Page 311 of Hateful Games

“My dad isn’t incapable of love; it’s just my mom isn’t the one his heart belongs to. She could never compare. So, she did what every hopeless romantic does. She drowned her sorrows, his cold rejections, the reality of failing her marriage in booze. He was never home. I’ve only ever known my mother as an alcoholic. That for the longest time I believed it was normal the way she drank daily.”

I listen, my heart sinking at the heartbreaking tale.

“Dad was never home, always away on business. The off chance he was, my mom would smother him with attention until it turned into fights, shouting, and cursing. She would accuse him of cheating on her and he was, but the emotional kind. Or so I thought. Whether or not I was in the room didn’t matter to them. I don’t even remember how old I was the first time I found her crying and puking in the bathroom. I tried to help and she pushed me down because she thought I was taking the bottle away. So, I stayed close by, watching her drown in vodka until she passed out. I brought a pillow and slept down beside her. By morning, she would be back to being sober, pretending the whole ordeal didn’t happen. Every day was rinse and repeat.”

Tears fall freely.

Both of us are victims of neglectful and troubled childhoods. Hurt differently but by the same ones who are supposed to love us unconditionally and protect us, not the other way around.

“I don’t think my father ever wanted me. I was just another duty he had to perform. To avoid the gossip of what went on behind closed doors. He didn’t want a kid, just a legitimate heir to pass his legacy to.” His voice is indifferent, hiding the emotionally scarred boy underneath. “It was sheer luck or a coincidence that he stumbled on us the way you did tonight and the full reality of his actions dawned on him. I was so tired of keeping the secret, taking care of Mom while she was slowly killing herself before my eyes that I spilled everything. I hit and told him I hated him for hurting Mom and ruining our lives. It was the turning point and he made an effort to fix things. Stayed home, sent Mom to rehab, and the months she was gone, he took care of me, but I still didn’t trust or love him. Even though it was the first semblance of us being a family once Mom was back home. Hope flared and I was naïve enough to believe that they’ll finally fall in love and he’ll make my mom happy. Except, you can’t win a heart that’s already stolen.”

“You shouldn’t have been through this, Nova,” I whisper, caressing his jaw. Kissing his cheeks. Wishing to take his pain away. “Neither you nor Teresa deserved this.”

“It was awful, Rose.” Despair fills the air. “Every time I see her like this, the memories come crashing back. I’ve tried everything to heal her, be there and love her. But everywhere she turns, a reminder waits to send her back into the void.”

“You can’t fight her battles for her, Nova,” I reply, speaking from experience. “You can’t fix a person who doesn’t want to be fixed. Unless it’s her choice, there’s only so much you can do.”

“It doesn’t hurt any less.”

“I know, baby.” I pull him against me, rubbing circles on his back. “Your father shouldn’t have married her if he was in love with someone else. Why didn’t he marry the woman he wanted?”

His features tighten, gaze turning black when he leans back. “Because he lost her to someone else. Her family didn’t approve of my dad because he was from the wrong side of the tracks and because of his own family’s reputation. They arranged for her to marry another man. A year later, my dad found out she was pregnant and let Grandpa pick a girl for him.”

“But he never stopped loving her,” I finish.

“Not to this day,” he says. “Love is the most powerful poison in the world, Rose. With the wrong person, it kills you from the inside, you live but you’re nothing but a dead and hollow shell.”

In spite of it all, Nova wasn’t afraid to fall for me.

I don’t know how long we sit like this. Nova’s mood the same. Resignation to the ugly truth darkening his face. Brushing my lips over his jaw, I whisper, “Let’s go upstairs. You need rest.”

He glances my way, halting me from moving by closing his hands around my thighs. “I’ve never told anyone about my past, just you. I never wanted to until you. And I lied when I said I didn’t need you. Having you here with me, I didn’t feel alone for the first time.”

"You aren’t.” He kisses the inside of my wrist, grazing the side of his cheek.

Climbing down from his lap, I take his hand in mine. Once he rises to his full height, we walk to the staircase, him quietly trailing behind as we ascend. Inside his childhood bedroom, my gait falters when the bed comes into view. The memories of us surfacing briefly, but the need to take care of him outweighs the low stir of desire that his proximity never stops to evoke.

He still says nothing as I enter the adjoined bathroom.

Turning around, I first unzip my dress and let it puddle to the floor. His gaze not straying from mine to roam over my nakedness when I slide the thong down my legs. Shifting closer, I reach the top of his chest and slowly unfasten the buttons of his black shirt. His own fingers lift and undo my hair from its messy bun until they spill down my back.

This is the first time I’m touching him like this.

An intimacy I didn’t know I was missing out on.

His arm falls when I slide his shirt down his broad shoulders. Pressing a kiss over his heart, I unbuckle his belt and pull it through the loops. Unzipping, I remove both his boxers and pants, lowering to the floor until he steps out of them.

His semi hard cock teasing me when I rise to my height.

Once we’re both naked, we enter the shower together. The warm spray of water drenching us in seconds and cocooning us in a cloud of steam. Slowing it, I grab the bodywash and squeeze some into my palm before lathering up the hard planes of Nova’s chest and abs. I clean and wash every inch of him, enjoying his sigh of content and pleasure.

When I reach for my own body, he tugs my hand away.

“I’ll take care of my wife,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over my ear.

He takes his time, like I did with him, paying attention to every part of me. Lingering on some areas. All too soon, we’re done and drying each other with towels.

Hanging them over a hook, we reenter the bedroom.

---