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Darren looked ready to pass out. My dad had more money than he’d ever spend in one lifetime due to generational wealth. And my mother had built her business from the ground up selling t-shirts of all things, and now she was a self-made millionaire in her own right. Darren had no idea who they were messing with.
“It won’t happen again,” Darren mumbled before he quickly moved away, grabbing the arm of the guy he was with to tug him away.
“Well, that went well. I won’t have to break his legs now,” Graham mused, reaching for his water.
I cut my boyfriend a dark look. “You won’t touch him,” I warned him. “Your hockey career is too important.”
“He’s right,” Mom agreed with me. I smirked at Graham. He just rolled his eyes at me. “If anyone is giving you or Sterling a problem, bring it to us. It’ll be handled. You have a lot riding on hockey, and you don’t need to do anything to potentially ruin that. Clear?”
“Clear,” Graham quietly agreed.
“How did you know he played hockey?” I asked Dad.
Dad smirked and shot a pointed look at Graham, whose ears colored a light red in embarrassment. And probably a little shame. “Graham vented to Trish about you and Darren seeing each other, and of course, Trish told your mother, who told me. I did a background check on him.”
I sighed and leaned my head back to stare up at the ceiling. Graham propped his chin on my shoulder, and I turned to look at him. Ours lips were so close, I only had to move a hair for them to brush together. My boyfriend was giving me sweet puppy-dog eyes, and my frustration melted away.
“You aren’t mad at me, are you?”
I sighed and pressed a small kiss to his lips, making him smile. My heart melted in my chest. “No, Graham, I’m not mad at you. Our parents are just very big gossipers.”
Mom gasped, placing her hand on her chest in mock hurt. “I object. That’s offensive.”
Dad snorted, and I barked out a laugh.
6
Sterling
The lights above me were too bright. My retinas throbbed in pain, but I couldn’t close my eyes—not when he had my eyelids taped open. Hot tears spilled down the sides of my face as his hand crept along my leg.
“Please don’t,” I pleaded when he rolled me onto my stomach. “Daddy, it hurts when you do that,” I cried. It always felt like he was ripping me apart, and I always bled.
“You’re Daddy’s pretty boy,” he rasped from behind me. “And I want to touch my pretty boy.” I shook my head, choking on a sob.
A knock sounded on the old, wooden front door, making it rattle, and he moved back from me, his touch disappearing. I sobbed in relief, snot running down my face and pooling onto the race car bed sheets beneath me that he had just washed this morning. I was already ruining them.
“Oh, hey,” I heard him greet whoever was at the door. “I forgot you were coming today. You got the money? No payment, no play.”
“Of course, I’ve got the fucking money,” a raspy voice replied. “Here. Now where’s the boy?”
I scrambled off the bed, rushing to the closet to escape whatever was about to happen. I knew it wouldn’t be good. Any time he had friends over, it hurt so much. And I bled even more than usual.
“Oh, no you don’t, boy,” the stranger suddenly growled. I hadn’t even heard him enter my bedroom. He snatched me back by my hair, and I screamed, my chest wracking with sobs as he dragged me back over to my bed. “I paid for you, and I want my fucking money’s worth.”
I shot upright, sweat drenching me. Tears were streaming down my cheeks, and I hiccupped, snot running down my nose. Not even caring that I might wake Graham, I kicked the comforter off of me and crawled out of bed, landing on my hands and knees on the floor. I gagged, and vomit spewed from between my lips.
“Baby, baby—fuck, you’re okay. You’re safe,” Graham cooed, settling beside me on the floor without touching me. Our rug was ruined, and that made me sad as fuck, but there was no way I had been capable of making it to the bathroom or even just to the sink or the fucking trashcan by the door. My knees were weak, and my legs were shaking.
I leaned back and settled on my ass, dragging my knees to my chest. “The rug—” I croaked.
“I’ll call your mom and get it cleaned. I’ll even tell her I was the one who threw up so she doesn’t hound you about what happened, okay?” He held out one of his t-shirts that he’d grabbed off the floor. “Here. Clean your face up, baby. And just breathe.”
I grabbed it from him, too rattled to care about ruining one of his shirts, and wiped the vomit from around my lips before folding it to wipe the snot and tears from my cheeks. My entire body hurt from that fucking nightmare—flashback, really—and my ass clenched in phantom pain. Once my face was cleaned, Graham grabbed the shirt from me and tossed it across the room into the trash can. Had I been my normal self, I’d have said something along the lines of “Score!”, but instead, I leaned back against the side of his bed and closed my eyes, dragging deep breaths into my aching lungs.
When Graham settled beside me, close enough that his body heat was burning me but not so close that any part of him was touching me, I scooted over. Immediately, he dropped his legs, and I turned my body, climbing over him so I could straddle his thighs. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I burrowed my face in the crook of his neck. Immediately, his arms wrapped around my back, and he clutched me to him. I sank into his hold, letting him warm my soul in a way nothing else could.
“I had a flashback,” I croaked.
