Chapter 129 Chapter 129 Tennis Racket
School is out. Year one—or year two in my case, because of the double class load—is finally complete. My birthday, my twentieth, is in two weeks.
I don’t want to do shit.
Gemma, of course, is relentlessly bugging me about it.
I’ve spent the entire past month at Nick’s house. We go out and eat whatever the fuck he’s craving, whenever he wants it. His parents have been… unbelievably accepting. Of everything. Of us.
Especially our loud-ass sex sessions.
I feel bad about that part.
But I also know what’s coming.
Soon, he’s going to weaken. He’ll lose his appetite. He’ll get thin and—
Stop.
Shut up.
Don’t go there.
Vince knows. No one else.
I’ve been holding it in, swallowing it down every single day, but I feel like I’m going to burst.
Nick gave me permission to tell Gemma, Tish, and Erika. Tish and Erika are home for the summer, and we’ve all met up at the club.
We’re playing tennis while our usual group of golf-playing guys sit on the bench nearby, watching us like we’re part of the entertainment. My cousin and Ivan are there too. Still here. A few more months before they leave.
My cousin and Tiana got serious fast.
I warned him.
If he hurts my friend, I don’t care if we share blood—I will clean that mess up.
He’ll be a dead man.
I toss the ball up and serve. The crack of the racket echoes cleanly. Gemma returns it, sending it straight back to me.
“What have you and Nick been up to this past month?” she calls across the court. “You haven’t been home. Are you dating? Planning some secret wedding?”
I don’t even think about it before answering.
“I wish. I asked.”
Silence.
Everything stops.
The ball rolls uselessly across the court as every single person freezes.
“You asked what exactly?” Tish says carefully.
“If he wants to get married,” I reply flatly. “He doesn’t.”
The words sit there, heavy and wrong.
Something ugly twists inside me—sadness, anger, helplessness—all tangled together. Why Nick? Out of everyone? He’s the best human being I know.
Why not take some abuser?
Why not take a monster?
Why him?
Everyone is staring at me like I’ve completely lost my mind.
My cousin and Ivan stand at the exact same time.
“Elena Dimitrova,” Stanislav says sharply, “you asked a man to marry you?”
I turn toward him without hesitation. “This would be the second one.”
Ivan is fuming.
I can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears. His jaw is tight, his body rigid, like he’s holding himself back from something.
Gemma rushes toward me, grabbing my arms, shaking me harder than necessary.
“What is going on?” she demands. “I mean—I’m not mad because it’s Nick. I’ve always told you he’s the only guy worth it.” She glances over her shoulder at Alek. “Sorry, baby, but Nick is a damn angel.”
Back to me.
“Why did he say no… to you?”
That’s it.
I can’t hold it anymore.
It rips out of me—fast, sharp, unstoppable. My chest burns like it’s splitting open. I yank myself out of Gemma’s grip and slam my racket into the ground.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The sound echoes, violent and raw. I turn and start smashing it against the fence, over and over until my hands sting and my arms shake.
Crack.
Finally.
Relief.
I broke it.
I drop it and grab the spare from my bag, my movements frantic, unhinged. I start again, hitting, breaking, losing it completely.
And then the tears come.
Big, ugly, uncontrollable.
“Nick doesn’t want to make me a young widow,” I say, my voice quiet, barely there. “He has cancer. He’s dying.”
I don’t know how they all hear me.
There’s noise everywhere—other games, chatter from the golf course, the sharp sounds of rackets and balls—but somehow my words cut through all of it.
Everything goes still.
I collapse to the ground, exhausted, drained.
“I would trade anyone for him,” I whisper, gripping the broken racket so tightly my knuckles turn white. “Anyone.” I say louder.
Mason moves quickly, crossing the court and gently prying the racket out of my hands.
“I’m sorry you’re losing your friend,” he says softly. “Is that the one guy you dance with?”
I nod, swallowing hard.
“He’s my step-brother,” I add, a broken smile pushing through as my tears start to slow.
Gemma wipes at her face. Tish and Erika are both teary-eyed now.
“Are you two seriously still on that?” Gemma asks, a shaky grin breaking through her sadness.
“Fuck yes,” I say, letting out a breath that almost feels like a laugh. “It’s so much worse than before. His dad does not enjoy it, but he lets it happen.”
She laughs through her tears.
“What the hell is all that about?” Ivan’s voice cuts in.
All eyes turn to him.
One—he spoke.
Two—there’s no way he doesn’t know.
Three—he actually spoke to me.
He’s been quiet for weeks. Distant. Only speaking to Stanislav when necessary, and even that has been limited.
“He has a step-sibling kink,” I say, tilting my head slightly as I watch realization slowly dawn across his face.
I almost laugh.
I guess if you get as much ass as Ivan, you don’t need porn.
Something flickers across his expression—something I can’t quite read. He doesn’t ask anything else.
My eyes meet Gemma’s.
Oh no.
I know that look.
“What other kinks does he have?” she asks, already stepping closer.
“Gemma,” I warn, narrowing my eyes. “We…” I gesture between us. “…haven’t fucked in a while. You are married.”
I shake my head, but Tish and Erika are already leaning in, curiosity written all over their faces.
“There is no way you want to give him the full Wild Four,” I say, my tone serious now. “He can’t handle that. He’s getting weaker.”
“He can watch,” Erika offers casually.
I exhale slowly, rubbing my face.
“Nick let me tell you guys because he didn’t want to do it himself. If that’s something you want…” I shrug. “You have to ask him.”
Gemma doesn’t hesitate.
Her phone is already in her hand.
She dials.
Every guy on that bench goes dead silent, watching us like they’ve just stumbled into something they shouldn’t be hearing.
Gemma doesn’t care.
She asks him.
Straight out.
If he can handle all four of us—or if he wants to watch.
I can hear Nick’s laughter through the phone, loud and real, coming from deep in his chest. It makes something in me tighten.
Then it stops.
A pause.
“What does Elle want?” he asks.