Page 76 of These Wicked Games
This is it. I have to. I can’t keep living like this.
My father has taken nearly every fucking piece of me. I’m so tired. Why couldn’t he just let me go? Instead he came here—to my new home, my new life. He invaded my peace. He always will if I let him. “My father.” His fingers still in my hair, and I dare to open my eyes and look up at him. His gaze hardens on me.
It feels like forever before his red lips part. “What?”
Here it goes. I need to do this. I need to know Oli is on my side. “My father beats me,” I say softly, too softly. I feel like a fucking child all over again. “He always has.” I can’t look at him anymore, so I stare ahead, focusing on the murky, sweet-smelling bath water. Shame coats every inch of my skin. I hate this. I hate it. “If I failed at something, he’d beat me. Kick me. Most of the time he used pucks, sticks, really anything he could get his hands on.” I laugh bitterly. “It’s how we trained. If I lost or played poorly he’d shoot puck after puck at me with all his strength. He wouldn’t let me wear pads.” Oli’s fingers begin to move again, gently combing through my hair. “It’s how I learned to be so good at catching shots. He used to stick me in that goal and shoot them at me. I either caught them, or he struck me.”
“Those bruises,” Oli whispers, so low I barely hear him.
“What?”
He clears his throat, then slowly combs my hair with his fingers. “The night we went out after we lost the playoff game, our first year on the Titans. That house party we went to. You got shit-faceddrunk and we went back to my house.” I try to think back. I barely remember shit about that night, but it was one of the few times I’d crashed at his house because I’d been terrified to go home. “I undressed you, and there were bruises all over your sides.” He shakes his head. “I should have asked—”
“No, don’t you dare do that.” The last thing I need is for him to feel guilty about this. “Don’t do that. You couldn’t have known.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
As good as his fingers feel I need something more. More skin on mine, more of his hands. His mouth. Something that will silence the well of emotion balling in my chest. I pull out of his hold, turning around in this big tub, and motion for him to slip in here with me. He does, slowly. I take my opportunity and climb into his lap. “I didn’t want to hurt you with the truth.”
“What?!”
“You idolized him.” I shake my head. “I didn’t want to ruin the way you looked up to him.” Part of me wasn’t even sure he’d believe me. I don’t say that, though. Oli’s eyes dip down to my chest and ribs and I know what he must be thinking. I was a child, and my father has one of the most powerful shots in the game. I had the broken ribs to show for it.
“How did the team doctors not notice? Pediatricians. You must have . . . I’m going to be sick.”
“Team doctors thought it was from the game, and my father’s a talker. He can talk his way out of anything. I was about eight when we started training and he put me in a hockey camp. Boys will be boys was usually the diagnosis I got for any bruises or broken bones.”
Oli isn’t saying a word. Maybe he doesn’t believe me. After everything that’s happened between us, why would he? I’m nothing to him. Less than nothing. I’m a toy for him to fuck. I’m worthless. I’m—
“I’m going to fucking kill him.” The low growl nearly startles me. “I’m going to break every bone in his fucking body. Then wait till he heals and do it all over again.” His blue eyes blaze into mine.
“You . . . You believe me?”
Something close to hurt flickers over his features. His hands pull me closer to him, and my arms go around his neck. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?” I love the easy way he handles me. He’s so fucking strong. And it’s so damn hot. I fit into his lap like it’s my own personal paradise. “What happened tonight?”
His powerful hands massage my thighs and I can’t take anymore. I need him. Oli holding me like this makes me feel like I belong to him, and not in the way that my father thinks he owns me. The idea of being Oli’s doesn’t sound so bad after all. “After we lost the game tonight he was waiting for me. I tried . . .” I look away. “I was waiting for you to leave. I didn’t want to talk to you. Everyone else had left, and I thought he’d left after the game.”
“In the parking garage?” I nod and I know what he’s thinking. No cameras in the parking garage.
“He was drunk.” I swallow the mortification. What twenty-eight-year-old still has their father controlling them like this? Who allows their parent, at this age, to hurt them like this?
“I’m going to break every bone in his fucking hands. That’s where I’ll start and just work my way down,” he growls. His large hands cup my face. “You hear me?” The grip on my face isn’trough, it’s soft. It’s like Oli knows what I need. I drown in it. I soak it up. I let him fill all the empty parts inside me.
I kiss him with a groan, feeling the way he hardens under me. Despite how shitty this night has been I know it’s over. I’m safe. His soft lips consume me. I breathe him in. I burn in his touch. I ignite here in his lap. “I got you,zayka”
“You’re going to tell me what that means.”
He laughs, pulling away from my lips. “No I’m not.” He grins wide.
“Asshole.” I don’t move, though. “I need you, Kuli.” The way I burn for him is almost too much. I don’t care about a thing right now. I just need to feel something, and Oli makes me feel everything. At first I thought Oli numbed my thoughts, but that’s not right at all.
Oli makes me come alive.
twenty-two
Andre
After rinsing my hair and drying it to the best of his ability Oli shocks me by picking me up. I am officially a slut for biceps. Damn. I squeeze them, so impressed by his strength as he holds me like I weigh nothing. My cock throbs against his abs. After walking us through to his bedroom he lays me down on his bed.
