Page 83 of The Game

“You’re a brave littlebabochka,” Jameson says, further calming her. “You’ve never had to prove that, but I’ll remind you of it every day.”

And shuddering in the darkness, in the stillness of this night, her little, shaking hands reach for us. For the first time in so long, she clings to us both, holding us all together, the glue we need to function, to fucking breathe. And choking on a sob, she releases the words I think we’ve both been aching to hear since the day she left.

“I love you…pl-please…please love me. I only did what…what I thought I had to—”

“Oh, Alice,” Jameson whispers, squeezing her tighter, fighting against my own hold on her. “There is no power in this world strong enough that would prevent us from loving you.”

CHAPTER 42

Alice

Life is like a fresh, clean wound. Even bandaged, it still hurts like a bitch, but it’s healing. It’s been a little over a week since the woods. We’ve not been intimate, but everything feels…different. Like the serenity that overcomes you after a good, cleansing cry. The sun is shining more, there is music thumping from the gym, and as the garage door opens and shuts softly, the scent of fresh flowers hits me before I even see Jameson.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, he tosses his keys to the counter with a metallic clang, eyes peering over the top of pink and purple wildflowers. A small smile grows on my face, felt in the very pit of my stomach. He’s taken what I said into consideration, put it back into practice. I wanted things to be normal, and this is starting to feel normal finally.

On the other hand, I know why he bought me flowers, and I think the only one happy about the reason is him.

“For you,babochka,” he says, smiling gently as he saunters near, bending at the waist to hand the bouquet to me. Offering him a smile of thanks, I take them graciously, seated on the couch, my book on psychology abandoned. I am taking this quarter off to catch up on everything I missed last quarter. When I’d opened my laptop, all the files and lecture videos had already been uploaded under a file named ‘bunny.’

As much as I miss Teddy still, he’s also pissing me off lately, and as Jameson opens his mouth to speak, I prepare to argue with him for the tenth time today. Checking his watch nonchalantly, he frowns.

“He should be here soon. Are you ready? Where do you want to meet?”

Sighing as I stand to find a vase under the sink, he follows me like a silent phantom. I know guilt is eating at him for what happened in the woods, and however many times I try to explain I needed it—even if I freaked out a little—he still beats himself up over it.

“I’m fine with wherever,” I say, internally groaning as I bend and put pressure on my lower stomach. Being fucked so ruthlessly was necessary, but I’ve been paying for it with how sore I am. Bringing the vase up, I fill it with water and unwrap the flowers.

“Do you want us there?” he presses, hovering again. Grinding my teeth, I try to calm myself down; he’s being sincere, he’s doing his best, and I have to keep reminding myself of that.

“You already know you’re going to be there for the second half.”

Clipping the stems, staying occupied helps me answer him with less emotion in my voice. The last thing I want to do is make him feel worse. It is quiet for a moment, and then a shadow descends over me, casting me in a chilly patch of dominating shade. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel his body hovering over mine all the same, fire and ice mingling into a warmth I’ve ached for. His words have my breath hitching in my throat, the scissors thudding to the concrete.

“If you want to have an attitude, Alice, I have no problem putting you back in your fucking place.”

My thighs quiver, my pussy throbs, and my stomach clenches. We’ve always been unconventional in how we speak to one another, and it seems my hardened edges have also sharpened his. As much as I keep saying I want things to be the same, I know they can’t be…but if this is our new normal, my body doesn’t seem to be complaining. More than anything, I think it is giving Jameson a chance to truly be who he always was, a side to himself he held back for my benefit.

He doesn’t have to anymore. I’ve seen the darkest sides of society, humanity, and I’m not fucking scared of it anymore.

Smirking, I pick up the scissors and shrug, snipping a stem with precision.

“You can try.” My breath is held, waiting for him to strike, my muscles tense, but then the doorbell rings, shattering the moment, leaving my heart hammering as I release that breath. He chuckles, the sound so menacing as he leans in, his chest pressed to my shoulders, the heels of his hands resting on the edge of the counter. All I see now are the circular scars that ruined his beautiful inked skin, and tears blur my vision.

“I used to love my innocent little Alice. But you’ve been reborn, and fuck if it doesn’t make my cock hard as steel,” he hisses, lips at my ear as he rolls his hips, his eagerness pressing to my ass and making my knees weak with desire. His lips brush against my cheek before he pulls away to answer the door, leaving me a frustrated, confused, shaking mess.

Maybe therapy will be good. It’s the reason I’m annoyed with Teddy and Jameson, because they’re both on the same side. Tristan says I’m fine. This psychiatrist came highly recommended from Ellie, though Nick seemed on the fence about him, calling him ‘unconventional.’ If the mafia has a fucking psychiatrist, I feel like they’dhaveto be unconventional.

Arranging the flowers in the vase, I wipe my hands clean and meander to the hallway, heavy bass thumping from the gym. I’ve missed working out with Tristan, and I have a doctor’s appointment later to clear me for more physical activity. If I pass, I’ll be joining him.

After the woods, communicating with him has been effortless; Tristan forgives and forgets easily. Jameson buries his emotions and allows them to fester and eat him alive. I know, because I do the same.

My eyes snap to the hallway as Jameson leads my therapist through our home and to the living room, and to say I am stunned is a complete understatement.

He lets out a low whistle, deep blue eyes searching the space as he grins, showing off diamonds glinting on his fucking teeth. Coupled with his wild brown hair, facial tattoos, and Hawaiian shirt, I have no words. It seems Jameson feels the same, a determined set to his face, his brows showing his confusion and consternation.

“Fuck, man. Thought Fordson’s house was nice. Lovin’ the aesthetic here.”

Jameson rankles, eyes flitting to mine as he motions to me.

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