Page 89 of Played
Elijah smiles. “I’m going to call Amber and Dad and give them the good news. Can you let Nathan and Drake know?” He checks his watch. “And then how about drinks at O’Shaughnessy’s at six to celebrate?”
King and I had plans to spend the evening together, but he motions for me to agree. “Sounds good,” I tell my brother.
It’sa loud and joyous celebration at O’Shaughnessy’s, with all of my brothers and their wives in attendance, along with Dad. At eight-thirty, Mel starts yawning, and Nathan declares he’s taking his wife home to bed. She protests a little, but he wraps his arms around her and whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh and melt into his arms.
“We’d better go too,” Drake says.
I sneak a glance at Amber. She and Elijah can’t have kids, which is something she really struggled with for a long time. Ourdifficult history aside, I love her and would hate for her to be hurting. But she’s smiling at her sisters-in-law with nothing but love on her face. Nathan gives her a hug goodbye, and it’s good to see them putting their differences behind them too. My cheeks ache from all the smiling I’ve been doing tonight, and I can’t believe how good life is right now.
The party broken up, we all decide we have other places we’d like to be. Maddox agrees to go home with Dad while Elijah and Amber make plans for a late dinner.
“You still okay with staying at my place?” King asks me quietly. That was our original plan for tonight before we had our impromptu celebration.
“Are you still going to cook me a steak?”
He smiles. “I believe I promised you steak, sex, andThe Sopranos.”
“You did.”
“And I’ll deliver. I always do.”
It’s at times like these I wish he were out so I could kiss him in the middle of the street, or hug him, or even just hold his hand. But I settle for a smile, content enough that I’ll get all of those things and more as soon as I get him alone.
Chapter
Forty-Four
MASON
After we got to his place, King realized he’d forgotten to get butter and broccoli from the store earlier and had to go back, so I took care of putting the potatoes in the oven before grabbing a shower. I’m still drying off when there’s a loud knock at the door. I pull on a clean pair of boxers and head out into the living room.
“Did you forget your key, babe?” I call.
But when I pull open the door, it’s not King standing in front of me. The entire world freezes, and my knees buckle. I grip the doorframe to stop myself from crumpling into a heap.
“Who the hell are you?” His face is twisted in a confused sneer. I would recognize those cruel features anywhere. He’s barely changed in eighteen years. It seems the sick fuck doesn’t recognize me though. All the breath leaves my lungs in a rush.
“I’m looking for my son,” he says, looking over my shoulder before his eyes land on me again. Revulsion written all over his face, he looks me up and down. “Who are you?” he asks again.
I want to say, “I’m his boyfriend, you disgusting piece of shit,” but I’m not about to out King to his father, so I swallow down all the things I wantto say and tell a partial lie. “I’m a friend of King’s.”
His lip curls. “Afriendwho prances around his house half naked and calls himbabe?”
I lift my chin and roll back my shoulders. Kyngston Worthington III might have terrified me once, but he doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest now. “Your son isn’t here right now. How about you come back some other time when you’re welcome?”
Bristling, he makes a fresh assessment. I’m an inch or two shorter than him, and not as wide in build but over twenty years younger. He might be questioning whether he can take me. Any doubts he might have don’t stop him from scowling at me like I’m something he stepped on in the street.
His cruel taunts come back to haunt me.Disgusting little pervert. Unnatural. Should have been smothered at birth.I recall the smell of him. The acrid taste. The sensation of his flaccid dick hardening in my mouth. The pain in my throat. Gagging. Tears rolling down my face as I choked on his length. How he laughed. How much he fucking enjoyed it.
He gives me a final once-over. “Disgusting pervert,” he mutters, turning to walk down the hallway.
Eighteen years I’ve held onto what he did to me. Hid it like it was something I had to be ashamed of. Buried it so deep that it was never supposed to reach the surface. And now he’s judging me like I’m the one who’s fucked up. I snap. “What the fuck did you say to me?”
He spins around, face still twisted up. “I said you’re a disgusting pervert.”
“You really don’t remember me, do you? You hypocritical piece of shit.”
That gets his attention. His scowl deepens, and he comes back to the doorway, staring at me intently. Inspecting me like I’m some kind of exhibit in a freak show. His narrowed eyesflicker with a hint of recognition. His lips twist in a cruel sneer. “You’re that dirty little deviant who seduced my boy.”
