Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
I frown. “Osborn holds grudges? He’s as clean-cut as boring Kane over here.”
“No,” Kane says. “He’s more antagonistic, to put it lightly. You don’t watch the Wolves game replays, so you might not have noticed this, but if anyone crosses him, they’ll get it one way or another before the end of the game. Sort of like with Jude. But unlike Jude, Osborn doesn’t slam back right away, risking penalties. He’s patient and calculative, willing to let the rage simmer, then he strikes back at the exact opportune moment.”
“He’s also extremely violent,” Jude says. “Some players who’ve gone against him have ended up with permanent damage.”
“Extremely violent coming from you?” I gawk. “Who are you and what have you done to my bestie? Show yourself, Jude’s imposter!”
“Jude is right. Osborn is truly violent. You just don’t see it in full gory detail like with Jude since he’s not impulsive. His strikes are harsher because they’re premeditated.” Kane sighs. “Calculated violence is more dangerous than impulsive violence.”
Calculated violence, huh?
Was it also calculated violence when he decided to fuck with me?
Now that I think about it, during the years of rivalry, there was always this invisible string between us, and I wasn’t quite sure what it was. And while he did target me like he had a vendetta against me, I thought it was a normal hockey thing, you know?
But maybe it wasn’t?
Marcus’s fixation on me started after that game where I called his mom names. Apparently, he holds a grudge—and here I thought I was the pettiest petty of all petties—so maybe it didn’t end after he checked me all the way to Sunday.
Or won the game.
Or made me look like a goddamn fool.
Maybe this entire thing has been a game to him. Not that I treated it any differently, right?
My grip tightens around the stick as all sorts of thoughts crowd my brain and the static heightens.
“Point is,” Jude says. “Stop needlessly provoking Osborn, Preston.”
“I’m not scared of him.” I snap my fingers. “It should be the other way around. I could kill him in his sleep.”
“You could, but your father wouldn’t be thrilled about it,” Kane says. “He’s basically one of us now, though not officially for some reason.”
I narrow my eyes. “What reason?”
“Beats me.” Kane shrugs. “His father doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to bring him back.”
“I heard Julian talking to Dad the other day,” Jude says. “And apparently, Andrew told Marcus he has until he graduates, then he needs to join the family. It seems that Marcus is resistant to the idea, but he has a weakness that can be wielded against him at any time.”
I perk up. “Which is?”
“His mom. He considers her his only family.” Jude narrows his eyes. “And don’t even think about it, Pres.”
“I’m not thinking about anything!”
“You mean to tell me you won’t try to sleep with her like you did with your stepmother’s best friend just to piss him off?”
I mean, I probably would’ve a few months ago, but my dick seems to have grown a chronic illness called Marcus. “Listen, that was different.” I punch Jude in the chest. “That woman was the one Satan’s lover talked to on the phone when I was a kid. She was laughing and gloating about how she had me under control and said that I was annoyingly clingy. I had to settle scores, and you know me. I collect my debts.”
“At the expense of being beaten practically half to death by your dad’s goon?” Kane asks.
I shrug. “Worth the horrified, disgusted look on Satan’s lover’s face.”
“It won’t be worth it with Osborn,” Jude says.
“Relax. You’re acting like a drama empress.”
“It’s drama queen, Pres.”
“I upgraded you. You’re welcome.”
He shakes his head, but he stops nagging and we finish practicing some drills. Then we go home, to Jude’s place, of course. At least, he and I go—Kane ditches us to go see his girlfriend.
Jude makes sure I take my insomnia meds because I can’t really sleep without them. Never been able to since I was a kid.
You know, because once upon a time, I used to stay up all night, squirming in bed, trembling uncontrollably as horror clogged my throat in the darkness.
The only break came from the glowing stars that stared down at me as I waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Minutes felt like hours and hours like days as I lay there listening for that unmistakable creak in the door.
The hushed footsteps.
The deep, pungent breaths.
Now, as I stare at the dark ceiling after Jude’s finished being my nurse for the night, I still expect the door to open.
For that creak to slice through my fucked-up brain and start a riot of epic proportions.
Doesn’t matter that I only sleep with my door fully locked, and that I’ve only given the key to three people in case of an emergency: Jude, Kane, and Dad.