28. Chapter Twenty-Eight #3
He shakes his head and cuts me off. “Enough already. I’ve been seeing someone else, anyway. Someone who actually fits me. It’s made things a lot clearer regarding Aspen. We weren't meant to be.”
I raise a brow as the auditorium doors loom ahead. “Someone new, eh?”
“Oh no,” he says, reinforcing his rule not to bring girlfriends around his friends. “If it gets serious-serious, you’ll be the first to know.”
“First?” I ask, the word feeling like an olive branch.
“First,” he confirms.
It’s just one word, but it’s the only confirmation I need. The air between us finally starts to clear, the static of the last few months vanishing. I didn’t just get a piggyback ride to the door; I got my brother back.
He carries me through the auditorium doors, where I spot Aspen talking to a man.
Under any other circumstances, like if my leg wasn’t screaming and I wasn’t currently hitched to another man's back like he was carrying me across a threshold, I’d have a few choice words for the way he's looking entirely too comfortable with my wife.
Aspen’s eyes go wide the moment she catches sight of Croix staggering under my dead weight and me. “What happened?” she cries, rushing over as Croix dumps me unceremoniously onto a nearby bench.
“He took a few hits,” Croix says, breathing hard. He looks at me, and for the first time today, he looks like he’s trying very hard not to burst into laughter. “I’ll leave you in the hands of the professional,” he says and I don’t miss the way he glances at Aspen. It’s warm but still shifty.
“Croix,” Aspen calls, but he just smiles at her.
“Good to see you, Pen. I’ve got to get back.”
“I—Okay. Thank you.” I can tell she’s not sure how to take Croix’s demeanor.
Croix jogs back toward the field, leaving me to lean my head against the wall. But my eyes remain fixed on the man Aspen was talking to.
She notices, too. “Luca! I’d like you to meet someone,” Aspen says, gesturing toward him. “This is Eros Beaumont.”
My posture stiffens. I recognize the name. And the face. He’s the owner of BSN, or at least one of the heavy hitters behind the network. I mask my irritation with professional courtesy and extend a hand.
“Luca Chidubem,” I grit out.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Eros says, his grip firm. “I was just telling your wife that I’d love to profile the two of you for the network. The 'Power Couple' angle will do wonders for your brand.”
I let out a dry, slightly strained laugh. Did my wife also tell him that our marriage has an expiration date? “I’m flattered you’d come all the way out here to pitch a story to my wife.”
“Actually, I’m on Dad duty today,” he counters easily. “My son, Manny, is out there. I’m just waiting for the day to wrap up.”
“Ah! Manny! Small kid, big brain? Wears glasses?”
“That’s the one,” Eros says, a spark of pride in his eyes. He then looks down at my leg. “Please tell me the little shit didn't assault you. Is that why you had to be carried in here just now?”
I shake my head, a genuine laugh bubbling up despite the pain. “Manny is a great kid. And no, he didn't assault me. Though I'll say this—if the BSN cameras weren’t out there, I’d have the rest of those little fuckers running suicides until they puked.”
“Luca! They’re second graders!” Aspen gasps, horrified.
“Aspen, they’re assholes!” I vent.
Eros just laughs, turning toward the door. “In that case, I’d better go check on my tiny asshole. It was good meeting you, Luca. Think about that profile.”
As he exits, I shift on the bench, a sharp hiss escaping my teeth as the adrenaline fades and the agony returns.
“Luca, stay still,” Aspen commands, her voice dropping into her no-nonsense medical tone. Her hands move over my leg, checking the tension of the wrap. “We’re going to have to get this looked at. I’ll call Dr. Shoup, the team doctor, to meet us at home.”
Home.
“I know. And thank you for not saying I told you so when you saw me being carried in.”
“Oh, the day is still young, Chillmonger. What the hell happened?”
“Kids were throwing balls at me. From every angle and every direction! I don’t know what the hell was going on!”
“Just you? Why on earth were they all targeting you?”
“I have no clue. And Croix just laughed and shrugged the entire time.”
I’m telling her about the final blow that sent me to the ground when she reaches behind me, her hand brushing against my back. I feel a slight tug, the sound of adhesive peeling away from fabric.
“What is that?” I ask.
Aspen holds up a piece of copy paper with large writing like a sign. Her expression is a mix of horror and suppressed amusement.
In messy, block-lettered Sharpie, the sign reads: THROW BALLS AT ME. I’M A DORK.
I stare at the paper. Then I look out at the field, where Croix is currently high-fiving the boy with the undone shoelaces.
“I’m going to kill him,” I growl.
Aspen lets out a soft, melodic laugh, the first one I’ve heard in days. She looks back outside the doors to the field where Croix is and then shakes the paper at me with her hand on her hip. “What am I going to do with you two?”
I just shake my head.
Old Croix and Luca, indeed.