Epilogue
Eli
The house in Irvington is the best.
What I like the most, weirdly, is the gym.
Okay, it’s not weird. It’s straight up lust that has me declaring it my favorite room in the house, because whenever I wake up here I go downstairs to make myself a cup of coffee and stare at the perfectly landscaped back yard, at the peace of the pool in the morning sunlight, and when I’m awake enough to appreciate it, I go down to the basement and watch Lex work out.
Shirtless, sweaty, every muscle shifting and rippling for my view only.
I’m sure he does it to torment me—though I will never complain—because it’s not like it’s a particularly warm room.
Three walls have floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and I’ve never thought of Lex as a particularly vain person, so he has to do it for my benefit, right?
He’s the best boyfriend in the history of boyfriends.
The way his sweats—or shorts depending on the day—cling valiantly to his waist and accentuate his worshipable ass drives me insane.
So most days, I interrupt his workout by dropping to my knees in front of him, pulling those loose pieces of clothing down, and sucking him into my mouth as deep as his cock will go.
Today is one of those glorious days.
I’ve become Pavlov’s dog when it comes to this gym.
The weight of his thick dick on my tongue always has me reaching down to grip my hardening cock, and every time I try to make myself wait just a little bit longer.
By the time I give in, I’m leaking enough precum that the glide of my hand is almost perfectly smooth.
I groan on his cock, and that always gets me the best reactions.
“Fuck, angel, you love sucking my dick, don’t you? So fucking good for me. Look so pretty on your knees.”
I do, I love it like I love few things in life, and I could spend a solid hour driving us both insane, stealing little looks to the side to catch our reflection, which only drives me even more insane.
I can’t sit on my haunches when he’s standing, I have to kneel up so his cock is at the perfect height, and for some reason that—our very obvious size difference—it’s what always pushes me to the brink.
I moan on his cock as I spill cum over my palm, and when I can focus on him again, I sink far enough for my nose to almost touch his trimmed pubes.
When I swallow around him he grunts in that hypnotizing way that always means he’s about to blow.
“Need a shower,” I say, chest heaving and my voice just rough enough to show how much effort I put into it.
Pride and pleasure fill me when I look up at his statuesque form and see he’s working for every breath too.
Fifty reps of two hundred pounds barely wind him, but having me on my knees for him does him in.
I feel like a freaking superhero.
“And we need to clean up the living room.” I jump up, showing off a little while he still can’t speak. “Tuck’s coming later, and we still gotta go to the store to get snacks and drinks.”
“Fuck, angel,” Lex rasps, and my smile is obnoxiously wide.
Yeah, I know how to take care of my man.
Though my office and the panic room on the second floor still aren’t done—and having to go work in Manhattan means Lex and I still don’t live here full time—the rest of the house has been renovated and decorated by someone who actually knows what they’re doing thanks to Tuck’s recommendation, so we give Tuck the house tour.
Nick oversaw the restoration of Tuck’s brownstone along with an architect who specializes in old homes, and Tucker couldn’t stop singing his praises—he wasn’t exaggerating. Nick did an incredible job making the house feel like a home, and is as discreet as discreet gets, which is a must for us.
We avoid the apartments over the garage where Austin and Roman, Lex’s new bodyguard, stay whenever we’re home, but it still takes just long enough that we only have a few minutes to get our drinks and snacks ready in the living room and get settled right before puck drop.
It’s the first game of the third round of the playoffs, and Lex and I don’t have anything against Dallas, though we’re obviously rooting for Las Vegas, and more specifically for Vinny.
“I’m not saying they’re not winning this round,” Tuck argues with Lex, who won’t hear a word against his older brother winning yet another Stanley Cup.
“But they’re obviously going to face Chicago in the finals, and your cousin has made that team into a real contender.
I’m just saying,” he continues, while Lex keeps his eyes on the TV and his mouth set in a stubborn frown.
“The finals will go to seven games for sure, and it’s anyone’s guess who takes it. ”
“We’d go to all the games then, right Lex?”
“Yes,” he says, clipped.
My poor man, he’s already stressed about the possibility of having to watch his cousin and his brother go up against each other in such a high-stakes game. Though Lottie would battle it out from behind the bench, it’s still bound to be insane with our family all rooting for both teams.
“Now you know how your mom feels whenever you play against Vinny,” I tease, hoping he can relax and just enjoy the game.
Though I know that’s asking for too much.
I might be well on my way to becoming a hockey-theory savant—skating is going to take much longer—but Lex lives and breathes for the sport, and though he’s not obnoxious about it, whenever his family’s involved in a game, he’s beyond tense.
“I know,” he sighs, just as the broadcast shows our parents—Lyla fully recovered and Dad on his way there but still looking slimmer and just a bit pale—plus Ruko and Ally in a suite. “I just wish we could be there too.”
I reach over and pat his hand.
“I know, baby.” Lex has a few commitments with sponsors in the city to deal with this week. “But we’ll be on our way to Denver soon enough.” We’re catching games three and four no matter what, and after, we’ll be following the Las Vegas Pirates along with the parental units.
Then, when the playoffs are finally over and the Pirates have won—everything I’ve learned tells me they’re taking it this year, but Lex has enforced a strict no-jinxing rule at home—we’ll finally have some real time off here to put the finishing touches on our home.
Our home.
Fuck, I love the sound of that.
Now that our relationship is out in the open, now that CNZ apologized and the public collectively accepted that our relationship isn’t scandalous—I still can’t believe how long it took them to get here—we can finally just be us.
After everything we did to change the public’s perception of us, we’re left wondering if it was even necessary.
Lex put it the best.
We were protecting ourselves from one kind of pain by condemning ourselves to another.
But now we’re free from both.
Our reality is much better.
Even if Lex did wish he was also in the playoffs.
He and the rest of the Demons worked hard to get there, but in the end, the teams that were ahead of them in their division didn’t falter.
I’ve gotten to know them, especially Lucy, Nessy, and Matty, the goalie, who I learned spent his first two seasons playing tandem with the Pirates’ star goalie, so he knows Vinny pretty well.
Nessy’s wife, Hannah, the official leader of the Demons’ WAGs as the captain’s wife, has taken me under her wing in a motherly move that honestly baffles me, but I’m not complaining.
Slowly but surely we’re both being brought into the family, as they call it, and it feels fucking incredible.
Life is incredible now that Lex is no longer part of the Turris, now that Dad’s out of the woods.
After the single meeting he attended, we never talked about it again. He didn’t ask questions or speak about any of it.
I think it’s because he truly has no desire for the kind of power we all hold, but also because he respects the promises he made—in writing, yes, but also to me.
He understands how bad it would be for us if the world found out, and if there’s one thing that defines Lex, it’s his protective instinct.
It’s why he flinches whenever a Dallas player slams his brother against the boards, and why he sits up in attention when Tuck’s phone starts vibrating on the coffee table with a call and our friend’s face transforms into a deep frown as he reads the caller ID.
“Hey, Johnny, what’s—she did what?” There’s a long beat of silence after his outburst, just as Lex mutes the game, and we can only watch as Tuck’s eyes go wide, then slowly close.
A painful grimace moves over him as he reaches to press hard on the bridge of his nose.
“Okay, I’m on my way. Put the boys in their room, I’ll call my sisters. ”
“What is it?” I ask, dread pooling in my gut, and his words have my brain short-circuiting.
“Number five just fucking killed my father. That bitch straight up knifed him in the gut.” He’s looking around for his coat, already moving faster than I’ve ever seen him.
“I gotta go. I need to get to my brothers.” I can’t blame him for only thinking about the two sweet boys.
Even if I have no clue what actually happened, my heart is already breaking for them.
“The fucking police are already there and I don’t want them to have to see or deal with any of it. ”
“Hey, hey,” Lex stands and grabs Tuck’s shoulders. “We’ll go with you. It’s okay. We’ll take you.”
“Wes is here,” Tuck mumbles. Yeah, of course his bodyguard is here, but that doesn’t mean we’re not going. He’s already walking out of the room, but we follow quickly. I grab our shoes while Lex gets our phones and wallets.
“Austin, Roman follow us,” I call out when I see them chatting with Wes in the smaller living room closer to the front door.
Both bodyguards stand immediately when they see us coming, and move fast without a question.
It’s not until we’re in the car and speeding toward the city that Tucker speaks again.
“This makes no fucking sense. Why would she kill her cash cow? And at the penthouse, when Johnny’s getting back with the boys from the park? How did she think she could get away with this?”
I don’t know, but my instinct is telling me this is one of those situations where nothing will make sense until it does.
I never would’ve thought Amanda Barclay, number five, was capable of straight up murder, and yet . . . here we are.
Knowing Wes is probably as discreet as Austin and Roman are, I take out my phone and make sure my line is secure before pressing call.
“This is never good,” Harrison answers, and I can’t exactly blame him.
I have no fucking idea what actually happened, but Tuck mentioned the police—which of course there’s going to be police, there’s been a fucking murder—and if I know anything at all, it’s that Tuck’s probably going to need a lawyer, and since a Chair just died, he’s going to need the head of the Turris.
“Barclay’s penthouse,” I tell him simply. “Bring Baron.”
The call disconnects without another word.
I’m not sure if Harrison’s going to realize what’s happened before we get there, but that doesn’t really matter. What matters is that a seat of the Turris is currently vacant.
I turn to look at Tucker, fingers flying over the screen of his phone. He must feel my gaze on him, because he turns and acknowledges the call I just made with a flick of his eyes then he rolls them.
“I don’t give two shits about that right now, but that’s why I want my sisters there. I only care about my brothers.”
“Baron will make sure everything’s taken care of.” I try to project a confidence I don’t actually have right now.
I know Tuck doesn’t care about his family’s legacy like I do, that his first and only priority right now is his brothers, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t a big fucking deal.
If Jim is actually dead, then that means a lot of changes are coming our way—my eyes flick to Lex—for all of us.
Any questions?
Some of them, like who’s going to be Tucker’s Heir, will be answered in Careless Tucker, coming this fall.