26. Eli
Eli
The house feels too small for what’s about to be said.
That’s my first real thought as I sit down beside Julian on the big sectional and try not to look too worried.
Mila is upstairs with Mrs. Alvarez, who took one look at the mood in the room and said she could stay late without anyone even asking.
Her kids are grown, she’s divorced, and she’s seen enough life to read a room in one blink.
I’ve never loved her more than I did when she took Mila from my arms, kissed her little duck-covered forehead, and told me, “Go handle your people, mijo. I’ve got this one.”
Now the white noise machine is probably humming in my room, Mila’s probably asleep, and downstairs the whole Sin Bin is gathered.
Luca is standing near the fireplace with Sage tucked into his side, one hand resting low on Sage’s back in that absent, grounding way he always touches him now. Killian is leaning against the bar with a glass of water in his hand, watching everyone.
Julian is on my right, close enough that our knees keep brushing whenever either of us shifts, but he’s sitting too still for that to mean anything comforting yet.
His composed face worries me because I know him better than I realized, and that stillness means he’s holding himself together by force.
Across from us, the others have settled in varying states of confusion and unease. Thorn is in the armchair by the window, sucker in his mouth and forearms braced on his knees.
Adrian is at the far end of the couch, his ankle crossed over his knee, trying and failing to look relaxed. Liam is sunk deep into the corner loveseat with Nate perched on his lap, one arm around his waist.
Roman is sprawled on the opposite couch, one hand absently playing with Damon’s fingers.
Damon sits close beside him, finally back after finishing commissions.
Even though he doesn’t know every piece of this house the way the rest of us do, he knows enough to understand when something serious is happening.
Ryan is standing because sitting would apparently require a level of patience God forgot to give him. He’s near the coffee table, arms folded hard across his chest.
Everyone who matters is here.
I look at Jules once, just once, because I know if I do it too obviously, he’ll feel it and maybe think I’m trying to help him through this.
I can’t help him through this, not really.
Not in the ways that matter. I can sit beside him and keep my body close enough that he knows he’s not alone in the room.
I can stay still and let him take up whatever space he needs without making the whole thing about my own rage. That’s all I’ve got.
Julian clears his throat once, and the sound of it cuts right through me.
I look over at him properly before I can stop myself.
He’s staring at the floor, hands clasped so tightly between his knees that the knuckles have gone pale.
Then he lifts his head and looks out at all of us, and even in this moment, I’m struck again by how beautiful he is when he’s trying not to come apart.
I hate that the world has given me that thought in a room like this, with this story sitting in his chest waiting to get out.
“You all know something happened today,” Julian says finally, and his voice is low and steady in a way I know costs him. “Or enough of something that we can’t really pretend it didn’t.”
Ryan shifts immediately, his jaw flexing. “Jules, just say it. I’m already losing my fucking mind.”
Luca gives him one quick look sharp enough to remind him what kind of room this is. Ryan shuts up but doesn’t look any less ready to punch through a wall.
Julian nods once. “Yeah. Okay.” He drags in a slow breath, and for one awful second, I think maybe he’s going to stop there, maybe the room is too full, and this is the part where shame wins again.
Then he says, “I was involved with Coach Blakely for months, and it stopped being my choice a long time ago.”
There seems to be a collective intake of breath at that, and the urge to pull him into my arms is strong.
“What the fuck?” Ryan snaps, the words ripping out of him before anyone can stop them.
“Let him finish,” Killian answers before Julian has to.
Ryan turns his head, and for half a second, I think he’s going to push, but whatever he sees in Killian’s face shuts that down. He takes one step back instead and drags both hands through his hair so hard it must hurt.
Jules takes a breath and tells them everything he told me, including how Blakely used his authority and his position to keep him under his thumb, and I slowly watch Ryan go pale in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.
“He knew exactly what the hell he was doing,” Julian says, and his voice stays level. “And I kept going back because by the time I understood how bad it had gotten, I was already deep enough in it that leaving felt harder than staying.”
Nobody judges him for that—not one person. That should be the bare minimum. It still makes my throat tighten.
Ryan starts pacing immediately with one hand over his mouth. “No. No, that—He’s my coach. He—” he breaks off, furious at his own confusion, and slams his palm against the wall hard enough to make Nate flinch. “That fucking sick piece of shit.”
“He’s not just your coach, Ryan,” Adrian says, voice low and horrified. “He’s been around all of us.”
“Exactly,” Damon says for the first time, and his voice is cold enough to frost the room. “That’s how men like him survive.”
Roman’s hand tightens on Damon’s knee. “Jules,” he says, and there’s no trace of his usual lazy ease now, just genuine, furious care. “Why the hell did you carry this alone for so long?”
Julian lets out a breath that sounds almost tired enough to fold him in half. “Because it got confusing, and then it got shameful. By the time I really understood what it was, I didn’t know how to say it without sounding complicit in my own bullshit.”
“You never sounded complicit,” Sage says quietly from Luca’s side. “You sound like someone he trapped.”
Luca doesn’t look at Julian when he speaks, and somehow that makes the support feel even steadier. “That’s because he did.”
I look around the room and realize every single person here is furious in their own way now. I don’t think I’ve ever loved this house more than I do in this exact second.
Ryan scrubs both hands over his face, then looks at Killian. “At the building, you spoke like you knew what was really going on,” he says. “How long have you known?”
Killian finally pushes off the bar. He sets the glass of water down without looking at it, then folds his arms over his chest. “Long enough to make sure that when Blakely falls, he doesn’t get to stand back up because somebody called it a rumor.”
Ryan stares at him. “What does that mean?”
“It means that Julian is not the only one.”
That sentence cracks through the room in a whole new way.
Julian frowns at that implication, shaking his head slightly. “What?”
Killian lets out a sigh. “I started digging quietly—or I had someone do it for me. Lawyers first, then administration channels, then the things Blackthorne likes to pretend don’t exist until somebody with enough money and leverage forces them to look.
There are other names. Not all of them are willing to come forward publicly yet, but enough have spoken to the right people privately.
Enough that this is not going away. My father sees value in this school, so as soon as the board heard Kieran King’s son wanted answers, they stepped up their shit.
It helps throwing my name around when it counts. ”
My stomach turns over, but I’m not surprised, really. Men like Blakely do not become this by accident. They practice and test what they can get away with until their confidence becomes part of the method. Still, hearing it said aloud makes the ugliness bigger, and that matters.
A man used his authority to hurt people and trusted that the institution around him would protect him by default.
“The school already has people looking into it,” Killian continues, “Quietly for now, because if it leaks too soon, they start scrambling to protect liability instead of students. There’s documentation.
Screenshots. Timelines. Enough corroboration that Blackthorne can’t bury it without creating a much bigger problem for themselves. ”
Ryan sits down next to Thorn and lets out a harsh laugh that sounds close to breaking. “Blackthorne burying shit? No way,” he says and rolls his eyes.
“It’s why I didn’t start this by trusting the school to grow a conscience,” Killian adds.
There’s something almost savage in the satisfaction that runs through me at that.
Not enough to feel good—nothing about this feels good.
But enough to make me sit a little straighter because Julian is not standing in this alone anymore.
Blakely’s fate is no longer floating in some vague, hopeful maybe.
Ryan leans forward, and when he speaks this time, his voice is rough in a different way. “So, what happens?”
Killian doesn’t blink. “He’ll be gone by the end of the season.”
Ryan looks between Killian and Julian and then says, “By the end of the season? Why not now?”
“Because institutions protect themselves first,” Damon says before Killian can.
Killian nods once. “Exactly. Blackthorne wants this airtight. They want enough that when he goes, he stays gone. They want no room for appeal, no room for spin, no room for him painting himself as the victim of some vendetta or misunderstanding. If he gets tipped too early, he starts shredding things. Pressuring people. Running. They’re not giving him that chance.
This way he gets nailed cleanly. Permanently.
No quiet transfer. No coaching somewhere else next year.
No access to another group of students.”
Ryan looks sick with rage. “So, we’re just supposed to act normal while he keeps walking around campus?”
“No,” Luca says. “We’re supposed to keep Julian the fuck away from him while Killian finishes the job.”
Ryan’s gaze swings back to Julian. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
There’s no accusation in it, just hurt. That almost makes it worse.
Julian answers honestly. “Because you play for him, and I was embarrassed.”
Ryan swears in Spanish under his breath, fast and vicious, and drags a hand over the back of his neck. “I would’ve believed you,” he says after a second, and he sounds angry enough that I know he means every word. “I’m pissed you thought I wouldn’t.”
Julian lets out a short breath. “I know.”
That feels like enough of an apology to count.
Liam shifts Nate higher on his lap without even seeming to notice he’s doing it, his eyes still on Julian. “What do you need from us?”
That question opens something in the room all over again. Because that’s the real thing, isn’t it? Not just who knows or who’s furious. What does support actually look like once the story is out and the first shockwave has worn off?
Julian is quiet for a beat. Then he says, “I needed you to know. That’s the first thing.”
His voice stays steady, but I can feel the effort in it now. He’s running out of steam; I can see it. The confession itself already cost him. The reactions are costing him more because being witnessed at all is hard when the thing you’re showing was built out of shame.
Julian sat beside me and told the truth to all of them, and not one person recoiled or looked at him as if he were dirtied by what happened. Not one person treated this as a weakness, a shame, or some ugly secret that should’ve stayed hidden for convenience.
My parents would never understand how holy that feels.
“And for the record,” Killian says, and all our attention snaps to him again.
“This isn’t a one-time fucking deal. If any of you assholes have problems you know I can sort out with the King name and influence, you come to me first. I don’t care what it is.
There’s nothing I love more than spending my father’s money on shit he would turn a blind eye to. ”
A surprised laugh moves through the room, quiet but genuine, breaking some of the weight that has settled over all of us. Even Killian smirks, though he immediately looks annoyed that he accidentally said something comforting.
I cover Julian’s hand where it rests on the couch between us. The contact is small, but his fingers tighten under mine almost immediately. He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t need to. The pressure says enough.
I look at him again and realize just how tired he is. His eyes are shadowed. His shoulders have dropped, but only because the force holding them up finally eased. He looks relieved and wrung dry in equal measure.
“You good?” I ask quietly.
It’s a stupid question. Of course he’s not good, not really. But he knows what I mean anyway.
He exhales through his nose and tips his head back against the couch. “No,” he says honestly. Then, after a beat, “But better.”
That’s enough for now, because the truth is out.
Blakely is finished even if the official end hasn’t hit yet.
The whole fucking room just proved to Julian that what was done to him doesn’t make him broken or any less ours in any way that matters.
If anything, it has just made every person in this house more dangerous on his behalf.
Julian told the truth tonight, and the room held.