Chapter 23
Lex
Even though we only slept at the hospital for one night, it feels weird to wake up in our bed again, but I’ll never complain about being snuggled up to Eli’s back.
The events of the weekend flood back, but the only thing they bring with them is exhaustion—there’s no more fear, at least for now.
Dad and Ally are at the hospital still, and we’ll go see them this afternoon after the damn secret meeting, but we can deal with all of it then, later.
Anytime but now, really.
Because right now everything’s okay. I have Eli wrapped in my arms, and we’re as comfortable as humanly possible.
The buzzing of my phone, insistent and unavoidable, sadly pops my happy bubble.
It’s probably what woke me up.
It won’t stop, and I don’t want Eli to wake up before he absolutely has to. I grumble silently and stretch to get my phone from the nightstand and feel my eyes bug out when I see just how many notifications I have.
The thing that grabs my attention the most is the number of messages and missed calls from Patrick.
He sent me a link to a fucking CNZ article, and I know I’m gonna hate it when I read the rest of his messages.
Patrick:
Tell me what you want to do about this.
Cindy is already crafting several different responses.
It’s all bullshit of course but we both think a response is the right thing.
Knowing I’m going to hate every second, I click on the link to read the damn thing.
Two hours ago
STEPbrOTHERS ELI ELLSWORTH AND ALEXEI JANKOWSKI PHOTOGRAPHED KISSING:
A family tragedy upstaged by an indecent scandal.
By CNZ
Only an hour ago, an anonymous source sent us this picture where Eli Ellsworth and Alexei Jankowski can be seen passionately kissing in a hospital waiting room.
The stepbrothers don’t seem to think there familial link is any deterrent to being romantically involved.
It’s only thanks to this picture that we even know Lyla Storm and her husband, media mogul Michael Ellsworth, were in an accident. In a move that many people are calling a show of the dangerous power billionaires hold, not one single publication was reportedly allowed to write about the accident.
That’s if they even knew about it.
We find it strange that in a city as busy as NYC no passersby spoke about this on social media, but maybe that’s another power move by the stepbrothers.
Our source claims they tried to post this picture online several times and it kept getting taken down for inexplicable reasons.
There influence is obvious, but it has obviously gone to their head.
Regarding the actual accident, there’s still no information on when or where it happened, all we know is they were in the hospital a few days ago.
Being trust-fund babies and Alexei having probably been media trained within an inch of his life since he came out of the womb thanks to his famous parents, we don’t expect any kind of statement in answer to this article, but the picture obviously speaks for itself.
If any of them comment on this, we expect it to be complete PR gibberish, but of course we’ll report it here first when it happens.
I scroll back up to the picture after reading and stare at the screen long enough for it to dim and then shut off. It was the kiss right before Dad and Ally got there. This “anonymous person” probably followed them there, probably took pictures of them too.
The audacity of these motherfuckers.
I might not be a lawyer, but I know defamation when I see it, and if people—fans—take this at face value, it could actually impact my career. If people believe Eli and I really are brothers and have familial ties, then it’s a very real possibility that I’ll never play hockey again.
I can’t do nothing.
I log onto social media and first tag the fucking joke of a magazine, and debate with myself for a minute whether to say anything directly about the whole stepbrothers thing, about being outed so violently, or about what our relationship is really like, but in the end, I think Eli should get a say in that.
For now, mocking them is enough.
@alexeijankowski15
@CNZnews We didn’t consent to this picture being taken, to this moment being witnessed, or to it being made public.
You shouldn’t get to exploit our grief for your entertainment.
You shouldn’t get to punish us because you’re uncomfortable, because you’re a bigot, because you’re determined to ignore the facts, or because your little joke of a company is desperate for clicks.
We don’t owe you shit.
And you’ll find out just how deep our trust-fund-baby pockets are when our lawyers come calling.
Also, you spelled their wrong. Twice.
There, that’s my media-trained answer, you illiterate imbeciles.
Put your money where your mouth is and “report” it.
Later, when we’re having breakfast and he’s finally awake enough to deal with it, Eli nods as he reads my post.
“I’m going to track the public’s reaction to this, and the article, and we’ll see if we even have to do anything.
I’m betting they’re going to either say nothing or apologize.
That’s what their lawyers would tell them to do anyway.
And whatever of those two options they choose, I can already tell your response is getting an overwhelmingly good reaction. ”
I sigh in relief, but don’t have the words to respond to his easy acceptance.
Despite my earlier bravado, I was nervous about Eli’s reaction to this.
“You were worried, huh?” he asks, after the silence stretches on too long.
And I guess he can tell also because I’m not meeting his gaze.
He doesn’t make me look at him, simply puts his hand on top of mine on the counter and squeezes once.
“That’s okay. You know that, right? This exact situation is what you told me you were the most scared of on Thanksgiving. ”
A genuine chuckle bursts out of me, and it actually startles me.
“After the past few days, I think most things have become a lot less important.” I realize it while I say it.
I sit up, and forget I was avoiding meeting his pretty eyes.
“I wrote that answer without really thinking about what the fans would think. I was scared of losing my spot on the Demons, though.”
“Well, of course,” he cries out and shrugs. “Playing hockey isn’t only a job for you, it’s your dream. It would be weirder if you weren’t scared of losing it. But I think you’ve learned this past month that you’re loved by the fans pretty fiercely.”
I hum in answer, then the last bit of news comes out tiredly.
“Lottie texted that she has my back, Vinny and Si sent me a voice note just telling me they can already tell we’re going to be one of those couples who never stops kissing in public, and Patrick texted a thumbs-up only,” I admit sheepishly, because once the adrenaline rush wore off I felt bad about not running it by him and Cindy too.
“Then we’re good. We can ask Tucker if he thinks there’ll be any trouble later, but I doubt it.”
The reminder of the meeting we need to get to is annoying, but it does take my mind off our couple reveal.
It’s still surreal to think Eli’s part of a secret society that plots for the good? I thought such things didn’t exist even in fiction. Even if they’re not villains, I really don’t want to be part of any of it, but I’d do anything for Eli, and this shouldn’t be too hard, I don’t think.
It’s going to be wacky as hell, though. I don’t have any doubts about that.
Eli’s steps don’t falter as we walk into the room full of people on the seventh floor of a random Manhattan building.
Beyond discussing the logistics of getting here, we haven’t talked about the whole Turris thing in detail since we were at the hospital with the others, but I suspect Eli did talk about it with his father when he was with him after he woke up yesterday afternoon.
Since Michael’s recovery will be long, but he’ll be fine soon enough, I know I’m not going to be a part of this . . . group for much longer, and that’s a relief, but it doesn’t take away the nerves as I register faces.
Tucker is the only really familiar one.
Of course there’s Iris and Beatrice, who I got to know fairly well while we were at the hospital and Eli was battling it out with that Gotcha person.
What Eli failed to mention was that New York’s most notorious mobster would be here, sitting next to Harrison no less, chatting with a scary-looking smile on his face.
Everything he does, as far as I’m concerned, is scary.
I stop in my tracks just as my heart stops beating.
When it restarts, I feel a tingle in my arms and legs, and I know I’m going into fight or flight mode.
I’ve never been faced with a mobster before, and I don’t pay too much attention to the organized crime news of the city, but everyone knows Eian Dempsey, and everyone who has two working brain cells fears him.
Before I can pick Eli up and get the fuck outta here, Harrison sees us. He stands and walks over like we’re not all in immediate danger.
“Good, you’re here. Lex, let me introduce you.”
The names of all the men and women who he gestures toward get all jumbled up inside my head—well, except those I’ve met before, and there’s Jim Barclay of course, and Tuck.
I haven’t seen the Demons’ owner since they traded for me, and I realize it’s beyond inappropriate that this is how it’s happening.
No time to digest that, though, because then . . .
“Hi, I’m Colby. Big fan.”
“Colby Major,” I say, familiar enough with the former news anchor.
“That’s me,” he says with an easy smile before he steps just a little bit to the left, half his body pressed to the man I really don’t want to make eye contact with.
I’ve played with broken ribs before, broken fingers, even a sprained ankle and dislocated shoulder.
This could potentially hurt more, and it takes considerably more courage to turn from Colby’s hazel eyes and face the cold blue ones.
“I’m also a fan, and very glad you’re here to finally bring some glory to the Demons,” he says, his deep voice somehow projecting all the danger he represents.
“Uh, thanks,” I say because . . . well, what the fuck else am I supposed to say?
Me too?