Chapter 23 #2
“Eian is my cousin.”
Those words bring everything to a halt. Every thought, every possible reaction I could have just stops, and I can only stare at Harrison.
“What?” I ask, deadpan. This has to be a joke.
“You heard him,” Eian rumbles, but that’s not enough to snap me out of the shock.
“He’s the Chair of the People,” Harrison continues, as if that explains anything at all. “And Colby’s his Heir—”
“And boyfriend,” Colby adds in a chipper tone that does not belong in this conversation. In this room.
I can barely push a word out.
“Okay.”
And it comes out weak, defeated, and helpless.
Three things I never want Eian Dempsey to think of me.
Yeah, I’m maybe taller and stronger than him, but I’m not a ruthless, cold-blooded killer, so . . .
“Let’s sit.”
No one hesitates, they all follow Harrison’s lead, including me.
“As you all know, Michael was in an accident this past weekend and is still recovering, so for the time being, Eli is the Chair of Information and his partner Lex will act as his Heir until Michael is fit enough to come back.”
I don’t know where it comes from but there’s enough courage inside me to speak up.
“Yup, as soon as Michael’s good enough, I’m outta here. This shit is way above my pay grade.”
“Agreed.” The haughty, arrogant voice of my team’s owner grates on my nerves, but I do everything I can not to show it. Jim’s typical sneer must be embedded into his face by now, and it only deepens when Eli snaps at him.
“You will not disrespect him.” That steel in his voice I’m still getting used to silences everyone. “He’s an Heir to a Chair, just like the one you hold. He has as much power here as your son does.”
“And I, personally, am a fan.” Eian says it like a threat, and I’m pretty sure Jim takes it as one. I never thought I’d feel vindicated by a mobster, but that’s New York sports for you.
“Okay, let’s just get to the events of Saturday. Eli, you have the floor.”
For the next two hours, the details of everything that happened are discussed, with every person present chiming in with questions.
Eli doesn’t falter, and no one mentions the most important piece of information, that the hacker was probably hired, or at least tipped off, by someone in this room.
It has me looking more intently at everyone.
The two most obviously suspicious are Zack Wall, Heir to the Chair of Wealth, and Stephen Windsor, the Chair of Art.
They don’t say or do anything obvious, but it’s in the way they look at Eli, and at everyone else honestly, a kind of superiority that isn’t earned or justified.
In contrast, Zack’s mother Shirley and Stephen’s daughter Patricia ask a lot of questions. They both seem to really want to get every piece of information Eli has to give.
Richard Cockerton, the Chair of Residence, seems to have a deep dislike of Harrison just by the way he frowns every time he speaks, but otherwise there are no clues for me to find.
“So it was a coordinated attack,” Patricia concludes and Eli nods. “Do you have any idea what they were looking for? What the purpose was?” she clarifies. Her startling blue eyes are full of honest curiosity as she waits for Eli to answer.
“I’m wondering about this too. Is there any way you can find out, Eli?” Shirley asks.
“There isn’t,” Eli says, and I’m impressed with how well he lies . . . maybe I should be more concerned about that, but he’s always seemed like an open book to me. “If Gotcha tries again, I can maybe focus more on that, but I’m going to be ready for them when they do, and I’m going to find them.”
I can see no one doubts his resolve, and I wonder why he said it like that, if he wants whoever contacted the hacker to ask them to try again or the opposite, and I could ask him later, but I’m not sure I want to find out.
I don’t like the idea of Eli semi-regularly hanging out with the person who facilitated a hit on Michael, but I have no say in this—I’m well aware of that.
After witnessing the pressure and weight of the Ellsworth name fall on him this weekend, I have a better understanding of who Eli is—all aspects of him.
I thought I already knew them all, and I’m not mad about finding out I was wrong. In fact, I think it’s exciting, knowing there’s probably always going to be more of him to discover.
The meeting finishes with everyone agreeing to lend any and all resources to Eli so he can locate the hacker, and without much more fanfare, people begin to leave.
Tucker and Jim walk right over to me while Eli gets pulled into a conversation with Shirley and Richard Cockerton. I have to bite back a groan. God, I just want to be done with this.
“We saw the article this morning,” Tuck starts and then nudges his father’s arm with his elbow.
The older, shorter, and wider man is still sneering but moves his head in a way that only resembles a nod.
“I can assure you it will have no impact on your place in the Demons.”
I have no fucking clue how Tucker got the old man to say that, but I know it must’ve taken more than a little nudging.
“Thank you,” I tell them with honest gratitude. Because regardless of who’s idea it was, I appreciate the reassurance.
“No need to thank us, just get back on the ice,” Jim says, and that sounds more like the asshole I’ve heard so much about.
“Yes sir,” I tell him, and even though I’m the only one who knows I’m mocking him in my head, it still makes me feel better.
When I tell Eli about it as I drive us back home so we can collect Austin and go to the hospital, he tilts his head thoughtfully.
“I don’t know. I think Jim’s almost ready to hand off the reins of the Demons to Tucker.”
“Really? Why do you think that?”
“Because the man is convinced that having a penis gives you maturity and wisdom or some shit.” I chuckle at the way he rolls his eyes.
“He divorced his first three wives after they ‘failed’ . . .” He makes quotation marks with his fingers.
“To give him a son. He has three daughters who are all at least seven years older than Tucker, and they’re all accomplished women in the world of sports management, but Jim refused to name them his Heirs, and he gave their husbands jobs at the front offices of his teams, not his daughters.
The man’s a misogynistic pig, and Tucker knows it.
If he plays his cards right, he’s going to be in charge of the Demons sooner rather than later. ”
I hum, not knowing what to say because . . . well, I don’t know if that would be a good thing or not. I don’t know Tucker well enough to make that kind of judgement.
From what I’ve seen he’s dedicated to the team, and he cares, but whether he’s actually capable of running a professional team . . . well, I guess we’ll find out if or when Jim decides.
Considering I’m a professional athlete, I shouldn’t be exhausted. It’s not like we did much more than sit around and talk all day, but it’s been so fucking intense.
I walk out of the bathroom shirtless, but with my boxers on and my teeth freshly brushed. The bed is calling my name, and so is the perfect picture of Eli lying on his side facing me.
His hands under his chin make him look particularly angelic.
I know the past three days have been as tough, if not tougher, for him, so I’m not surprised he’s already asleep, but he shifts closer when I slide under the covers, rests his head on my shoulder, and throws an arm over my belly.
I comb my fingers through his hair and kiss his forehead once, twice, as I purposefully let everything drain away from me. Lying quietly with Eli makes it easier. It’s not only the most comfortable place in the world, in my opinion, but also the safest.
Even though it seems—hopefully—that for now our lives should go back to being way less exciting, we both still have to deal with so much.
He has to go on a virtual manhunt while running a company and working on opening a second one, and I . . . well, I don’t really have to do much but play hockey. Get better and get back on the ice, just like Jim said.
The toughest job I’ll have in the next few months is finding a way to trust my new teammates, and honestly, I’m already halfway there. But there’s also this deep desire that has started to creep in ever since I went to that team dinner.
I want to win games. I want to help get the Demons to the playoffs.
I know it probably won’t happen—mathematically speaking it’s almost impossible, this year.
But I have two more seasons in my contract, and I know I’ll have to prove myself to the team, otherwise they’ll decide I’m not worth what they paid and send me off God knows where.
One thought at a time, my head gets clearer and clearer, until the only thing left is Eli.
Us.
Our past and future.
“Eli?”
“Hm?” he asks softly but doesn’t move.
“I love you.”
My tone must give away how deeply I’m in my feels right now, because he raises his head, looks right into my eyes.
“I love you too, Lex. Always.” He cups my cheek and kisses me softly, so softly.
He pulls back and I can actually feel our future approaching as our love builds between us.
“I think,” I start slowly. “That we’ve proven we can get through most anything.”
His smile is soft but brimming with happiness.
“I think so too. We make a great team, huh?”
“Oh yeah.” I nod and kiss his temple again when he rests his head on my chest, then he snuggles closer. “You’re the best teammate I’ve ever had.”
I drift to sleep with his adorable snort of amusement echoing in my mind.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.