Page 12 of These Wicked Games
Vanessa pauses, looking at me. “Do you think maybe that’s what you want to see?”
“What?”
She laughs softly, going back to cleaning up glass. It’s now I see one of Atlas’s piña coladas smashed all over the table. Shit, I guess I owe him one. “Let me ask you a personal question, Kuli. Can I call you Kuli? I think we’ve bonded.” I laugh. “Do you feel the most alive when you’re fighting with him?” My laughter screeches to a fucking halt. “That’s what I thought. The moment you noticed he was here it’s like the high beams came on up here.” She pats my head before finishing up, then stops in front of me. “Why does he turn your light on, Kuli? That’s the question you need to ask yourself.”
Okay, I do not like Vanessaonegoddamn bit. She has no clue what the fuck she’s talking about. “He doesn’t turn my lights on. If anything he pops my breakers.” I glower. She looks unimpressed, though . . . maybe even a little sad. That light she sees is fucking fire burning within me every single time I think about that asshole. How close we used to be. How he fucked me over in the worst way.
She grabs the dustpan from me, and I help her put the glass into the trash bag. “I’m sorry.” I reach into my pocket, taking out a few hundred and handing it to her. “If there’s more damage just let us know.”
“It’s only a few glasses. Really. Honestly gave my patrons a good show tonight.” She smiles warmly at me, patting my cheek. “Go back to your hotel. Get some sleep, okay?”
I nod, thanking her. Exhaustion pummels me suddenly. I’m ready to pass out. “Hey, Oli.” I turn around to face her. “Most people look away from the light, but maybe what you need is to look into it.”
Is she a fucking oracle?What the fuck. “Have you ever looked directly into a light, Vanessa? It’s fucking painful.” I roll my eyes.
“Sometimes the best things in life are.”
four
Andre
Christ, my jaw fuckin’ hurts.
While I may feel the aftereffects of Oli’s punches, I hold some satisfaction watching him limp away toward that cop car. What the fuck were they even doing here at Ruby’s? This place is more known to locals. On the outside it looks like a shithole, which is kind of what I like about it. Keeps the snobs away.
I walk up to the wooden porch under the tin awning that’s definitely seen better days. I’m just waiting for it to fall clean off the roof. The name Ruby’s is above on a sign that looks like the sun is slowly eating away at the paint. The windows are boarded up, and the door looks as if it’ll fall off with one stiff breeze.
This old bar used to be owned by Ruby May Wilder, the sweetest woman you could ever meet. She bought it back in the seventiesand it was hers until she passed away a few years back, then her granddaughter Vanessa took it over. Stepping inside, I look around, then relax, relieved when I don’t see Kuli and Co. anymore. What more could they want? They fucking won tonight. I’ve played Oli dozens of times over the last few years and it’s always more of the same. The fans think we have some silly rivalry, but they don’t truly understand how much we hate each other.
Or rather, how much he hates me.
Fuck him, truly. From the bottom of my heart he can go fuck himself. At first I was hurt by his accusations, then pissed. How fucking dare he think I’d do something like that. He was my best friend, and if he thinks I was capable of something as sinister as switching our cups way back on the Titans then fuck him. None of that even makes sense. How could I have just switched the labels? I know Oli was going through a lot back then, but still. To blame me for something like that is too much.
I tried to make it right, I tried to get him retested, but my father and our team doctor would have none of it. No one listened to me, especially Oli. I tried, though, but the thorns of his hatred burrowed too deep into his skin. He believed the absolute worst of me and nothing will change that.
I make my way through the bar. Booths line the walls and there are various tables here and there. There’s a place to dance, three pool tables, and a jukebox that causes fights nightly. It’s home sweet home and the only safe place I have left.
I spot Vanessa wiping down glasses, and her eyes catch mine as I approach the bar. It’s quiet now, nearing one in the morning. The only people hanging around are the people who dread going home.
Like me.
Shaking her head, she grabs a shot, filling it with clear liquid and sliding it over the oak bartop. “Thanks.” I take it gratefully, letting the burn at the back of my throat make me feel something. I came here tonight to numb myself as best I can before I have to go home.
“Anything you want to say to me?” Her manicured brow arches. Vanessa is a beautiful woman in her late thirties, with rich brown skin and the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. She’s slim, with soft features and beautiful big brown eyes. Tonight her hair is slicked back in a ponytail that accentuates her sharp cheekbones. She looks delicate—she’s anything but. I guess you have to have a spine of steel to own a place like this. The smell of her vanilla perfume breaks through the scent of stale beer and smoke.
“I’m sorry, Vee.” I wasn’t even planning on going near him, but his fucking eyes wouldn’t leave me the second he walked in. There’s this pull to him that makes me punchy when I see him. It’s like there’s this black thread of doom connecting us, slowly wearing away my common sense. I can’t shake the rage that consumes me when he’s nearby.
“Boys will be boys, or whatever the stupid saying is to keep men from being held accountable.” She sighs. “Why don’t you stay with me tonight?” I think about the offer and give her a grateful smile, shaking my head.
“It’ll only delay the inevitable.” She looks away and I try not to let the hard set of her jaw hurt me. I know she wants to do more but can’t. What could she even do? If I can’t do anything at my age, there’s nothing anyone else can do. “It’s fine, Vee.”
“It’s not fine,” she snaps. I feel regret of the highest order. I shouldn’t have burdened her with my secret. She’s the only person who knows about what I deal with—well, except my mother whounfortunately isn’t this side of the dirt to back me up. This is what I get, though, for getting way too chatty after too many drinks. “That fucking bastard is going to keep winning, Andre. He’s being inducted in next—”
“I know!” I swallow thickly, sliding the shot glass back to her with a pleading look. “One more?”
“Drinking isn’t going to help.”
No, but it will make his hits less painful. “It wasn’t that bad a game, right?” I hedge. It’s false reassurance, I know. If we don’t win, it’s a shit game in my father’s eyes. He acts like he’s never lost a game. He acts like he knows the first fucking thing about being a goalie.
