Page 99 of Brutal Game

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“I probably don’t say this enough, but I’m proud of you, son. You’ve grown into the man I always knew you could be. Don’t lose sight of what’s important to you.”

Any misgivings I still had disappeared. This was the man who’d always looked out for me, given me opportunities, rescued me from my heinous life when no one else gave a crap.

He wasn’t an abuser. He was just trying to do the right thing.

Unlike me.

32

Aviva

Jack was gone when I woke up. We’d fallen asleep with his arms wrapped tight around me, one locked around my stomach, the other splayed across my pussy. I should’ve felt trapped, not safe. This morning, his absence should’ve made me feel relieved, not disappointed.

After using his toothbrush and trying to turn my sex-and-sleep mussed hair into some semblance of a topknot, I threw on one of his hoodies and headed downstairs to the kitchen. I was beyond thirsty, desperately needed coffee, and after…

…I didn’t know. My brain wasn’t functioning yet.

I skirted past the dining room, avoiding the embarassing but hot memories it brought up, and entered the kitchen.

Isaac sat at the island, scrolling through his phone. He glanced up when he saw me.

“Morning. Coffee?”

I’d expected awkwardness, but instead he seemednormal, like he’d expected me here. Or maybe Jack always had girls wandering into the kitchen in need of caffeine. My stomach dropped like a stone at that thought.

As if Isaac read my mind, he said, “You’re not the first girl I’ve seen in that hoodie?—”

Oh, god.

“—but you’re the first who he’d let keep it.”

Oh.

Relief swamped me, so intense, I almost stumbled. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

“Coffee, yes, thank you,” I told him.

Nodding, he got up, pouring a cup for me from the pot.

“What do you take?”

“Oat milk, but I can drink it black if you don’t have?—”

He walked over to the fridge and pulled it open. “Jack bought some the other day. He’s never drank it before, so it must be for you.”

Relief turned to warmth, and confusion. Jack and I had turned a corner in our relationship, but how did he know I was lactose intolerant, and why would he have made sure I could have coffee at his home? Was he that serious about me?

Adding oat milk to my coffee, Isaac passed it to me, before leaning back against the now closed fridge and crossing his arms.

“So. AvivaGold.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Any relation to the New York Gold family?”

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