Page 24 of These Wicked Games
“Nothing.” I just want to leave that life behind.
“Andre, he’s being inducted next November. He can’t just . . .” It hits me then; she believes me. I need her on my side. “He’s going to be inducted next year and this is—”
“It’s fine. I don’t want to go public.” The fallout that would cause would be unbelievable. No one would believe me anyway—not over him. Tripp is a legend. It doesn’t matter that I’m his son. “No offense, Jessica, but no one will believe me, and we both know why. They just won’t. He’s White, he’s rich, and everyone fucking loves him. He's the golden boy of hockey. The media shitstorm that would follow is something I want to avoid.” I don’t want people to pry. I don’t want anyone digging into my past. I just want to be left alone.
I want to be free.
“Andre—”
I shake my head. He can live his life away from me. He can take his accolades, medals, and trophies, and shove them straight up his ass. “I just want to be free of him.” She pats the side of my face, and I ignore the way the simple warm touch makes me feel. “Thank you.”
“Oh, honey. Don’t thank me yet.” She laughs softly. “And let me tell Oli, please.”
“Okay.”
She sits back at her desk, typing away. I still have to make it to the arena for practice before the game, but I feel better than I have since coming here. I stand, feeling ten times lighter than when I walked in here. “Andre?” I pause at her door. “If you ever need to talk or need a therapist to talk to, I’ll help you, okay?” She swallows, focusing a little too hard on her computer. “I know how you feel, and I’m here to help.”
“Thank you.”
“No, Andre.” She swallows a bit before unbuttoning her blouse. I’m confused, as the first three buttons pop free revealing a camisole and—holy shit. Burn scars decorate her otherwise flawless pale skin. “I know how you feel. Anytime you need to talk. I understand, okay? If not to me . . .” She buttons her shirt back up. “Then to someone.”
I let that confession sit for a minute, although part of me wants to ask her what she means. I leave it at that, though, opening her door. “I will. Thanks. For everything.” I leave her office feeling better than I have for days now.
seven
Oli
My head is fucking pounding.
Sitting on the bench in our locker room, I attempt to focus through the fog clinging to my brain. First my team, then my rink, now my—well, Jessica. Dammit, Jessica! What a goddamn traitor. How could she just take him on like that? She knows! She’s one of the few people who know why I hate him. How could she just sign him too?
We lost tonight . . . horribly. Five to one.Great goalie my ass.Great job, Coach. While I think it, I know Coach has no say in trades, and our GM doesn’t give a shit how I feel about Andre. While I want to place the blame on Andre, the rest of us weren’t any better. I was sloppy, distracted. They scored on two power plays—one from me getting thrown into the penalty boxfor a bullshit hooking call, and then an empty net. Shit is all messed up. This was what I was worried about. How can I focus with him here?
“Well, that was fun.” Atlas walks in shaking his head. Coach has already chewed our asses, and I’ve been sitting on the bench for nearly ten minutes waiting for everyone else to shower and change and yeah, maybe avoiding a certain goalie dickhead.
“Did you have fun with that Destiny chick the other night?” I ask, just needing a distraction. We haven’t talked much since then. I’ve been actively avoiding thinking about that night at The Treasure House, seeing Andre so entranced with that man, then his comments after . . . and my reaction to them. I did apologize to Grey for what I said, though. I do feel bad about that.
“The fucking best.” Atlas winks. “How was Monica? You and Grey do a little tag team?”
“We didn’t hook up. Not sure about Grey.” I tug my jersey off as the man in question walks in with a towel slung low on his hips. Atlas’s eyes snap to Grey, giving him a once over before looking back to me. “Didyouhave fun at least, with Monica?”
“Oh, I had fun. Just not with her. I wasn’t her type,” Grey says then freezes, looking over at us both. “We had fun, though. Right, Oli?”
Um. “Yeah, yeah it was fine.” Those thoughts summon Andre in my mind. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something about him, but I’m not about to out someone—no matter how much I fucking hate them. Andre’s business is Andre’s business.
“Where did you guys end up?”
“Another nightclub,” Grey says quickly.
“Didn’t stay out much longer.” I crack my neck. My mind is still fucked up and this loss sets us back. At least that’s how it feels. I know the season just started but I feel every loss because my sights are set on the Cup this year. I’ve worked too hard. We’ve built this team up and this is our fucking year.
As if the universe hasn’t done enough lately, I feel Andre before I see him walk into the locker room, his helmet in hand, still dressed in most of his gear.
Shaking my head, I focus on what I can control, and that is not punching Andre in the face in front of everyone. Honestly, he played like shit, so maybe they’d let me. “Hey, newbie.” Andre frowns, turning to Atlas. “You better not fuck up our game against the Hydras on Saturday. Today was horseshit.”
“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I know you guys love toalmostbe in the playoffs. Was that not intentional?” He smirks.
Atlas’s mouth drops. Fuck, I don’t have the energy for this. “Don’t mind him, Atlas. Daddy can’t help him here. He must be a little lost.”
