44
JACKSON
I break my attention from the surveillance video of Aurora in the pool and focus on Grant’s crazy-ass story about ambushing Sloane. “So, what happened?”
He sets his bottle of water on the cocktail table harder than necessary. “The fucking dog happened.”
I assured him he could drink alcohol, but he insists he wants a clear head. I don’t entirely buy it, but I appreciate his support nonetheless.
“The one you had to have?” I add with a smug smile.
“Fucking thing started practicing its wolf howl. Don’t get me wrong, it was cute, but fuck, my balls are still aching. After that, she came to her senses and kicked me out.”
I can’t help but laugh at his entire fiasco of stalking this girl and climbing over her fence, only to fall on his ass.
Grant joins in, and our laughter catches Ethan’s glower from across the room, where he’s lining up a shot at the pool table.He lifts his head, and beneath his thick lashes and signature scowl, his stormy gaze meets mine.
“He’s pissed,” Grant says, following my line of sight. “We can leave. I didn’t think this through, man. I’m sorry. Honestly?—”
“It’s fine,” I assure him for the hundredth time.
I’m okay around alcohol, I am. Before, there was this urgency to consume.
Now, the thought of drinking turns my stomach.
I’m terrified of anything that’ll jeopardize my recovery and family.
If it becomes too much, I’ll leave. “It’s not you. Things have been tense between us.”
Ethan fires the shot, and the cue ball collides with the others in a series of sharp cracks. He banks at least two. Of course, he’s good at pool, kicking all of our asses, just like everything else he does. The twins aren’t bad either.
On second thought, it’s only me who sucks. I blame being distracted. Getting a ball in a hole shouldn’t be so hard, but I’m neither patient nor gentle.
“Why? The whole Patty thing?” Grant scoffs. “Patty is a meddler. She’s in everyone’s business.”
I rake my fingers through my hair. “Not just Patty. I’m sick of hiding. I lived my entire life playing by someone else’s rules. I want to be happy. I fought to be free, fought to be with them, and he’s still pretending to be single—or is single. Fuck if I know.”
In my heart, I know Ethan is not single, but listening to another woman giggle and flirt with him besides Aurora has torn me up. He laughed at something she said, and jealousy coursed through my veins like wildfire.
If Patty had touched him, I might’ve broken her fingers. I can’t imagine what I would’ve done if I’d found them alone together. The image is worse than picturing Reece with Aurora.
It’s a total mindfuck. I’m infatuated with Ethan. I long to be close to him, joke with him, have him put his arms around me in this bar like he does at home. It’s killing me that I can’t or that he won’t.
I’m not capable of letting shit go. I fixate on my problems, and right now, I’ve got plenty. I’m coming out of my skin, barely able to contain my madness.
Ethan. Aurora. Reece. Hugo . The thought of him near Aurora, speaking to her, threatening her, has unresolved guilt and rage eating away at me. I dealt with Kyle for too fucking long, putting her through hell. I refuse to do the same with his partner.
“He doesn’t look single,” Grant disrupts my misery. “He can’t keep his eyes off you.”
“Yeah, ’cause he’s worried I’ll do something stupid.” Such as relapse.
“I’m not so sure about that.” A shit-eating grin spreads across my best friend’s face. “I think he’s concerned about me like you’re concerned about Patty.” He reaches over the table, wiggling his fingers. “Should I play with your hair and see if he breaks my skull?”
I seriously doubt Ethan is jealous of Grant. We’ve rotated playing the winner, and Ethan avoided me even when we faced off against each other. I’m certain this obsession is one-sided.
Still, Grant’s point of view lifts my shitty mood.
I chuckle and swat his hand away. “He won’t. He’ll punish me . That’s his MO. Now, what’s our plan here?”
“Go interrupt her dinner and introduce myself to the family.”
“And if Robert says no, you can’t date his baby girl?”
Grant narrows his eyes. “She’s far from a baby. He’d better get the fuck over it.”
I bring my water bottle to my lips. “That serious, huh?”
“Very,” he declares with conviction and no further explanation.
Who am I to judge or argue? I place the drink down. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
We walk past the pool table on our way out. I lift my chin toward Desi, who’s nursing a beer and watching the room. “Be right back.”
Ethan drops his pool stick onto the felt and straightens to his full height. “Where are you going?”
I smirk. “To see Robert. Wanna come?”
He holds my gaze. “No,” he draws out, as if it’s obvious.
So that’s his problem? He’s irritable about being here with Robert, about the possibility of us being seen together outside of hockey?
Disappointment churns in my gut. I shake my head and walk away.
Ethan clears his throat. “You coming straight home?”
Palms sweaty and heart pounding, I make a noncommittal noise. “I’ll see you soon.” Then, I exit the car.
I’m finding it hard to compartmentalize, and if I meet his troubled gaze, I’ll break.He’ll know I’m lying. Grant left with Sloane. The opportunity arose for me to pick up my bike alone, and I’m taking full advantage of it.
I circle the garage and key in the backdoor code. The overhead lights flicker to life as I enter, blinding me, and I shield my eyes.
A car door slams in the driveway, and I curse. He won’t let this go. He tried to engage me in conversation throughout the ride to Kyle’s, but with the twins in the backseat, he didn’t push.
I swiftly kick the door shut and flip the deadbolt. The handle rattles, and I freeze, waiting for what he’ll do next.
He doesn’t knock, and after a tense moment, I hear the clanking of the iron gate. Despite the guilt gnawing at me, I breathe a shaky sigh of relief.
Boxes rifled through haphazardly by investigators litter the floor, along with sports equipment, tools, and other junk long ago forgotten.
The three-car garage remained unused except for storage.
Kyle parked under the carport, next to the kitchen entrance.
I stashed my bike here in May to keep it hidden, knowing he’d never see it.
I shove aside a tote of decade-old Christmas lights. I guess it’ll be my responsibility to toss or donate this shit once Reece gives me permission. He didn’t say I couldn’t pick up my bike. In fact, he handed me the key.
There’s still an unmarked van in the driveway, crime scene notifications on the gate and garage doors. Maybe they’re hoping I’ll lead them to something they missed, like a secret room or an underground bunker. If Kyle had either of those, which I doubt, he didn’t share it with me.
I make a mental note to rent a dumpster…if Ethan doesn’t strangle me.
My bike sits gathering dust at the rear of the garage, where a retractable door opens to the backyard.
The size of the estate is deceptive. The grounds are covered with dense landscaping and walking trails, and beyond the pool house lies a forest that borders two roads leading outside the subdivision.
I’ve used these woods countless times to enter and exit the property without notice.
The home was built in the 1940s. I have no clue if Kyle chose the place for its obscurity or if my mother owned it before they married.
At no point did they reminisce and share stories of how they met or when they moved in together.
There weren’t any ‘good old days’ you hear kids with divorced parents talk about.
It was hell between them for as long as I can remember.
My mother never sat me down and said, “Hey, your dad is an abusive douchebag, but I have no way of escaping.” She also didn’t defend or make excuses for him. She shielded me the best she could while I struggled to piece this deranged world together amidst a haze of trauma and drugs.
I recall little of my early childhood, but I remember spending our days in the kitchen or at the beach. I have a vague recollection of her family. In my memories, the meetings were strained, and as I grew older, I wondered if she and Kyle weren’t some business arrangement.
It wouldn’t surprise me to learn my mother was given to him through blackmail or some shady deal. I can’t imagine any woman willingly choosing that monster.
Rocco believed my grandfather ensured his trust was airtight to prevent Kyle from accessing the Vaughn fortune. If true, he knew what type of man Kyle was. Why didn’t he help his daughter?
A shady business deal is the best plausible explanation. The worst possibility is that I resulted from him forcing himself on her or drugging her, then he threatened to take me if she ever left.
The thought has bile rising in my throat. Since our talk in the kitchen, it’s been difficult to keep from spiraling, to keep a smile on my face, to keep the intrusive thoughts at bay.
And being here isn’t helping.
I failed to do anything about Kyle, and it’s too late to save my mother, but I’ll die before I let Hugo threaten what’s mine.
I’ve waited my entire life for vengeance, and tonight is my chance to take it.