain, but any attempt at humor dies when he sees my face and cradles my head in his large hands. “What the fuck happened to you?”

That’s it. Oli snips the final thread holding me together.

I unravel. Oli catches me, holding me upright. I nuzzle into his neck, just wanting all the thoughts in my mind to quiet, and I sob. He pats my head then surprises me with a kiss on top of it. “Come inside.”

Pulling me into his house, he locks the door and guides me into the living room.

“Stay here, okay?” He leaves, and while I’ve been here before I can’t help but smile.

Oli’s home feels warm. It feels like a home you live in, exist in, build a life in.

I walk to the blazing fire, trying to warm up.

There’s a photo of his mother on it. She was very beautiful.

I see some of Oli in her in this photo, and I send her a silent thank you.

Without her and everything she sacrificed, I wouldn’t have him.

“Come with me.” I startle, turning to watch Oli walk into the living room holding his hand out to me. “I have a bath going. You’re shivering.” Am I?

It’s only now I feel the chill clinging to my bones.

My clothes are soaked and I’m shaking. I follow him up the stairs, not sure of what to say right now the adrenaline is starting to fade, but I feel my face swelling and I think the blood has clotted.

I don’t feel it running down my face now. I feel sick.

Oli reaches into the half-filled tub, checking the water. “Your shirt, babe.” It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me before I lift my shirt off. I realize now how bad I’m shaking. “Pants. I’ll throw these in the wash, okay?”

“Thanks.” I rasp out, still unsure of where we stand or what’s happening.

I’m dazed; I can’t clear my mind. I take off my boxers and drink in the way Oli’s eyes are on me.

His throat works, filling me with pride.

I love the way he looks at me, the way his greedy eyes drink in every inch of my skin.

My body has quickly become Oli’s playground.

“Get in, okay.” He helps me, and I sink into the warmth of the tub, groaning with the heat.

He must have put some sort of bath salts or milk in here, because the murky water smells like heaven.

I let the heat soak into my bones, and Oli strips down but he doesn’t get in.

Instead, he grabs a bottle and a cloth, sitting behind me on the ledge, then puts his feet in the water.

I move, resting my head against him. “I want to clean this cut, make sure you don’t need stitches. ”

I lean my head back on the inside of his thigh and let him clean my face, and when I dare a look up, the concentration on his brow hurts me.

He’s so focused, but pissed. So fucking pissed.

He’s radiating anger while trying to be gentle with me.

The water quickly warms me, and slowly I feel my fear melt away. I’m here. Oli let me in.

He didn’t push me away.

He wipes the blood off my face I wince. He freezes, then wipes more gently.

I have half a mind to turn to my left and suck him into my mouth.

He’s half hard next to me, his legs on either side of me as I rest against his groin.

Oli has quickly become my favorite hit of dopamine.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he growls. “Let me concentrate.”

Fine, fine. Not the time, I guess. I listen to him as he opens the little med kit next to him and grabs a bottle.

I don’t know if I need stitches. I know there isn’t any glass in it, though, and the hospital is the last place I want to go right now.

We sit here silently as he cleans me up, and I can’t help running my hand down one of his hairy legs.

I squeeze and massage and feel him grow against the back of my head.

“You’re such a slut for me,” I whisper with a smile, looking up.

Shaking his head, he ignores me, but I see a slight smile dance on his lips. When he’s not scowling at me he’s very handsome.

Who am I joking? I love the scowly looks too.

Finishing up, he sets the kit aside. He put something slick on the cut; mint or something herbal hits my nose.

It throbs, but the pain barely registers now.

I tilt my head up to watch him as he pulls my hair out of the hair tie, leaning over and grabbing a small cup, then turning the faucet on and filling it. “Close your eyes.”