Chapter 25 #2
He continued up the stairs in utter silence, but the tension in his body spoke volumes.
I opened my mouth to ask after him, only to pause when he whispered, “Whatever he does, don’t react, okay.
Just let me handle it. You have to stay out of it.
He’ll do his damnedest to get a reaction out of you, then use it against you.
Promise me, Slone. I need you to promise. ”
I nodded, “I promise.”
Trey sighed and climbed a few more steps, stopping when a voice drifted toward us from the right where the gallery landing turned toward the front of the house and the main staircase.
“I refuse to see that freak of a son of mine help the rest of the faggots destroy the league I bled for. I don’t care how badly the Wardens need him. You will not offer him a contract. I’ve told you this more than once, Petey. Do not come here again with this shit.”
“Donnie—”
“You best shut your stupid fucking face before I forget about all the photos I have of you screwing prostitutes while your wife lay in the hospital half dead after her car accident. Was it opioids or crack I kept her from getting charged with?”
“You motherfucking—”
“At, at, at, Petey boy. There’s more than prostitutes in those photos.
There’s a few guys in them too, from what I remember of them.
One of them was fucking you while you fucked the pros, right?
” Donnie paused. “Hmm. I’m not sure. I might have to dig those pictures up again.
Now, get the fuck out of my goddamn house before I toss you over the fucking banister.
And don’t think about staying for the party.
I don’t want to see your fucking face until I’m damn good and ready. ”
“You’re a prick, Malachek. You always have been.”
Donnie laughed and said, “A prick your daughter begged for last year. Her pussy is top shelf, or it was when I had it. Not sure if it still is considering half the team ran a train on her in the locker room last season for her OnlyFans account.”
I stood there with him, my heart breaking as he realized just how much of a bastard Donnie Malachek really is. I had no clue what to say or do to comfort him. A door shut down the hall, and a moment later the front door slamming echoed through the vaulted entryway.
A choked cry came next, but it hadn’t come from Trey. Turning my head, I found his mother on the stairs, too, just a few steps up from the first floor, but given how the conversation—
Trey shoved me and took off; the switch from frozen to barreling up the stairs knocked me off guard.
Fuck he’s fast. Like explosively…
FUCK!
By the time my brain caught up with the fact he moved, he’d made it to the other end of a hallway so long it could’ve been used for pitching practice.
“Trey!” I yelled, his mother’s voice joining mine as I shot down the hallway after him, feeling every year between him and me—not to mention all the aches and pains left over from my time as part of the war machine.
Ahead of me, he slammed into the door he targeted with so much force it didn’t just pop open; it exploded off the hinges and crashed to the ground. And then he disappeared into the room beyond.
Thirty feet never felt more like thirty miles as I raced from the back stairs across the gallery landing to the other side of the house to his parents’ suite of rooms. I promised Trey moments ago I wouldn’t react.
That I’d stay out of it. I’d fucking promised.
But there was no fucking way I would stand by while someone hurt him.
And I was fucking positive the puck that hit Trey had been launched at him by his goddamn father.
I burst into the room with Oksana on my heels to see Trey standing toe-to-toe with his father. I waited, doing my damnedest not to intervene. Even when the asshole’s hand moved, I stayed put, locked down, sure it wasn’t going to… It was.
I was wrong.
Trey’s father’s hand flew through the air, striking Trey over the same fucking spot the puck had hit him the day before.
Time slowed at the moment of impact. Trey’s upper body twisted, bloody spittle flew from his mouth, and I jumped…
leaped…whatever. I moved without first thinking about it, putting myself between him and his shit-for-brains father.
When I came back to myself, a vague memory of Trey’s mother screaming his name, and Trey screaming mine, mingled in the background.
But the foreground? That was filled with choking sounds and the very real terror on Donnie Malachek’s puce-colored face.
This time the spittle flying was his and not his son’s.
My forearm flexed against the man’s throat, pressing him even harder against the wall as he gasped, his eyes bulging when I leaned in. I silently patted myself on the back for not wrapping my hand around his fucking throat the way I’d imagined several times over the last month. Our noses brushed.
“You don’t know me, but I know plenty of men like you, and you are an idiot.
You threatened what’s mine. You hurt what’s mine.
I held my tongue at the emotional and psychological abuse because Trey hadn’t asked me for help, but that went out the window when you physically assaulted him in front of my fucking face. ”
He struggled, and I laughed at him, pressing the arm bar I held over his windpipe a little harder.
“You were a hockey player. A good one, I’ll give you that, but you’re operating under the impression that you’re a badass.
You’re not, but I am. I served as a Marine for years, you stupid fuck.
I’ve killed men with my bare hands. I’ve fought for my life, for the lives of the Marines who walked beside me.
I’ve taken down multiple targets without breaking a sweat.
So yeah, you were a fucking bruiser, but you’re shit for brains thinking you could hurt Trey in front of me without me coming to his defense.
And you’re even stupider for thinking you have the chance to make me move before I’m good and ready to. ”
Trey appeared at my elbow, the abused side of his face thankfully facing away from me. “Slone, babe, he’s not worth it. Let him go.”
Malachek’s chin bobbed, or tried to. With one last push against him, I dropped my arm and wrapped the other arm around Trey’s waist.
Trey turned toward me and reciprocated, one hand around my back, gripping my flank. The other hand waved between his father and himself. “I don’t want to hear from you again. I’m over being your plaything and your punching boy.”
Pride in him flooded my system, pressing a kiss to his forehead I whispered, “Go get our bags. I’ll be right behind you.”
Trey nodded then walked toward the door. I didn’t watch him leave, but Donnie did. The man’s microexpressions—his upper lip twitched into a sneer for a breath—gave his disgust away as if we needed any more proof than what we’d overheard already.
To remove his focus from Trey, I stepped into Donnie’s line of sight. Half a second later, Trey said, “Don’t kill him. I want more time with you.”
Elation filled my heart and guided my next words to Donnie.
“It’s your lucky day. You come near him again without his express consent, and because I’m certain you don’t know what that fucking word means, then let me make it perfectly fucking clear.
If he has not said ‘Dad, I’d like it if you showed your face at fill-in-the-blank-activity,’ then you’re to keep your distance.
” I pivoted when his mouth moved like he wanted to say something.
“Not a negotiation. And yes, that means calls and texts, too. No randomly showing up. No communicating through third parties, nothing. Oh, and his tuition will be paid, and you will not be reporting his vehicle stolen. Understand me?”
The man’s head bounced once, and I turned to leave. Oksana stood at the door, a hand to her throat, tears rolling down her face.
“Ma’am, your son is my priority. I don’t think you should stay here, but it’s your decision. However, should you ever need anything, call me.” I held out a card.
She nodded, taking the card from me. “Thank you for taking care of my son.”
I dipped my head, sent a glare toward Donnie, and followed Trey back to his room.