Chapter 4 #2
“I mean, it’s gotten a lot more intense since then, you know? It’s my career.” He says it so seriously that I instantly feel bad.
“Yeah, no. Yeah. I get that.” And now I feel stupid. “Sorry.” I wince, but keep my eyes down on my plate.
“Don’t be sorry.” He clears his throat then there’s only silence for a beat. “I just have to keep my body, like, fueled to keep performing the way I have. If I slip even a little they’d never let me hear the end of it.”
That has me looking up.
“Who?” I demand.
I admit I don’t know Ruko, his father, as well as he does, but I know enough that it seems impossible for him to be the overbearing father who only cares about how well his children do on the ice.
“No one, forget I said anything.”
That’s . . . an option.
I think about it for the next fifteen minutes while he devours his last plate of food, and I even take the time to cart the little table out to the hallway, then get us settled on the couch in front of the big TV.
I sit right next to him and try to find the right words.
“I know that since . . .” Yeah, no. Restart.
“We might not talk all that often.” That’s better, and it gives me a boost to finally look him in the eyes.
“But I hope you know that you can tell me anything, and that it’d never change things between us.
I hope you know that nothing about your career is what makes you important to me. ”
“I know, I know.” He nods repeatedly, but then stays quiet, worrying his bottom lip in a way that should be distracting for a lot of reasons but instead just makes my heart hurt for him.
“It’s not your dad, is it?” I ask in a whisper.
“What? No, of course not. No, my dad can never find out about this.” There’s enough panic in his voice to coil up every muscle in my body. I don’t want to push him—to push him away again—so I stay quiet, but I can’t stay still.
I don’t know how a movement can be lightning fast and also slow as a snail at the same time, but the end result is that I’m holding Lex’s hand, and he’s gripping my fingers back. He doesn’t flinch or pull away. He holds on just as fiercely as I do.
And that is dangerous.
“It’s just the guys on the team,” he starts out slowly, and then it’s like a dam breaking.
“None of them are my friends. Not even from the start. They’re all .
. .” He trails off, waving a hand around, trying to find the words before finally settling on, “Assholes, basically. Most of the married guys cheat on their wives, they’re always out partying, always making fun of Mom, of Vinny, they just never let up.
I think they resent me.” He pauses again, more thoughtful this time.
“Mostly because I play well, and because Vinny plays so well, and because of Dad’s history with the Empire.
They just don’t talk to me, and when they do . . . it’s never good.”
He clamps his mouth shut after that, like he doesn’t want even a breath to escape.
I suck in a sharp breath, the cocktail of emotions inside me creating a tornado of confusion that I have to fight to get through.
When I do, it comes out as jumbled as Lex’s explanation.
“I’m sorry you’ve been going through this. I’m sorry they’re so fucking dumb and such assholes. They don’t deserve you, they don’t deserve your silence.”
“What?” His gaze snaps up to meet mine.
“You haven’t told anyone about this, have you?”
He hesitates, but I already know the answer.
“No.” I fucking hate that resignation, that defeat in his eyes.
How the hell am I the only one who knows? How the hell has he powered through this fucking . . . bullying—that’s what it sounds like—and when he finally tells someone, it’s me?
“You know I’ve never been good at making friends,” I tell him point blank.
“You’re the only real friend I’ve ever had, actually, but I do know that those guys really are idiots, because even if you’re my only frame of reference, I believe you’re the best friend in existence.
You’re the only friend I’ve ever needed.
I’m sorry I can’t, like, share some wisdom or advice, but maybe you could talk about this with someone else?
Someone who’s impartial but also in the NHL? ”
He doesn’t react for a long moment, just stares at me with his mouth slightly open.
“I’m sorry I’m your only friend.” His words come out softer than I’ve ever heard him. “You deserve better from your only friend than what I’ve done, what I said when . . .” He trails off, his words losing steam quickly, but that’s okay.
Sadly, I know exactly what he’s talking about, and sadly, I can’t think of anything to say. I don’t want to placate him with empty words.
The moment turns awkward, which I hate, but I don’t have the tools to change that. The image of Tucker appears in my mind like divine intervention or some shit.
“Well . . . okay, I might have one other friend.”
“Yeah?” Lex asks, desperately grasping at the lifeline.
“I’ve become pretty close with Tucker.” At his confused look, I clarify. “Tucker Barclay. You know Tucker, you were in the same class at Luxton.”
“Yeah, I know Tuck,” he says softly. “We were on the same line of the hockey team. He’s a good player—was a great player actually. Even took Columbia to the Frozen Four.”
“Okay,” I say because I have no idea what the Frozen Four is. “He’s also the son of—”
“Jim Barclay, I know.” He nods a few times. “Our teammates at Luxton used to say we only got to play on the first line because of our fathers.”
“Then maybe you could talk to him!” I say excitedly, but he hums noncommittally.
“How did you even become friends with him?” I don’t understand his sudden frown, but the thought of breaking the—really unbreakable—rules of the Turris strikes a new panic in my chest.
I didn’t go to college, and of course Lex knows that. I also never interacted with Tucker at school when Lex was there, and I sure as hell didn’t interact with him after Lex left.
You can do this, Eli. There’s a logical explanation, just figure it out.
My mental pep talk only delays me more, and Lex’s confused frown is getting deeper and deeper.
“Jim!” I shout unnecessarily when it occurs to me.
“Jim, Tucker’s father has always let us watch your games at Barclay Arena from the owner’s suite with him.
And Tucker has always been there. It’s not like I see him anywhere else.
” Yup, nowhere else. “But since Jim’s not really my type of adult, I always hang out with Tucker and we .
. . talk. This last time he invited me to his brothers’ birthday party. ”
I breathe in, trying to keep it steady, but god, that adrenaline spike is something else. I can’t even begin to process how much I hate lying to Lex, but there’s no room to feel guilty about it when it comes to the Turris.
It doesn’t help, how long Lex takes to say something, or that weary sigh he expels, or how wet his eyes look when I finally look at him again.
“I’m sorry, Eli.”
“For what?” I ask, not understanding how he got to an apology.
“For how I acted when I left for Richester.”
“Oh.” It comes out soft, all the fight draining out of me.
Stupid.
So, so stupid.
Of all the times I’ve fantasized about patching things up with Lex about the incident, I never once figured out what I would say if he came out and apologized to start the damn conversation.
“You were fourteen, angel. And you were already my angel by then. But those two years between us felt like an ocean back then, and I guess they were . . . back then.”
My breath gets stuck in the middle of my throat at how he says it. Does he mean . . . ?
“I felt like I was holding you back, like you had all this potential. You were so funny, but you only ever hung out with me at school. You spent all your free time with me and I liked it like that. I really did, which was kind of the problem. I knew I’d have to leave someday, and I really did want to go to Richester because it’s where Vinny went, and because playing in the NHL always was my dream—it still is my dream even if it’s a little fucked up right now—but I didn’t want to leave you.
I knew I had to, though, and I knew you had feelings for me, just like I had for you no matter how hard I tried not to.
But I knew we needed to grow up, and I knew we both deserved to make our dreams come true. ”
“Had?” Seriously, of all the things he just said, my brain has to latch onto the simplest of all . . .
“What?” He’s back to looking confused.
“You said you had feelings for me,” I remind him, for some insane fucking reason instead of talking about our dreams.
“Yeah.” He averts his eyes, looking right at the windows, and like a dog with a bone, I can’t let it fucking go.
“You don’t anymore?”
I hold my breath and wait for him to look at me again, my stupid heart beating erratically with a hope that won’t die.