Page 101 of Triple Power Play 3
“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 longago 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.
