Steven’s insane.
My eyes lift to his door cam. “I’m sorry, Grey.”
And I mean it.
He forces me into the house after I unlock the door. We step inside to the living room, and all I see is pieces of us around the house. The night we watched the hockey game together. Grey resting his leg while we watched movies. Meals I’d made for him. The way he could get like twenty minutes into a show and fall asleep on me.
I look around and it hurts too much. The memories are hell.
“He thought I didn’t notice your shoes.” He shakes his head. “Dumb fuck.”
I turn on him. “No he’s not.” I glare. “Grey is smarter, stronger, and better than you’ll ever be.”
“What did you say to me?”
“I know you heard me.” Even if he wants Atlas. Even if he doesn’t want me. Grey brought me back to life. He showed me what I’m worth. No matter what, I’m grateful to him. It’s not his fault his heart belongs to someone else. I love him so much.
I’m just sad I’ll never get to tell him.
Steven walks up to me, but this is the thing about beating someone down until they have nothing left to give you. I don’t care anymore. He’s taken everything from me. For the first time in my life, I felt what it’s like to love someone and have someone love me. Steven has taken everything from me, but he can’t take my memories. He can’t take my worth, as much as he tries to strip it from me.
I am not afraid of him. “You’re sad and pathetic. And a bully. I never loved you like I love him. That’s what it’s supposed to be like. You never loved me. You’re pathetic.”
Steven’s eyes darken on me. He steps toward me.
He takes out his gun, and I think he’s going to shoot me, but he whips it across my face. I crumple to the ground. Sharp pain throbs in my eye socket, and I clutch my face, my vision fading. “Pathetic, huh?” I hear him, then I hear the familiar sound of his belt. “We’ll see how pathetic I am. Smile for the camera.”
THIRTY TWO
Grey
The air in this car is so thick I may choke on it. None of us are talking. It’s as though if one of us breathes a word, everything will crash down around us. My heart is in my fucking throat, my good knee restlessly bouncing as Oli drives. Steven better not touch a hair on his goddamn head. I’m sick to the stomach with worry. All I can think about is him, what he’s doing to him.
“It’s going to be alright,” Oli whispers, eyes focused on the road. His large hand braces my thigh with a squeeze. “We will get him out of there.”
I want to believe that, but some situations are bigger than three giant hockey players. Steven is a cop, which means he has a gun. He’s an evil manipulative dick as well. “Thanks.”
Andre sticks his head through the center. “I hate to do this but... I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Hold it,” I grit.
Oli turns, glancing at him quickly. “Let me pull over so myhusband can piss.”
“Aw,Oli. Husband.” Andre presses a quick kiss to his shoulder. “And no, I need somewhere to go. It’s that kind of a pitstop.” I glare at him. “What?! We’ve been traveling nonstop. Just find a gas station or something. I’ll be fast.” I see a diner up ahead, and my knee keeps shaking. Every second is precious, but Andre is right. We’re burning fumes right now.
“It’ll be fast.” Oli reassures me. “We’ll go in, let him go, maybe get a cup of coffee...” He pulls into the parking lot with zero argument. Oli helps me out of the car. As it is, I have to wear sweats. My knee is swollen to hell, and I can feel fluid pressing on my joints. I don’t give a shit about any of it. I don’t give a shit if I never walk again as long as he’s safe.
We walk into the diner ripped straight from the fifties, and all eyes seem to drift toward us. It’s funny being a hockey player. We’re famous athletes, but unless you watch hockey you wouldn’t know who we are. Even if you like hockey, you still might not know what we look like, since most of the time we’re in gear. These looks aren’t of the “holy shit there are pro athletes here” variety. It’s more “what the hell you are doing in this small town?”
“What can I help you fellas with?” a waitress who looks like she could have retired decades ago asks.
“Do you have a bathroom I can use?” Andre is dancing at this point.
She blinks at him. “Sorry. Customers only.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Oli growls. “I’m going to buy something. Can my husband take a shit or not?”
Now, any other person would cower at my friend’s gruffness, but this woman is not one of them. She straightens, glowering right back. “Fine. Right this way, gentlemen.”
