17. Marcus #2
Probably because he’s been straight his whole life, and the prospect of touching me drives the entire sexuality change home.
Or maybe he simply doesn’t like touching me.
At any rate, I had to put some distance between us because he’s getting too comfortable with his push-and-pull games. But I also realize Preston isn’t the type who sits back and does nothing.
He’ll probably wait until after tomorrow’s game.
As for what he’ll do, I’m not sure. Maybe wreak havoc in my arena again.
With a sigh, I finish practice, tidy up, and then hit the showers.
As I’m leaving the building, I pause in the parking lot when the smell of fuel hits me. I lift my head, my eyes widening as the flames mount to the sky slowly but surely.
My bike is on fire.
And right in front of it, on the concrete, there’s a sentence written in what looks like blood.
I destroy what I can’t have.
Our house in Stantonville isn’t much, but it’s two stories high with a small garden where Mom plants the colorful flowers she loves so much.
We moved a lot during my childhood, from one rental to another until Mom could afford a mortgage on this place when I was around six.
She spent all her days off doing DIY renovations, and I helped her over the years to make it ours.
After high school, I had the chance to live in the dorms at Stanton River College, but I couldn’t leave Mom alone.
Not yet. She works most night shifts anyway, so it’s not like I can’t bring friends over.
I just choose not to. I don’t trust those fuckers from the team not to ruin the perfect order Mom and I have in our place.
For most of my life, this little house has been my safety. The place I go back to when I need to tune out the outside noise or the internal emptiness.
Sometimes, I’ll be greeted with the smell of pancakes after early practice. Other times, it’s the burning smell of a ruined Mexican food recipe Mom learned from Mrs. Rodriguez next door.
Since Mrs. Rodriguez babysat me a lot and I hung around in her kitchen all the time, I can make the food better than Mom.
Mrs. Rodriguez tells her she should stick to saving lives, which isn’t wrong.
Mom is an amazing mother, nurse, gardener, and great at DIY, but she’s not really that good at cooking. That’s why I’m glad I at least have the skills to make her day better.
Today I go home with that thought.
I stop short when I notice the ridiculously shiny, expensive car in our driveway with a well-groomed chauffeur sitting inside. I tighten my grip on the strap of my duffle bag when I notice what’s parked right next to it.
A Ducati Panigale V4 SP2. Glossy black with carbon fiber wheels catching the porch light like a blade. It looks more like a statement piece than a machine. A bike made for collectors who care about bragging rights, not torque.
After my bike burned three days ago, this should be tempting, but it’s just an empty shell.
I barely throw a glance at it, then walk inside the house. After I remove my shoes, I abandon my bag by the door.
Mom’s footsteps echo in the now-oppressive air of our home before she stops in front of me. I lower myself so she can kiss my cheek.
It’s amazing how she’s become so petite compared to me when she used to feel like my shield against the world when I was a child.
I suppose it’s because now, I’m the one who needs to protect her, not the other way around.
Even though lines of age have appeared at the corners of her eyes, she still looks the same. Short black hair that reaches her shoulders, big, expressive brown eyes that have always reflected the world in bright colors.
“Welcome back, sweetie.”
“Hi, Mom.” I glance over her head. “We have uninvited company?”
“He said he wanted to give you a gift.” She strokes my arm. “I know how much you loved that bike, and even though you’ve been quiet, I’m aware losing it must’ve been a blow.”
Mom thinks it got stolen, not actually burned by some emotionally-paralyzed asshole.
“So you told Dad?” I ask.
“Kinda? Anyway, he brought the monster sitting outside.”
“Thanks for the thought, but I don’t need his gifts.”
“Marcus.” She sighs. “He’s your dad. You can accept his money.”
“I thought you said we don’t need it?”
“Well, we don’t, but it’ll take you a long time of working your ass off at that garage to afford a replacement. You can just use his newfound guilt toward you and take this. Don’t you love bikes?”
“Not that one.”
She frowns, but I smile as I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Let’s kick the intruder out, and I can make us something to eat.”
Mom smiles warmly as we walk to our living room.
Dad is sitting on the sofa, his arm thrown over the back and his legs crossed as he stares at his phone, looking bored.
The man is still the same. Unreadable expression. Cold, soulless eyes, an unperturbed presence.
There was a time when I thought I could reach him if I tried harder, but really, it wouldn’t have mattered what I did. I was the “useless” child he never wanted until he lost his precious heirs.
But as I stare at him, there’s this nagging realization that we’re so alike, it’s disturbing.
As much as I care about my mom, my personality is like his, not hers. The cold ruthlessness. The complete disregard for emotions.
And maybe it’s better that way. After all, it takes a monster to fight a monster.
Mom clears her throat and Dad finally looks up from his phone.
“Marcus,” he says with that voice of nothingness.
And I nod back. “I thought I told you not to come here again.”
He narrows his eyes as Mom elbows me.
His face relaxes in an instant. “Too bad I don’t take orders from you.”
“Can you not fight the moment you see each other?” Mom sighs. “Just give him the keys and leave, Andrew.”
Dad pulls the keys from his pocket. “Heard you lost your ride due to theft, which wouldn’t have happened if you’d moved to the house I gave you in Graystone Ridge, June.”
“And live amongst people like you?” Mom scoffs. “Not in this lifetime.”
He lets out a breath and hangs the keys in the air. “You can have this one, Marcus.”
“But only if I agree to come to your side?”
He throws a dismissive hand as he stands up, buttoning his jacket. “You’ll do that eventually, whether you like it or not.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He walks into my space until we’re toe to toe, his dead eyes boring into mine. “Is this confidence coming from whatever nonsensical deal you made with Serena?”
I remain quiet. It doesn’t matter that he knows, he was bound to anyway, but he won’t be able to stop it.
Mom, however, is eyeing me closely.
“I’m your father. Hers and yours. If you believe your little games will work on me, you don’t seem to know who you’re dealing with.”
My spine tightens. That’s almost the same sentence Preston used before he burned down my bike.
Then he proceeded to text me like a maniac.
Preston
If you want a new bike, say you’re sorry you overstepped. I can be benevolent and forgive you.
Hey. Are you listening?
Come to Vipers Arena now.
I blocked him.
The next day, he got a new number.
Did you fucking block me? ME?
Are you ignoring me right now?
This bitch. If you don’t reply to me immediately, I’ll cut you into tiny pieces and feed you to your teammates.
I blocked him again.
The Vipers won only because of Kane and Jude. Preston had one of his worst performances of the season. Yes, I watched a replay.
Not that my performance was top-notch, but I at least used the opportunity to blow off steam.
And now, I have to deal with Dad on top of everything that prick Preston has done.
“Hey.” Mom snaps her fingers in his face. “Don’t speak to him in that tone or threaten him under my roof, you hear me?”
“I’m only setting his expectations correctly.
” Dad cocks his head to the side. “The only reason you still play hockey and live in this house in this rundown town is because I’m allowing you to finish your last year of college in peace.
It’s by no means because I’m backing down due to your and Serena’s ridiculous attempts to outsmart me. I made both of you, remember?”
“You made nothing, asshole!” Mom shouts, pushing at his chest. “Leave him alone or I will strangle you.”