Page 65 of Wicked Minds
I spent the entire time staring at my dad, wondering if he was not the man I always thought he was. Trying to envision him as the monster Gran depicted.
Except I couldn’t.
He has his faults, of course. He’s brusque and driven. Never one to coddle or comfort me, but once I grew up, I never needed him to.
I kept wracking my brain, trying to remember what he was like with Mom. I never recall seeing them laugh or witnessing any sweet moments between them. In fact, I hardly remember them spending any time together.
So lost in my thoughts and not listening to a word he said, I’d asked aloud, “Do you ever miss Mom?”
My father had just blinked at me. “What sort of question is that? Are you even listening to me?”
“You never talk about her.”
“I’ve had more important things to deal with, Grayson,” He’d snapped with a crease forming between his brows. “What is this all about?”
Debating for a second, I then told him, “I never remember the two of you spending any real time together, so I was just wondering why.”
“Your mother and I had very different yet equally hectic schedules. She was busy raising you, and then she wasn’t well while I was working long hours to build her family company into what it is today.”
I’d stiffened at that remark becauseIhave made the company what it is today. Sure, Dad grew and expanded it, but he also nearly destroyed it.
“So you had a good relationship? You loved one another?”
“She was my wife,” he drolls as though the two go hand in hand. Theyshould, but that doesn’t mean they do. Especially not in the world of money, where everyone’s goal is acquiring more wealth, regardless of the fact they already own more than they could spend in three lifetimes. “Now, can we get back to the more pressing issue of my parole?”
“Yeah,” I’d reluctantly agreed, knowing I wouldn’t make any headway with him. I’m not sure what I’d expected from the conversation. For him to choke up and tell me he loved my mom and missed her every single day… yeah, I knew going in that that was never going to happen.
However, his lack of a straight answer has stuck with me the entire journey home.
Honestly, I’m kinda glad Royce pushed to have this talk tonight. I’ve been wavering back and forth between confiding in them. With tensions being high between us recently, I’ve found myself biting back the words every time one of them asks what’s wrong.
I just know they’ll relate it to Riley and I don’t want to hear about that. This is about my mom, about the terror I saw in Gran’s eyes when she mistook me for Dad. For once, since I saw her in that godforsaken club, it isnotabout Riley fucking James.
Just seeing Logan with her last week. Watching him defend her… fucking protect herfrom me…
Then, finding out Royce is still stalking her every move like the psychotic creeper he is. I should have known she was where he kept slinking off to, but since he’d ordered me and Logan to stay away, I assumed the same rules had also applied to him.
Guess I was wrong.
Don’t even get me started on that vomit-inducing shit Logan pulled at his game last night. I have never regretted going to a hockey game as much as I did last night. I never should have allowed Royce to talk me into that shit, and had I known Logan was going to pull that stunt, I’d have gladly stayed home. Except I was trying to make a fucking effort. To repair some of the damage between us. I scoff at my naivety.
Still, I’m fucking here, ready to talk to them because I can’t keep analyzing this shit in my head. I need to speak to someone, and regardless of everything, Logan and Royce are the only two people I trust enough to have this conversation with.
Only it doesn’t appear as though either of them is home. I check the time on my watch, noticing that it’s still early enough. Royce is probably only getting into the ring now, which means it could be another hour or so before they’re home. That gives me time to work out while I figure out how to coherently explain the jumbled mess in my head.
Thirty minutes later, I’m breathing heavily, sweat slicking my skin as I head for the bathroom. Turning on the shower, steam fills the room as I strip out of my workout gear before stepping beneath the hot spray.
The water sluices over my skin, washing the day off me, and with one hand pressed against the cold tiles, I duck my head, allowing the heat to ease the strain on my muscles as it trickles down my neck.
Closing my eyes, flashes of copper and russet assault my vision, whipping through the air and curling around me until the smell of my menthol shower gel is replaced with something fruitier. The auburn hues meld into achingly familiar hazel irises, and at the echo of her pleading voice, my dick swells with interest.
I groan, even as I fight the urge to give into my body’s desires, but even though she’s not physically present, Riley has wrapped herself around my mind, and all I can see is the way she looked that day in the field. The resounding silence that filled my mind when she reached up and kissed me. How sliding into her felt like I’d finally found peace.
Unable to deny myself any longer, I reach down and fist my straining erection, pretending it’s her holding me in a death grip. I bite down on my lower lip the way she did, losing myself in that animalistic urgency the way we did that day in the field… I’m lost in the sound of my breaths, the phantom feel of her hips slamming against mine, and just as my balls draw up, an image of Logan on the precipice of kissing Riley slams into me, followed by ones of Royce watching her dance on stage, and that all-consuming need twists into undeniable rage as I roar out my release.
“God fucking dammit,” I rasp, sagging against the tiles as I catch my breath. “What the ever-loving fuck was that?”
I frown at the wall as I recover from my intense-as-fuck orgasm, attempting to put the pieces together. It almost seemed as though I was… jealous of Logan and Royce, only there’s no fucking way that’s the case. A scoff renders through the air. No chance.
