17. TATE
TATE
Another little idiot tries to approach me. I reach for the ax.
“Whoa, okay, sir,” Tyler says, stepping in to shield the innocent medic from my ire. “But your … Ryan said to get the glass out of your hands.”
Do I love razor-fine fragments of glass irritating the sensitive underside of my skin even more than my mood?
No. But if someone touches me in the state I’m in, they’re going through the window whether or not I want them to.
And I’m not about to explain why I can’t be touched.
To date, Ryan’s the only one who knows anything about that.
I’ve never even told Luke, and if I have it my way, Luke will never know.
Usually, I can muster up the tolerance to have a medical professional work on me if needed, but not tonight.
The whole thing has turned into some kind of defense mechanism. When I feel threatened, which I very much fucking do right now, being touched will trigger any number of ballistic reactions. I won’t be held responsible, so they need to get the fuck out.
“Leave the equipment there. I’ll do it myself.”
The medic opens and closes her mouth, probably wanting to tell me what a stupid idea that is, but I see the moment she decides I should be left to my own foolishness. They finally leave me be, but instead of getting to work, I stare at the bottle of antiseptic and tweezers, ruminating.
What happened?
I caught a glimpse of him on the ice, just a glimpse, and I knew it was him.
It’s easy. The unique way he glides on skates, the way he handles the puck before he shoots it.
Even when he slams someone into the boards, Ryan always spins as he skates away from them.
How did no one see any of that for two periods?
Well, I sure as fuck did. Took me all of a second.
What Ethan did recognize was the murder in my eyes.
I wouldn’t say I blacked out—I remember everything that happened—but life moved at breakneck speed from there.
Next thing I know, an ax was in my hand.
The only way I could expel the writhing ugliness from my body was to move, destroy, smash.
I showed weakness; Ryan exploited it. Maybe he would try to cage me.
Control isn’t a cute little personality quirk for me; it’s survival.
And then there’s my other rule. Ryan’s not supposed to put himself in danger. I can’t handle it. But he did. I’m the one who keeps him safe, but how am I supposed to keep him safe if he won’t fucking listen?
I shouldn’t show up to my wedding in a blood-stained shirt with glass in my hands. I should at least attempt to pick it out, but I can’t move, staring into nothing …
The war with Uncle Jasper and I began when he made me kill my doll, but I was sixteen when we made our bargain.
Luke didn’t come down to breakfast. It was just my uncle and me.
“This is where I’m supposed to tell you he’s not feeling well,” he said. “To give him time to heal so you won’t see the worst of it.”
The night before, I caught them coming in from a fight night. Before underground hockey, it was underground fighting. Luke was one of Uncle Jasper’s star fighters. I caught them because I stayed awake to catch them.
“Thought you were making him train some more,” I said, my hand tightening around my fork.
“I did.” He drank his orange juice like everything was normal, like he wasn’t using Luke as his very own blood sport puppet.
I shoved away from the table and ran upstairs, hell-bent on chewing Luke out for ever agreeing to this. But when I got to his door, I froze. What he was doing wasn’t just a foolish sacrifice; it was private. Personal. If Luke was hiding this from me, he was ashamed.
Pressing my cheek against the door, I waited, reaching with my ear like I could somehow bring the sound closer.
For the longest time, all I could hear was my own troubled heartbeat.
I closed my eyes, imagining Luke’s labored breathing, the bruising around his orbital bone, as he lay there in agony.
Did Uncle even give him any painkillers? Would Luke take them if he had?
Then I heard it.
A lone sob. One that was choked off as soon as it began.
Luke wouldn’t even let himself cry.
And I knew, in that moment, that if I went in there, if I confronted him about this, it would strip away the only thing holding him together.
Dignity.
“God fucking dammit, Luke,” I cursed him under my breath.
Back down the stairs I went. Uncle Jasper smirked, having expected my return. I poured myself some orange juice and then laced it with a generous shot of his expensive scotch. His gaze never left me, but he didn’t stop me.
Sitting in my chair—the one I always sat in when I was home—I dumped eggs on my plate, then some bacon and four slices of toast. I was a growing hockey boy.
Uncle Jasper continued with his silence, but he sat back, studying me as I ate like a starving tiger, tearing into the toast with my teeth, and stuffing bacon into my mouth.
“I want to make a bargain with you,” I said when my plate was clean. I washed it all down with my disgusting OJ and scotch concoction. It was awful. I vowed to grow to like it.
“I’m listening.”
“End the bargain with Luke early, and I’ll do whatever you want.”
“As attractive and foolish an offer as that is, I can’t accept. I told you, I won’t end the bargain I have with Luke unless he wants to end it.”
He’d said something like that before, but my brain only just caught up with what that really meant—Luke wanted this bargain. As hard as it was to believe, it was his choice.
“What does he get from the bargain?” I didn’t know what the bargain was. I still don’t know all the details. But I know my brother, and it was easy to theorize. Whatever it was, he was protecting me.
Who was protecting him?
“I can’t tell you that either, but it’s something he wants bad enough to participate in whatever I have in store for him.”
Which meant Luke was going to be too stubborn to give it up.
I had to think fast. I still held Uncle Jasper’s attention, but it was about to flit into the wind.
“Did you really lose twenty million dollars?” I asked, mostly to buy myself time, but also because it was the only thing that popped into my head. A little instinct-inspired breadcrumb on the road to somewhere.
Maybe.
“No.”
“How much? Ten thousand? Five?”
“Let’s see if you can guess.”
It came to me as a lightning-bolt flash of realization. “Nothing.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Hiding my feelings has always come easily to me, but hiding the shock at what that meant sank into me was nothing short of Herculean.
“I didn’t bet on Luke. I knew he wasn’t ready for that fight.”
That told me everything. I wiped off my hands with the cloth napkin from beside my plate.
“Teach me to be like you.”
“Why would I want to waste my time like that?”
I wasn’t offended. In order to be offended, his opinion would have to matter to me. It never did. It never would.
“You like a challenge. If I’m like you, you’ll finally have someone that’s a real challenge.”
“Assuming you could ever achieve my caliber. You can’t. You don’t have what it takes.”
But in that sentence, he’d already begun. He was testing me, wanted to see how easily I’d break. He would try to destroy me.
“It’ll break Luke’s heart,” I countered.
His jaw tightened. I caught the twitching of his lips as he fought the smile.
Jasper wanted to see if he could break Luke.
I was surprised he hadn’t thought to use me against him sooner.
Unlike Luke, who wears his heart on his sleeve no matter how much he tries to hide it, I could impersonate an ice sculpture.
“Only if he finds out, and we wouldn’t be able to tell him.” But he was waiting, on the edge of his seat, for whatever I’d say next.
“Not if you find a way around that,” I said, pushing my verbal chess piece into play, sacrificing one of my pawns.
I was bold, thinking I had something. Hoping I did.
I was desperate, something I promised myself I’d never be again.
Which is how I ended up trapped in a game so layered even I’m not sure who’s moving the pieces.
And the man is dead.
Because the only way Luke was going to get his freedom was if Jasper VanCourt was rotting in the ground. If I had to sell my soul to make that happen, so be it.
Uncle Jasper’s lips curled into a smile. He saw it in my eyes, how much I lusted to have his blood on my hands. That might have been what intrigued him beyond the rest of it.
“Bring that bottle of scotch over here,” he said while bony claws of apprehension pierced my insides. I got up to fetch the bottle. I tried to set it before him, but I knew better. He shook his head. “That’s for you.”
It was still half-full. Or was it more appropriate to say that the bottle was half-empty, considering the circumstances? No. Definitely half-full, which wasn’t a positive thing in this case, and wasn’t that a feat? Uncle Jasper was able to flip objective optimism on its head.
“You want me to drink this?”
“I want you to show me you can follow orders.”
“Luke will be furious,” I said out loud, but not as information for him; he knew that. That’s why he chose alcohol specifically. Luke was firm about the drinking rule. When I disobeyed it the last time, Luke’s disappointment almost killed me. I’m not a monster who feels regret, but I did then.
I vowed never to do it again until I was of age. When Luke found out I’d gorged on a half-bottle of scotch—because Uncle Jasper would make sure he did—I’d have to experience the full force of not just his disappointment this time, but his betrayal.
This was so much more than seeing if I’d follow orders. Uncle Jasper wanted to know I’d follow them even when there were consequences. Even when he was sending me into hell.