I’m bleeding.
Cold, rough, and cruel hands touch my back again.
No!
Stay away!
I think I shout. I can’t be sure.
Because the next second, my eyes wrench open. I stay motionless, still disoriented from my dream, and bring my hand into my sight,twisting and turning.
It’s clean.
I’m not a child.
I’m an adult.
I’m not on the floor.
I’m in my bed, in the same position that I slept in—face down.
I’m alone with no voices to be heard except for my harsh breathing. When the reality of me being far away from my hell and safe at my penthouse registers, I exhale a sharp, shuddering breath.
Squeezing my eyes shut as I press the heel of my palm into them, I turn on my back, reeling from the aftermath of the night terror. Sweat sticks to my body like second skin, and my heart races as if being chased by ghosts—maybe because it is.
I think of anything else. I think of hockey and today’s game. Put my focus into repeating the game plan for today over and over again in my mind. My thoughts eventually drift to the woman with a vibrant smile, soulful eyes, and curves in all the right places.
Andie’s thoughts and how I spent the last time we were together eating her cunt and then eatingatMolly’swith her.
It reminds me of the conversation we had about thosefucking friendsof hers who were supposed to be with her till the end of time, not ditch her the moment it got tough. She must’ve been so lonely and scared.
I know that feeling all too well. I resent that she does too.
Because Andie Moore deserves all the good things and the right people in her life. The one thing I’m sure of in this life is that I’m none of those—neither right nor good.
I shouldn’t even be spending time with her. But honestly, I’m too weak and too far gone to stay away. I’ll take whatever crumbs she’s willing to throw at me, even though she shouldn’t.
A good man would warn her.
I never claimed to be one.
The buzzing of my phone breaks my selfish spiral, my eyes fluttering awake, the blurriness receding as the ceiling comes into view. Thinking that it must be my alarm, I let the phone ring until it silences itself.
But then it rings again, and my brows furrow. Who would call me this early? It’s not even five in the morning if that wasn’t my alarm.
My joints protest when I turn and sit up, stretching my hand to get my phone. Yeah, maybe punishing myself and running myself into the ground might not have been my best idea. But by now, my body is too accustomed to pain that half the time it doesn’t even register.
The shadows that receded a bit by thinking of Andie, barrel back with full force when the name on my screen glares at me, taunting me, reminding me of a time in my life I’d rather forget.
My body freezes, the phantom ache in my neck and other places resurges with a brutal echo of the past. I don’t have to touch my skin to know that it’s all in my head and that my scars are healed, no blood and no pain.
The screen goes black when I don’t answer, my phone still in my hand as the floor grounds me, reminds me I’m here, and I’m okay. That they are far away from me.
That assurance lasts for only a second as the screen lights up again, flashingDad’sname with an incoming call.
Henry Miller does that whenever he needs something from me. Any other time, I might’ve answered, but today I need to be one hundredpercent between the pipes to hold down the fort. It’s the playoffs, and I can’t afford to slack off, not when we are so close to making it, not when we’re playing our Division Semifinals.
Henry and whatever he has to say will only distract me from my goal, and it’s not the kind of distraction I need.