Page 55 of These Wicked Games (Wicked Sins #1)

twenty-six

Oli

“ T his is stupid.” I don’t even feel like unpacking.

While I normally wouldn’t mind rooming with Atlas, this all seems a little pointless now.

It’s like putting on Kevlar after you’ve been shot.

Damage is done, ya know? We’re playing the Vipers tomorrow night, and I’d like to be with Andre. I want to know where his head is at.

Or where the fuck Tripp slithered off to.

We still haven’t really talked about what happened that night Andre left—he keeps deflecting—but he needs to talk to someone, even if it’s not me.

Part of me wonders if he’ll be at the game tonight.

Then I wonder if I’ll be able to control the urge to rip his tongue out through his belly button. I might.

After Andre told me what happened, it’s like everything I’d ever questioned played on loop.

The bruises he used to wear. The way he’d go quiet when his father was around.

Now, even when his father surprised us in the locker room, I’d felt something was off.

Andre had tried not to make eye contact with him.

I felt it then. “I escaped.” I want to know what happened the night he left for good.

Since everything came out, he’s stayed with me at my house, and I love keeping him there with me inside our bubble.

Atlas laughs, sitting on the other bed and giving it a bounce. “You both got along a little too well for Coach’s liking. Don’t know why he’s keeping you apart now.”

“It’s dumb. I hate this.”

“Gee thanks, Oli. I love you too.”

“You know what I mean. I just want to see if he’s okay.”

“Why? Because we’re playing his old team? I think he’ll be fine.” I keep my mouth shut because Andre’s business is his business. Jessica knows, but that’s it. It makes sense now why she signed Andre. As pissed as I was then, I’m so grateful for her now. Even more than I already was.

It just seems a little stupid to make us room separately now, the damage is already done.

We still haven’t made a public statement, and I’m feeling less and less like I need to.

It’s no one’s fucking business. I’ve never been a big social media person, and the only account I have is run by a social media manager.

I couldn’t care less what the public has to say.

What I care about are the fans in the stands watching us play .

. . making them proud. Our last game was a home game, and thankfully everything seemed to be normal.

Then Melanie found me, and she tried to put on a brave face, but she looked like she’d seen some shit.

I know she’s doing her best to shield us from any backlash and is focusing on the invasion of privacy .

Jessica found the woman and man who stalked Andre to my house. They’re being sued to hell and back. Their names haven’t been disclosed, and I have a feeling that’s for their safety, because pissed doesn’t even touch how I feel.

A loud knock startles us.

Atlas bounces off the bed to open the door. “Daddy!” He hugs Grey. “I missed you.”

Shaking his head, Grey pulls out of Atlas’s hold. “You’re an asshole.” He looks at me. “Your boyfriend is sulking.” He puts his bags down. “Go room with him. We know you want to.”

“Yay!” Atlas looks to me. “I mean, nooo , Oli. Don’t go.”

“You’re an idiot.” I’m relieved, though.

I just want to see him. We didn’t sit together on the plane, and things have been a little off between us.

After he told me what his father did to him, I don’t want him out alone.

Yes, I know he’s a grown man, but I still worry about him.

I think he’s waiting for me to get spooked and run again. Well sorry, I’m not going anywhere.

I put my clothes back into my bag and swing it over my shoulder. It’s getting late now and our game is tomorrow at seven. The time difference always fucks with my head. “Thanks, Grey.” He slaps my back as I pass him.

Walking down the hall, I find their room, and after swiping the key card, I walk in, seeing Andre on his stomach coloring in the swear-word book I got him. I want to find him another one before we leave Virginia. I had an idea before we left home, and maybe I can try that out now. “Oh. Hey.”

He moves. “Don’t get up. You’re fine.” I join him on the bed, lying on my side and watching him. A tiny smile plays on his lips. Leaning over, he presses a kiss to my lips. I look at what page he’s coloring, then laugh. It’s the page that says “Fuck It” with flowers and designs around it. “Nice.”

“It’s for you.” He colors. “Better put it on your fridge.”

“I’ll frame it.” I kiss his shoulder and let him color, just watching him. “I don’t know why Coach is trying to make us room separately now. Damage is done.”

“Damage is more than done.” Andre finishes shading a flower around the F.

“Are you tired?” I ask him.

“A little. Why?”

I kiss his shoulder, then roll onto my back while he colors. “Do you want to try something?”

“What?”

I roll over, unzipping my bag and reaching into it, then I show him the markers.

“I told you they bleed through the pages, but thank you.”

“Yeah, but . . .” I lift up a little, taking my shirt off. “You could color on me.”

“Huh?”

“I want you to talk about the night you left. You can color on me while you do it.” I lie back and watch him decide.

I want him to talk about this. On the flight over it hit me how much trauma he must have bottled up.

I’m not saying I can fix it—I don’t even know the extent of it—but I want to get him to talk to me, if only for a little bit.

I know coloring soothes him. I just want to give him a place to focus while he gives me his pain. I want to carry some of it for him.

“I was thinking of visiting Vanessa too. I just want to see her.” He looks over at me. “Do you want to come with me?”

I smile wide. “I promise not to fight you this time.”

Andre weighs this. “Now now, Oli. Don’t go soft on me.”

I lift up on my elbows and Andre sets his book down, leaning over me, kissing me softly.

I melt into the bed with him over me. It feels good to just have him here with me.

It’s only been a week since the world found out, and he’s been holding me a little at arms length.

I get it. I ran away the first time someone found out about us, but I’m not running now.

“I will never go soft on you,” I whisper against his lips.

“I’ll go with you. I’m sure she has tons to say to both of us. ”

He laughs. “Oh, I’m sure.”

My fingers reach for him and I run them through his hair.

I love how soft it is. Andre sits up, taking the markers and walking around the bed.

“Sit against the pillows please.” I get in position.

I wonder what he’s going to do before he straddles my waist. Dumping the markers on the bed, he looks at my chest. “You have so many.”

“Pick any one you like.” I watch him look between the skull on my left pec and the sea serpent on my right snaking its way up my shoulder. He chooses that one. More color, I assume.

He’s absolutely beautiful. His hazel eyes concentrate, the marker tickling my skin as he starts to color with a greenish blue. His full lips part, those freckles across his face standing out against the soft brown of his skin. I want to kiss every single one.

“Has anyone given you any shit?”

“No. Not to my face anyway. I don’t go on social media, though, so probably. ”

“I don’t check mine really. I just post random shit on it. I never check the comments. Just faceless people with a lot of opinions. They aren’t important.” I kiss him. “What about your father?”

His eyes darken and he looks away from me. “He stopped calling me.”

“How far from here does he live?”

“About ten minutes. We used to live in the suburbs, in this gated community called Angel Heights. I don’t know if he’ll be at the game tomorrow. Probably. I haven’t seen him since the parking garage.”

On my life that man isn’t going to lay a finger on him. “I’ll protect you, Dre.”

“Should probably start protecting myself too. I don’t know why I always let him win.”

“You don’t let him win. You left. You built an entire life for yourself.

You didn’t let him win.” His eyes glaze before focusing on the tattoo.

He caps the green and takes the blue. “I mean it. No one will hurt you. Not with me around.” He stops coloring, then slides his fingers over the skull on my chest to cup my heart.

It’s all his. I want to tell him that but I can’t form the words.

“Can you tell me about the night you escaped him?” His eyes widen, trying hard to focus again on the tattoo.

“That night, after we fought, I’d gone to the bar to see Vee.

She was the only person who knew, and I just wanted to delay going home.

He’s always been worse when we lose. It’s like he thinks the wins rest solely on my shoulders.

When I walked in, I was pissed after fighting with you, still a bit drunk, and he told me how pathetic the game was and that I needed to go practice. ”

“That late? ”

He nods. “I’d had it. I said no. He hurt me.

I threatened him back—something I’ve never done.

” He swallows. “He pulled a gun on me. Threatened me. Told me I needed to practice in the morning until my feet bled. I scrambled upstairs, called Vanessa, and asked if I could come to her. The next day I went to my coach and the GM and told them both I needed to be traded. My agent fought against it, so I fired him. I didn’t take no for an answer.

” He shrugs. “You guys were looking for a goalie and signed me so fucking fast.”

“Because you’re the best.”

He caps the blue marker, looking at me. “I swear I didn’t come here for you. I’ve never wanted to make your life more difficult. I mean it.”