Kings of Deception (Reverse Harem Hockey #1)

Chapter 1 Tigerlily

Chapter One: Tigerlily

“Shit, Elle.” I grab onto her wrist and show her the texts from my dad. Her eyes were glued to the hockey game a second ago, but now they widen.

Dad: Found your location.

Dad: Get your ass out here right fucking now.

Dad: I swear to God, Tigerlily.

Elle looks at me as my stomach sinks. My phone vibrates now. Shit, he’s calling.

“What am I supposed to do?” I tremble, holding onto her wrist.

Every vibration feels like a physical hit.

She places her other hand on mine. “It’s going to be okay.”

I look into her eyes, wishing that into existence, but that’d make me an idiot.

She genuinely believes her own words. And that’s the issue with someone who has good parents.

They don’t understand the weight in being physically hit, they don’t understand the manipulation or the mental load of dealing with an abusive parent.

I blink, trying to figure out what I’m going to do. He can’t come in here without a ticket, but I have to leave eventually. I glance around, questioning if I should wait it out, or… My phone buzzes, reminding me that he’s right outside and there’s no avoiding the inevitable.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks.

I immediately shake my head. “No. No, you’re right. I’ll be fine.” I force a smile. I have to make her believe I’ll be okay. I can’t drag her into this mess.

I bite my lip and gather my belongings. Just my purse with a pink labubu I absolutely hate and my black jacket.

She grins as I wave goodbye, and then suddenly a player slams against the boards and the crowd shouts, “Oh!”

I walk down the steps, watching as the players crash on the ground with flying fists. I wish I could be as excited about violence as the crowd is. There are groups of men shouting so loud, I almost forget where I’m going.

“Kick his ass!”

“Yeah!”

“Fuck yeah!”

I take a left, leaving the chaos behind me as my phone buzzes again. I don’t even fucking like hockey, and I’m about to get my ass kicked for being here. I throw on my jacket and tie my hair into a bun. The best thing I can do is deal with my dad and apologize.

The staff member standing at the entrance tells me to have a good night.

If only.

As soon as I exit the glass doors, my dad is standing near the pillar to the far right. And the look on his face makes my stomach turn.

The second I’m at his side, he grabs onto my arm and yanks me in the direction I’m assuming his car is in.

“What the fuck, Tigerlily!”

“Dad,” I whisper, afraid to be seen by the staff. “There are people around.”

He leans in and says, “I don’t give a flying fuck! Do you think I’m fucking stupid? Huh? You must think you’re so fucking smart, Lily.”

He throws me forward, sending me in front of him. I cross my arms and keep walking, terrified of what’s going to happen next.

“You must take me for a fucking fool. Look at you dressed like a whore at this––” He throws his hand towards the building. “A fucking hockey game, Lily? Are you fucking serious? You lied to go to a fucking hockey game?”

I keep my arms crossed, hugging myself. The best thing I can do is stay quiet.

“Where are you parked?” I ask politely.

As a reply, he shoves my shoulder in the direction I’m already walking. “Keep fucking going!”

We cut around the corner of the building, and I see my little sister, Zinnia, sitting in the passenger seat of the Honda Pilot. She stares at me, and my heart drops. I’m so tired of this. So tired of babysitting her. So tired of being the responsible one in the family. So tired of my fucking dad.

I stop, feet planting on the paved road.

My dad takes two steps ahead of me and turns. “What the hell are you doing?”

“No,” I say. My body trembles. My voice shakes. But I don’t care. I’ve had enough.

He tilts his head at me. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said no,” I seethe as he steps to me. He towers over me by almost a foot, but his ego is so fucking fragile, he might as well be two feet tall. “I’m done with this. You can’t treat me like this anymore.”

He doesn’t like to hit me in front of Zinnia. Oh, gracious, beautiful Zinnia. His eyes darken, rage taking over. He whispers, “Get in the fucking car.”

“I’m in college now and––”

He screams in my face, “Do you think I fucking care!”

And I realize he doesn’t. He does not care about me or what I need. He only cares about how I serve him and what I can do for him. This has always been a one-sided relationship.

“I’m twenty years old,” I whisper, attempting to rationalize with him. My chest tries to heave, but I hold it in.

His raging stare used to be so intimidating, but now, I just feel bad for him. He’s broken in a way only I can see. And it’s awfully obvious now how weak he is. How his anger is immediate and uncontrollable. He can’t seem to rein in it when the depths of real life like stress and bills pile up.

“Get in… the fucking… car…” he says, shaking.

My stomach clenches, knowing I should listen, but I’m not someone who does what she should do. I’m done with this. “It’s only the first period. My friend paid for the––”

Pain bursts across my face, black and white light stretching in my vision. Before I can process what just happened, he’s dragging me by my arm. His hold is right under my armpit where the skin is sensitive. His hand twists as I resist, tears spilling out of my eyes uncontrollably.

“Dad!” I screech.

“Tigerlily! Get your ass in the fucking car!”

I hide my face, tasting the blood in my mouth. The second I realize how hard he hit me, I pull my body away. “I said no!” I try to peel his hand off, but his grip gets tighter.

“Looks like––”

“Hey!” a man’s voice cuts through the night.

Shit.

When I look over at the man, he’s wearing a hockey jersey with the number 39 on it, and by the looks of his face, I think he might be the guy who took a beating on the ice right as I was leaving.

“Let go of her,” he says, staring my dad dead in the eyes. No violence, no threat, just casually saying it.

My dad’s grip tightens, and he starts to drag me, ignoring him. I can’t meet his eyes, so I comply, walking with my dad to lessen the pain.

Number 39 steps in front of my dad and says, “I don’t like to repeat myself.”

My dad snarls, tugging me closer to him. He tries to step around number 39, but he steps in front of us again.

Number 39 looks at me and says, “I don’t stand by while men hit women.” And then he punches my dad a solid one straight in the face.

My dad stumbles back, releasing me. And my dad takes two large steps toward him.

Number 39 doesn’t flinch.

“Dad! Stop!” I scream, terrified of what’s about to happen.

My dad clenches his fists. He stops right in front of the guy’s face. I only see the back of his head, but I hear him say, “Mind your own fucking business, kid.”

I grab my dad’s shoulder. “Stop. Stop, let’s go. Come on.”

Number 39 looks down at me, sees my bleeding mouth, and looks back to my dad. “He’s not bleeding yet.” Then he clenches his teeth and aims his fist to throw another punch.

I grab number 39 by the chest and push him back.

“Stop,” I say, mortified. My heart’s racing in every direction. This man is tall, way taller than my dad. And wide. He’s massive this close.

Number 39 clenches his jaw, staring at my dad over my head. I notice now that he has a split lip that’s oozing.

“You’re bleeding,” I say, and that catches his attention. He looks down at me, his eyes dark like the night sky.

“You are too,” he says as a drop of his blood lands on my lips.

I flutter my eyes, trying to process what’s happening. I stare blankly at him as he looks down at my face, searching. “Is this man your boyfriend?” he seethes.

“What?” I say just as my dad yanks me away from him and forces me to walk in the direction of the car.

He points at number 39 and says, “Fuck you, motherfucker! You’re gonna fucking pay for this.”

My dad throws me in the backseat of the Honda Pilot, and I’m reeling. My heart’s racing in my ribs. My breath is shallow. Zinnia looks straight out the windshield, not acknowledging the situation. Maybe that’s for the best.

I turn my head to look at number 39 before we pull away.

I can’t believe he thought a man at my dad’s age would be my boyfriend.

I blink a few times, trying to process what just happened.

I touch my split lip where his blood dripped.

Number 39 stares at my dad through the windshield.

And then he looks at me in the backseat.

His expression softens lightly, and my chest aches in a way it’s never have before.

“You’re going to break up with that boy.”

I whip my head around so fast that I fall into the door as the car takes a sharp left turn. I quickly put on my seatbelt and admit, “I don’t even know who that was.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Tigerlily,” he snarls into the rearview mirror.

I wipe the blood from my lip, knowing that some of it is his.

Number 39. I’ve never seen him before. I don’t know who he is.

But a piece of me is glad that he was there to witness my dad in action.

Sometimes I truly think I’m in the wrong, that I deserve to be hit.

After all, I did lie to him about where I was tonight.

I can’t believe I forgot that he has my phone’s location.

Stupid, stupid girl. What a dumb mistake.

I hold onto my seatbelt, staring out the window.

For the first time in my life, someone stood up for me.