Chapter 2
Alexei Jankowski — Lex
“Hey, Barbie!”
I resist a groan at that stupid fucking nickname. I never thought having my mother’s face—a supermodel’s face—was something to make fun of until I got drafted.
I recognize that voice, though, and I’m painfully regretting my decision to leave through the front fucking entrance when I spin on my heel in the lobby and come face to face with Bougie, our goalie.
“What’s up, Bougie?” I do my best to smile a little. The last thing I need is to get on his actual bad side.
“Where you off to?” His cheeks aren’t flushed, and his mouth’s not twitching in that weird smirk that always appears when he’s about to say something that makes my soul want to die, so I . . . answer.
“Gonna go hang out with my mom.”
And there it is, that fucking smirk.
“Man, you gotta invite us. You’ve been hiding her away. Tonight I might finally get my shot.”
“Fuck off,” I mumble, without any heat—I don’t have the energy for that anymore—and just walk away.
As if that fucking neanderthal could ever get a shot with my mom. First of all, she’s married to a very nice man who worships the ground she walks on, and he’s a billionaire who could buy a small country.
But I’m done wasting my breath on Bougie fucking Bojarski. He never stops running his mouth with me, and I don’t need to give him any more ammunition.
Being the son of one of the most famous supermodels never really was a problem in school or in juniors, when I was surrounded by actual teenagers, but my current teammates—who are supposed to be adults and on my side—never let me forget how hot they think she is.
Never mind that my father’s in the hockey hall of fame, has more Cups than any of them will ever get, and even two years shy of sixty could still take them in a fight on and off the ice. Or that my brother’s favorite hobby is wiping the floor with them. None of them seem to care about that.
I climb into the SUV and feel that familiar, uncomfortable itch under my skin at sitting in the back by myself. I’ve known Troy for a decade now, so I push through and smile at Michael’s head of security.
“How’s it going?”
“Can’t complain, kid. You?” He’s already driving away from the Certon’s drop-off area, and though all I can see is the back of his graying hair, I can picture his blank face perfectly.
“Yeah, same. Can’t complain.”
Which is a good reminder.
I really can’t complain.
I’m the star player of an NHL team, a legendary team. I get to play a game for a living, get paid very well, and I have an amazing family.
There’s no excuse for complaints even if my teammates hate me, even if management has no fucking clue how to put a team together and expect me to win alone on the ice, and even if Coach Rocco only seems to encourage my teammates’ asshole behavior.
I use the twenty-minute drive to Mom’s house to get my head on straight and remember everything I do have, just like she and Aunt Shell taught Vinny and me, and when we get there I thank Troy for the ride.
She’s right there before I even close the car door behind me, looking down at me from the front door with a sentimental smile on her perfect face.
Her straight, perfectly sized nose does look better on her than on me.
Her eyes are blue, unlike my green ones, but everything else is pretty much the same. Except for our size, of course.
“Hey, Mom.” I give her a crushing hug, and even though I’m half a foot taller than her, she somehow manages to envelop my whole body.
“My baby,” she croons in my ear. I don’t let go for a long moment, and maybe cling a little desperately, but she pulls back, holds me by the shoulders, and looks at me in that way that says I can see everything you’re trying to hide.
I manage not to fidget and keep smiling at her.
I’m never going to beat the momma’s boy allegations, but still, I don’t want her to feel like I need her all the time.
Some of the time is okay, I think. Some of the time is acceptable. But I can’t have her or Dad interfering in this at all.
I’ll find a way to deal with it, eventually. Hopefully soon.
“Come on in, Sam made you pot roast.”
“He did?” I ask. Any thoughts of my team are pushed aside at the thought of my favorite meal. “Did he add the little—”
“Yes, he called Corinne so he could make it exactly like hers.”
“Man, I can’t wait.”
“Our chefs have a soft spot for you,” she murmurs and grips my arm as she leads me to the kitchen.
“It’s because hockey players appreciate food like few others,” I quip, and squeeze her hand quickly before looking up at the big kitchen and the short man mumbling to himself as he does three things at once it seems.
Chopping, stirring, checking the oven . . .
“Hey, Sam.” Maybe my cheerfulness is a smidge forced, but I’m choosing to ignore that for now.
“Hey, kid,” he mumbles without looking away from the big pot. “This’ll be ready in about two hours, so you can catch up.”
“Can’t wait!”
“Corinne only does one thing differently than me, so we’ll see if it’s any better.”
“A little bit of healthy competition never hurt anyone,” Mom muses.
I’m onto her, and I’m not going to take the bait.
“Is Michael here?” I ask her, ignoring her comment completely as she pulls me out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.
The comfortable family room with the big couches is on the second floor, where Michael’s and her room is too. The third floor is all Eli’s, and the fourth is where my bedroom and gym still are.
“Mmhm.” She nods. “So is Eli.”
I hum in response. I’ve never known how to navigate the whole Eli thing with Mom, or with Michael, or with Eli if I’m honest.
The only person I’ve talked to about this at length is my older brother, Vinny, and “at length” is a stretch.
What is there to say?
I lived in this house for only two full years before I begged Mom to let me go to the same Juniors boarding school in Canada that Vinny went to, and that little amount of time living with Eli made things pretty clear for me.
My silence breaks her patience like it rarely does.
“He’s up there sleeping off his latest obsessive . . .” She trails off and waves a hand around like that will explain it.
It does—his beautiful brain needs time to recover.
“Oh.” I shouldn’t feel bad that that means he probably won’t make it to lunch, or to the game later. I really shouldn’t care about my fucking games at this point.
Fuck, I’m only twenty-three and already jaded. I have to snap the hell out of this funk.
“He’ll wake up in time for the game, honey, don’t worry.”
“Yeah, no. I’m not worried.” She plops down on the sofa and the look on her face tells me she’s about to start a conversation I definitely don’t want to have, so I deflect. “How did it go last month when Wolf and CJ came to visit?”
Getting Mom to talk about my oldest cousin is a surefire way of distracting her, and it’s not like I’m uninterested in what Wolf got up to while he was here.
“It was so nice having them here for a couple of weeks. I’m still butthurt that they won’t come for Thanksgiving, but we’re thinking Christmas since Vinny and Si are coming to play against Brooklyn on the twenty-third.
And you’ll be down in DC, won’t you? I checked your schedule.
I think we can get the whole clan together. ”
“Dad, Ally, Uncle Paul, and Aunt Elle too?”
Keep talking about other people, keep talking about other people.
“Yes, they’re all making plans now. Lottie’s team is playing a home game on the twenty-third, so she can hop on a quick flight with Colin too.”
“That’s great. What about Derek and Hawk?” I ask about my other cousin and his professional footballer husband—the last few years Derek has had to play on Christmas, so it’s a real toss-up, and I don’t keep up with the NFL, even the team I share a city with.
“The Warriors aren’t playing on Christmas this year!” Mom cheers.
“And she won’t stop smiling about it.” Michael’s voice comes from behind us.
I turn with a smile ready—much more genuine than it was those first few months after I met him. He rounds the couch and I stand to give him a quick hug.
“How’s it going?”
“All good,” he assures me and claps me twice on the shoulder. “You?”
“Same.”
And with Michael here as even more of a buffer, it’s easier to keep Mom’s worries at bay.
“I’m thinking about spending a few weeks in California in the new year.
I want to check up on Hawk and Wolf, you know?
I don’t think they call your father enough, and you know how he is, never wants to be a nuisance.
” She rolls her eyes fondly, but I actually know Dad’s not like that at all, cause he won’t stop being on my ass about the team.
I’m not going to tell her that, though.
As I listen intently to her plans—which I’m sure will include checking on me again—I focus most of my energy on staying relaxed, on not showing in any way how much I need to go up a flight of stairs, how much I want to make sure with my own eyes that Eli is resting.
I make it through the two hours of catching up, and hearing all about their day-to-day lives, then I also survive our very late lunch.
I thank Sam for the food, and soon enough Mom and I are standing by the front door.
“Good luck tonight, baby. We’ll see you after the game. And call your brother, yeah? He won’t tell you but he’s worried about you.”
Oh, he’s told me.
I definitely don’t tell her that.
“He and Si have been extra busy with the build of their house, and of course I’ll make a pit stop in Vegas to help out in January, but he does miss you, you know?”
“I know, Mom. I’ll call him. See you later.” I kiss her cheek, and before I can book it out of there, she grips my arm, too tight to be casual, and suddenly I know whatever she’s going to tell me, I’m not going to like it.
“He’s been doing worse, Lex. This weekend he barely ate, didn’t sleep at all on Saturday and Sunday. We know it’s just the way he is, but I know he misses you.” There’s no way to play stupid here.