Page 74 of These Wicked Games
“Don’t you dare walk away from me, you little shit.” I get yanked back, and I’m so fucking tired of this. The weight of the last few days is crushing me.
“Go back to whatever cave dwelling you crawled out of. You’re drunk.”
“Don’t you turn away from me, you ungrateful shit.” I’m done with this bullshit. I hate him, and I don’t have to swallow it anymore. I don’t live with him; he can’t control me anymore.
The grip on my bicep tightens, and I often wonder if I scare him, just a little bit. I’m not small by any means. Although age has shrunk him slightly, we’re about the same height, though he still treats me like the thirteen-year-old boy he used as a puck target.
I wrench out of his hold, not wavering as I glare right at him. I’m tired of this and I move away. I don’t have to deal with this anymore. If Tripp wants to peacock his ass around my team, whatever, but I’m no longer giving him this power over me. “Get your filthy fucking hands off me.”
I shove him back, and he stands there, stunned for a moment before he moves. Fast. So fucking fast. He punches me in the ribs. It catches me off guard allowing him to hit me again, and again. I block one, then punch back. Never in my twenty-eight years on this earth have I hit back. The stunned look on his face says it all, and it’s quick, but I see a flash of fear.
It catches me off guard. Something flashes through his eyes. I see him swing, but my reflexes, honed from years of being beaten and pucks flying toward me, catch his hand before he can connect with my face. What I miss is the glass bottle that comes flying at me, striking my forehead. Warmth drips down my face, and when I touch it I pull back blood-soaked fingers. Fuck.
His beer bottle is busted all over the ground, and I don’t wait any longer to leave. I push him back away from me. He’s in shock, either from what he just did or being so drunk he doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.
I slide into my vehicle. Warmth runs down my face. Fuck, I may need stitches.
While I think this and put my SUV into drive, I know where I’m headed, and it isn’t the hospital.
twenty-one
Andre
Ihate myself.
That’s nothing new, though. I’ve lived nearly my entire life hating myself, so this feels like coming full circle. Running from one person who hates me into the arms of another.
Only, that doesn’t feel right. Oli hasn’t hated me for a while, and I’m starting to think he never did. Or maybe my mind is so fucked right now, I’m seeing things that aren’t there. Wishing for things that can’t exist.
He kicked you out of his house. You’re nothing to him
Today on the ice, everything between Greyson and Oli seemed good, but he tried to talk to me and I let hurt feelings keep me away. I think about Grey squeezing my shoulder. He’s Kuli’s best friend, so maybe he’s fine with it. Fine with him. Fine with us. Maybethat’s what Oli wanted to talk to me about, but I was too hurt to hear him out.
Or maybe he denied everything, said we were drunk and passed out.
Fuck, I hate that option?
Still, here I am. I park my car and get out, running toward his gate. Sheets of rain begin to soak my street clothes, and a chill clings to my skin. I don’t slow. My legs burn. My brow stings. I’m sure my cheek is bruised. I can feel it swelling. With years in the NHL under my belt, you’d think I’d barely feel shit like this anymore.
But I feel everything my father does to me.
It’s like a new mark on my soul each time he hits me, each time he calls me some derogatory name. I never want to go back. I never want to see him again. Who would believe me, though? No one. I’m the son of a beloved icon; I should be “grateful” he handed his legacy to me. I sometimes wonder whether I’d love this game more if he hadn’t tainted it. It’s not that I don’t love the game. I do. I love goaltending. The best decision I ever made was switching from defense to goalie. And I love playing with my team. But then someone will mention my father, and it’s like all the joy gets sucked out of the game.
His number is on my fucking helmet. Every single time I pull it on it’s a reminder. Since moving I’ve thought of commissioning a new one, I just haven’t had time.
After ignoring him all day today, I wonder if Oli will even let me in. We lost. It’s my fault. My fault! My muscles ache, and my eyes burn. Still, I can’t stop, as if I’m being pulled by an invisible string. I remember the code to his gate and punch in the numbers, then Irun up the path to his place, not knowing what to expect. I’m not even sure why I’m here.
Liar.I can feel it in my bones. I know why I’m here even if I don’t want to admit it.
With Oli, I’m safe. Even when we fight, even when it turns physical, I know I’m safe. Oli would never hurt me without my consent. I’m in control with him. Even if I also feel like I’m constantly losing my mind around him. It’s the illusion he likes to give me. He likes to make me feel like I have to take what he gives me.
I know with one word Oli will stop it all, back off, and let me breathe.
I’m in control.
I slow when I reach the stone pathway lit up with tiny lights. It’s so quiet right now, I half expect my father to jump out of the bushes and attack me. Walking up to his porch, I catch my breath. I’m soaked, and now the chill is starting to seep into my bones.
Taking a deep breath, I swallow. Anxiety slides through my bloodstream making my skin feel too tight and shaky. The only thing I fear right now is Kuli’s rejection. It’s the one thing I know I won’t be able to recover from. I ring the bell and wait. It seems like I’m out here for eons. Then the front porch lights come on and I wait again, my heart in my fucking throat.
