Chapter 17 Serena
He spins on his heel and disappears out of the room without another word, reminding me of the first time he touched me, when he left me breathless and panting, my core drenched with need, in a closet at the masked Valentine’s Day party.
I immediately miss the warmth of his hand around my throat and the way his fingers settled against my skin, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
This time, feeling the same ache for his absence comes with guilt and shame because I know who he really is. I shouldn’t feel these things for him. He’s an arrogant prick and a hockey player on my dad’s team.
All of my dad’s career, I’ve never broken his rules because I know what those guys think. I’m a pawn, a challenge, a hurdle for them to jump. Nothing more.
Confusion pinches my brow because I’ve never felt more conflicted than I do right now.
I hate Bates. I hate him.
I hate that he has the cockiest grin that brings out deep, adorable dimples in his rosy cheeks. I hate the way his pupils dilate anytime he talks to me.
And I hate that he manipulated me like this, used the mask to get close to me because he couldn’t accept my initial rejection.
He doesn’t deserve the version of me that he got when he was hiding his face because I’d never have given it to him, knowing who he really was.
I’m so mad that I can feel the anger bubbling up in my chest.
My eyes water from the overwhelming frustration of what I feel for him, and the audacity of this elaborate plan of his.
I know it’s messed up to be more upset that my stalker is a hockey player on my dad’s team rather than having a stalker at all. But it’s just so … UGH, goddamn confusing.
I’m exhausted from the mental Olympics I’ve been performing all day.
I’m not typically a confrontational person, so facing a six-foot-six man head-on has taken a lot out of me, and the adrenaline rush is starting to wear off, leaving me further depleted.
But I have to get through the rest of the night before I can finally curl into bed and get some sleep.
In the meantime, I know I’m going to be sitting in a room with the man who has done … unspeakable things to me, things I begged for, all while I sit next to my dad. My worlds are colliding, and while I was hoping this day would come, I definitely didn’t expect it to happen like this.
Smoothing my dress down my torso and fixing the slit, I take a few deep breaths.
I’ve been gone for too long; my dad is going to start to worry if I don’t get back shortly.
I contemplate running from the party altogether and going home to Freddie, but I can’t. I told my dad I’d be here for him, and I’m not letting Bates ruin that.
A vision flashes in my mind—of just a few minutes ago, when Bates’s hand was between my legs, discovering my lack of underwear.
“No panties? With a thigh-high slit in your dress? My dirty little slut.”
I could hear it then—how clearly and obviously it’d been him all along. The depth in his voice, the familiar rasp that curled around my body, claiming me.
How have I been so fucking naive? How many times have I talked to just Bates without realizing he was the same man who’d been watching me, touching me … fucking me? How have I been such an idiot?
My anger comes from self-hatred as much as anything else. I should’ve figured it out sooner, without the help of a clue dropped in my closet.
A groan rumbles through the room as I cringe at my own behavior.
I’m totally the girl in every movie who somehow can’t tell the difference between a guy and his alternate persona because of a simple pair of glasses.
Granted, Bates did a good job deceiving me. Altering his in-person voice compared to my masked man, not giving away information, making me wear a blindfold when he …
God, the things I let this man do to me unabashedly.
Now I have to go sit in a room with him and a couple hundred other people and pretend that he hasn’t defiled me in more ways than I can count.
But first, I need to make a pit stop to the bathroom and clean myself up a bit so I don’t leave any marks on my gown when I sit down.
For the record, my lack of panties wasn’t because of him or what he might do. I didn’t wear them because they stuck out like a sore thumb beneath the delicate satin, no matter what style I tried on.
I force another couple deep breaths into my lungs before leaving the training room, stopping at the restroom, and heading back to the event. Thankfully, the flush on my skin isn’t as visible as I worried it would be.
My dad smiles at me from across the room when I walk in, heading straight to the table, ignoring the sensation tingling across my shoulders.
He’s watching me. I can feel it deeply in my bones. But I don’t give him the satisfaction of meeting my eyes. He can sit and torture himself with this for a bit, trying to steal glances from me while I deny him the pleasure.
“You okay?” my dad asks as I sit on the chair next to him at the large round table.
I nod, smiling big enough to sell my lie. “Yeah. I got a little warm, so I just took a second to cool off.”
His eyebrows pinch with concern. “Feeling better now?”
I thought I would feel better after confronting Bates, but if anything, I feel more confused than before.
“Much.” I lie.
He sits up taller, a smile pulled across his face. “Good.”
My dad has never been a man of many words to anyone in the world, aside from me. I’ve watched him coach hockey teams my entire life. He’s the stoic type on the bench, no reactions or shouting unless exuberantly permitted.
But to me, he was a joyful and proud girl dad.
We had tea parties and dress-up fashion shows.
When I was little, I did his makeup more times than I can count.
He’s always shown me what love should look like.
Unconditional. Soul-deep. Unwavering. That’s exactly who he is as a dad and how I imagine he was as a partner.
He’s given me everything I needed to succeed at life, and he’s always put me first, which is why I’ve taken his rules so seriously all these years. The least I can do for him is respect his wishes.
I was never a rule breaker, even in my teenage years, when defying parents is part of the expectation. I’ve always had a softness in my heart for him, wanting to see him smile and be proud of me.
It’s always been us against the world.
I know that I’m not a little kid who clings to her daddy anymore. But now that I’m older, we’ve become friends too. We hang out, go to lunch or dinner together, send memes and videos on socials to one another.
Which is why sitting next to him right now, knowing that I’ve been unknowingly breaking one of his rules, is creating such an ache in my chest. It’s like I’ve been betraying him in secret, unaware that my happiness has been built on lies and deceit.
Am I being dramatic? Yeah, probably. But it’s just how I feel.
But then there’s him.
A shiver runs down my back at the mere thought of Bates, knowing that right now, if I were to turn my head and look at him, I’d already find him staring at me.
He’s … obsessive, possessive, and infuriating.
My phone buzzes on the table, and my dad chuckles. I would be concerned that he read anything if I didn’t know that it was locked with even the sender’s name concealed.
“That thing’s been going crazy. Anything I should be worried about?” He takes a sip of his drink. “Or is Kerrigan up to her shenanigans?”
That earns him a smile, which tugs at the corners of my lips. But when I reach for my phone to turn it over and read the messages, I know they’re not from Kerrigan.
Well, I’m sure there are a few from her, begging for an update after I filled her in on my discovery last night in my closet.
Two messages from Ker.
Ten messages from My Masked Valentine.
I swallow hard and click on Ker’s texts first.
Ker Bear: If you don’t give me a morsel of information, I’m going to lose my mind
Ker Bear: And I’ve lost it
Feeling my dad’s wandering eyes, I grin at him. “You guessed right. Kerrigan.”
He shakes his head, smiling. She’s practically his adopted daughter from how close the two of us are. Thankfully, he falls into conversation with one of his assistant coaches, leaving me privacy to open the other set of messages.
My Masked Valentine: You look so goddamn incredible
My Masked Valentine: I’m going crazy over here
My Masked Valentine: And you won’t even look at me …
My Masked Valentine: Serena, Serena, Serena
His sweetness starts to fade, morphing into the possessive masked man I’ve come to know as he taunts me.
My Masked Valentine: Are you going to tell him? Now’s your chance, baby.
My Masked Valentine: Tell him how one of his players bent you over a table at your office and fucked you until you could barely stand
My Masked Valentine: Tell him how you confessed to me that you wanted me to chase you, render you helpless, and take you in every way possible
My Masked Valentine: Tell him how one of his star forwards handcuffed you to the bed and made you beg for it
My Masked Valentine: Tell him how good you behaved when I got you off with a toy while I was in the same hotel as him for an away game
My Masked Valentine: Or how moments ago, your pussy was crying out for me, desperate for my cock
The last text came through one minute ago, and he’s typing again.
My Masked Valentine: Or should I tell him?
My fingers are typing faster than I can manage.
Don’t you fucking dare
Maybe it’s not clear to you yet, but there’s nothing between us anymore
My Masked Valentine: We’re not done, My Little Cupid. You can try to run, but I’ll catch you.
My Masked Valentine: We both know how much you’d enjoy that little chase
Leave me alone
My Masked Valentine: No
My Masked Valentine: Block me. Delete my number. I’ll find a way around it. Or maybe I’ll just walk over there and talk to you face-to-face. Is that what you want?
You’re manipulative
My Masked Valentine: Call it what you will. I will always find a way to you, my love, no matter how hard you try to run …
My Masked Valentine: I’ll catch you
You’re insane
My Masked Valentine: We already knew that
If you come over here, I’ll scream
My Masked Valentine: Promise?
Frustration gets the best of me, and I slap my phone on the table face down. Everyone whips their head my way, eyes a little wider than normal.
I nervously chuckle. “Sorry, it slipped.”
A beat of intense embarrassment later, everyone is back in their conversations, ignoring me and the secret battle I’m having with a man thirty feet from me. I’m afraid that he’s winning, but I don’t even know what winning is anymore.
I need a glass of wine. Freddie cuddles. Kerrigan vent sesh. And a good night of sleep. The last place I want to be right now is here.
But I smile, nod, and laugh at the speakers’ punch lines as they work through the itinerary, through dinner, and while they present the items being offered for the charity gala.
I applaud as the prizes are won by various players, their family, or staff, ungodly amounts of money being thrown around like change. But at least it’s for a good cause.
With the way the stage is positioned, Bates is closer to it than me, giving me a straight view of him. Thankfully, there are still people and tables between us, but I can still see him through the gaps.
This time, it’s me who doesn’t get the satisfaction of eye contact, and I don’t know why, but it’s driving me mad. Like, how dare he not look at me now when he knows I’ll see? Why only do it when he thinks I’m not looking?
Again, infuriating.
The presenters bring the next item up, and I suck in a sharp gasp when I realize what it is. A gold bracelet with rubies set every centimeter, encircled with diamonds.
No way. That’d be incredible.
I can’t help but notice the similarities to a bracelet that I’ve seen in countless pictures of my mom. I think I got my affinity for gold and rubies from her. I’d at least like to believe that.
Bates’s paddle shoots into the air, and I hear his deep voice cut through the crowd, as if he were speaking right beside me. “Two hundred thousand.”
“Oh my! Big spender right out of the gate!” A pause. “Do we have a contender?”
Why is he doing this? What does he want with it?
Silence consumes the crowd, aside from the whispers and quiet conversations, but no one bids against him.
Is it because it’s so high or because no one wants to cross him?
I’m sure there are plenty of people who would like to knock him down a peg and make him spend more than he needs to. But no one lifts their paddle.
“Sold!” the announcer cheers, and the audience claps, everyone but me.
While the room is moving on from the moment, focusing on the next item, I’m still staring at Bates, trying to figure out his motive. He turns his head, enough that I can see the strong profile of his annoyingly handsome face. And then he turns more, completely shifting to face me.
The hardness of his face transforms, a genuine smile lifting his features. I’ve never seen such a truly joyful look, almost innocent—a word I never thought I’d use to describe Bates Finnegan.
My phone vibrates, and I quickly check it.
My Masked Valentine: For my girl, in honor of her mom
Unsettling warmth spreads across my chest. He can’t do these things for me. He can’t just throw money at one of the most incredible and thoughtful gifts in the entire world and hope it makes everything better.
I wonder how he knows it looks like my mom’s bracelet. But I already know the answer. He knows everything about my life, including my mother.
Applause rings out on the final item, but I don’t look up as they wrap up the event, announcing that over a million dollars was raised.
I reread his message. Once. Twice. A thousand times until the words start to look wrong, illegible, the way they only do when you’ve been staring at a word for far too long.
Glancing back up, I expect to lock eyes with him, but he’s disappeared yet again. Subtly, I scan the room as everyone starts to fall into conversation while some people are making their way out of the event.
But Bates is gone.
Is he going to be waiting in the shadows when I leave? Is he going to be hidden in my house when I get home? Just waiting to pounce.
But as my dad and I finally make our way to the car, I don’t feel the same uneasy awareness of being watched. No one’s lurking, watching, and waiting.
I don’t know why, but the pit of despair in my chest deepens when we pull out of the parking garage … with no sign of Bates.