19. TATE
TATE
Mid to Late January
Aloud crash breaks through the murk of my mind, and I latch onto it.
I’ll take a distraction right now. Any distraction.
I storm down the stairs, feet rattling the metal steps.
Before I descend the last one, I have to take a step back, so I don’t trip over the two battling masses of muscles, otherwise known as Tyler and Rocky, two of my guards.
Normally, I’d demand to know what the fuck is going on, but I sense an intriguing drama, and drama distracts from the gash in my chest that refuses to repair itself no matter what I try to fill it with—booze, drugs, food, and even Patrick’s friendship. I went for coffee with the man.
But no need to think about that; I have … whatever this is.
They don’t notice me, too engaged in their wrestling match to detect anything around them. I don’t even care that they’re not doing their job.
Ethan’s at the bar top, smirking, watching them.
Every so often, there’s a sharp crack when knuckles come into contact with bone, but neither man gives up. They’re evenly matched. These idiots could be at it all day.
Even better. I won’t have to come up with things to think about instead of Ryan. Not that I was doing a great job. My uncle was right. I obsess until something destroys me.
Maybe I would let Ryan destroy me.
“Keep your filthy fucking hands off him,” Tyler says.
Another crack.
“You keep your filthy fucking hands off him,” Rocky says.
They finally roll away from the stairs, giving me enough room to get by and make my way over to their smug trophy. I sit down beside him. “You’re going to let them fight over you like that?”
“Couldn’t stop them if I wanted to, and I don’t want to, for the record. Whichever one wins gets to take me out tonight. I don’t fuck losers.” He sips his beer.
“Which one do you hope wins?” His indifference fascinates me.
The way he’ll just date whoever wins. How does that work?
I only want one person. It’s not even because I’m inherently monogamous—I couldn’t give a fuck about that kind of shit.
I don’t have the kind of moral code others probably wish I had, especially for relationships.
I just don’t have any interest beyond Ryan.
I can’t comprehend it. It’s like asking me what I’d do if gravity stopped working.
I know exactly what I do if someone touched Ryan, though. After I crushed every bone in their hand with a hammer, I’d peel off their skin. Let them bleed out slowly. Screaming.
It’s only fair.
Ethan shrugs. “Meh. Don’t have a preference. I’m getting bored with both of them. This is the first interesting thing they’ve done in some time. At least they brought you out of your hole. Have you forgiven Ryan yet?”
His gaze lands on Tyler, though. Is he sure he isn’t sweet on him, even a little? Maybe Ethan doesn’t know, or maybe he’s not willing to admit it.
“I told you, it’s not about forgiving Ryan. I wasn’t mad at him.” Okay, I might have been mad for a hot minute, but it all turned into a cesspool of treachery in my mind, until I couldn’t separate reality from my brain’s personal blend of horror fiction.
I kicked him out of my mind sanctuary.
It was all a stark reminder of the rules I’ve made for myself. Chaos breeds chaos, and control keeps chaos at bay. But then he demanded that we marry immediately. That went a long way to calming me down, but it didn’t fix what was broken. Nothing can. It’s not Ryan’s fault or mine; it just is.
If I keep enough distance, I can keep him. Problem solved.
There’s a clatter, broom handles hitting the concrete flooring. Water splooshes.
Ethan sips from his highball glass. “He might be mad at you, though, and if you don’t do something about it, marriage is going to suck for you.”
“Our marriage is whatever I want it to be. Ryan will do what he’s told.”
Utter silence punctuates my words. No more brooms falling or bones cracking against bone. We exchange a look and turn our gazes to where the fight was taking place. Rocky and Tyler are down for the count. Two unmoving mountains. We saunter over, each of us crouching to take a pulse.
“Breathing,” Ethan says.
“Him too.”
“I’ll have Jane look after them. Looks like I don’t have a date tonight.” Ethan gently slaps Tyler’s cheek. “You giant fucking puppy.”
“Disappointed?”
He shrugs. “Meh.”
There it is again. That beautiful indifference. I’d give anything to be in his position. “Does one of them fuck better?”
“Tyler,” he says without hesitation.
“I knew you liked him better.”
“I don’t like him better. He fucks good, but he chews so loud—can’t fucking stand it. He’s not permitted to eat in my presence.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I know who it is before I pull it out.
Ethan’s lips curve into a smile. “That’s Ryan,” he declares.
“Then why are you happy about it? You don’t like Ryan.” I’ve had to force Ethan to treat Ryan the way my husband should be treated all along. “And how could you know that?”
“Oh, c’mon. It’s not just Ryan; I don’t like anyone new. And I know because you get all dewy-eyed. Don’t worry, your reputation as stone is safe; it’s only by an amount someone who knows you would pick up on.”
That has to end. No more softness for Ryan.
I’d like to be able to ignore the text; hell, I’d like to be able to say that I read the text because there’s every chance he could be in trouble.
But the reason I look is much worse—I look because I want to see what he’s said.
Period. Missing him has become a constant, every minute of every day ache.
I can’t get work done. I don’t give a fuck about the hockey team.
Or, correction, I don’t give a fuck about pretending to give a fuck about the hockey team.
All I want to do is steal Ryan away to a desert island and live out my days there with him.
But if I did that, ignoring him would be infinitely harder.
Staying away from him would be impossible.
Okay, bad plan. Must rework the plan.
Dollface
You know what’s slutty?
Everything about you, I want to say. God, the last time I fucked him. The way he moaned. The way he chased my cock with his ass when I teased him. All of that? The sluttiest.
But I can’t banter with him. Banter is off the table. Banter is a form of flirting, and flirting is how you get closer to someone, not push them away.
Besides, whatever comes after that sentence will be something that enrages me.
He hates the distance I’ve put between us.
Fair. I hate it, too. But he’s made it his life’s mission to antagonize me.
I’m not someone it’s safe to antagonize, and I’m trying to find a way to put up with it until he gets the message.
Until he stops caring. As long as he obeys me, that’s what really matters.
He belongs to me. The end.
I’d never planned on keeping a husband anyway. Things changed when my brain decided to hyper-focus on Ryan. I got sidetracked. But all of that’s fixable.
Dollface
My hockey jersey. It got destroyed in practice. It’s all ripped up. You can see my tattoos peeking out.
Hmmm. That’s not that bad. He’s said worse. Don’t love the idea of him strutting around like that, but at least he’s mostly covered.
Dollface
When I take the rest of my gear off, I look like a slutty hockey whore.
What the fuck?
Me
You’d better not be taking your fucking gear off and parading your ass around the locker room.
No answer.
Ryan!!!
Dollface
Jealous?
Me
Jealous??? I’m more than jealous. You don’t know what jealous means by my definition, dollface.
An image comes through. Holy shit. He does look slutty in that ripped-up jersey, especially with the face he’s making. There’s blood on his swollen upper lip. I fucking hate when I’m not the one to mark him but can’t help the rush of blood filling my cock at the sight.
Dollface
Go fuck yourself, VanCourt.
That’s it. I’m heading to North Point to abduct my husband.
Though, is it really an abduction if he’s mine?
Consensus says no. If Ryan’s going to be a disobedient little whore, that’s what he gets.
He can spend a night locked up in my dungeon.
Not the regular dungeon, of course not. I have another room down there; it’s comfortable.
I’d stay with him. No way would I leave him alone down there.
But my insides would feel so, so, cozy knowing he’s where I can see him, where I know others won’t be looking at him and—
“Fuck me,” Ethan says, cutting off my internal tirade.
“What now?”
“This.” Ethan flips his phone around.
“Is that the Shadowridge Gazette?”
“Yeah, I subscribed to keep up with shit on the campus you work at,” he says, emphasizing the last part. “Your hockey unicorn is in trouble.”
Things go from shitty to extra fucking shitty. Damage Control becomes my new name.
Fucking McKinnon—aka my hockey unicorn—is at the center of it.
His beginning-of-the-year idiocy caught up with him.
The amateur school journalist who memorialized the drunken pity party he threw himself during his frat house’s season opener resurfaced.
The article made him look bad. It’s blown out of proportion if you ask me, but it is what it is.
Normally, not my problem, but it is when all the donors I’d carefully lined up call me to pull out, and I have a commissioner to impress. I do my best to put out fires.
As if that’s not enough, I’m dealing with Luke’s heavy stares and all the thoughts he doesn’t say out loud.
But it’s so obvious what he’s thinking. He could have had enough money to make Ace’s problems go away if only a certain brother of his had gotten married.
I’d love to tell him that I am, but it interferes with the story I’ve built.
And it’s really bad timing. It can’t get back to the commissioner that I’m married to Ryan.
More people already know than I would like.
There’s an art and a science to what I do to make several moving pieces work.