Chapter 43
Alexei
ATiffany lamp soars through the air and shatters against the fireplace—probably some relic from the nineteen hundreds. Mrs. Harris will be devastated. At least it missed the panoramic window.
“I don’t want to fucking be here!” Niko drags out the last word through clenched teeth. His battered face reddens further, the tendons in his neck straining as he balls his fists and storms toward me—or tries to.
He trips over his own feet, and I grab his arm before he falls on his ass.
“Lower your voice. You didn’t want to go to the hospital, Niko, remember? There’s someone here who can help you—hopefully stitch up that brow.”
His split eyebrow still bleeds down the side of his face, and his lip is obscenely swollen.
“I’d rather fucking die.” He shoves at my chest, but he’s too wobbly for it to have any effect. “Take me home. Anywhere but here.”
He didn’t sober up much during the two-hour ride.
He went from being a sad drunk, crying about Paxton moving on, to an angry drunk, threatening to kill the new guy.
Eventually, he fell asleep, and I practically carried him inside.
He hadn’t realized we were at the place he and Pax spent every summer together until I turned on that damn lamp.
I sigh, fist his shirt, and guide him, not so gently, into a chair. “Take a fucking seat while I get the Viking.”
“Fuck you. I’ll walk.” He leans forward to stand, loses his balance, and crashes into the coffee table, sending a hand-carved wooden bowl of Rocco’s guitar picks scattering across the floor.
I pat my pocket to be certain I have the keys, though I doubt he’ll steal my car, and head toward the stairs to find Reece. “Good luck with that. I’d like to see you get over the fence—if you make it that far.”
More shit crashes as Niko tries to escape the side porch. The door at the other end flies open, and Rocco storms in wearing only shorts—his face flushed, hair a mess, and skin slick with sweat.
Fuck, I have a feeling he wasn’t sleeping.
“What the hell is going on?” he snarls, loud enough to rattle the windows.
Harper peeks out from behind him, clutching his shirt closed at her chest. Yep, we’re dead. I’d be pissed too if I finally got laid after a decade—with a pretty blonde, no less—only for us idiots to interrupt.
“Kitten,” he growls. “Didn’t I tell you to stay in bed?”
Her gaze lands on Niko—groaning, covered in blood, half passed out on the floor, his heavy-lidded eyes fixed blankly on the wall—and gasps. “I’ll get Reece.” She rushes back into Rocco’s room.
“Put some clothes on,” he calls after her.
He slams the door shut, and his glare turns deadly. “I’m going to kill you both. Of all the fucking nights you had to fuck up, Nikolai—”
“Sorry,” I cut him off before he can further damage my brother’s self-esteem.
“Got a call from a bartender and found him in an alley getting his ass beat by a bouncer. He doesn’t want to go to the hospital because he’s afraid the team will find out.
I need Reece. I came in the side entrance, trying not to wake Danny.
I texted you and the twins, but no one answered. ”
He drags his fingers through his hair. “The twins are in the woods, and I was busy.”
“I see that—sorry. Go back to bed.”
I kneel beside Niko to make sure he hasn’t cracked his head open or choked on his own blood. His breathing is shallow but steady. A fresh bruise is forming above his temple where he hit the coffee table—or the floor, who knows.
Rocco leans on the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. “Why would he get into a fight with a bouncer?”
“Don’t know.” Don’t care. My brother has issues. He’s an asshole, but that doesn’t justify anyone putting their hands on him.
“Was it one of ours? Did you handle it?”
“Yep. I fired him, kicked him out of his apartment.” I brush a bloody strand of hair from Niko’s forehead to examine the extent of his wounds.
“Cops were nearby. I was gonna ask the twins to follow up.” I glance at Rocco, eyes narrowed.
“You know, since that’s their fucking job, and they haven’t been doing it. ”
This is what happens when you let shit go. If the twins had been around more, that bouncer would’ve thought twice before touching my brother.
Rocco shakes his head. “They don’t need to babysit the clubs and bars—we have managers for that—just like you don’t need to babysit Niko.”
My irritation spikes. “But we need to babysit Harper and Aurora twenty-four hours a day?”
His expression and tone harden. “Yeah, we do. You’ll understand when you stop coddling your brother and meet someone.”
Niko’s head droops. “I’m sorry, Alex,” he slurs. “I tried being with others…” His eyes flutter. “That woman?” He coughs out a self-deprecating laugh. “Couldn’t get it up.” He’s confused and inebriated, blending situations.
Rocco scoffs. “Try not being drunk. Tends to help.”
I shoot him a sharp glance. We all know alcohol isn’t Niko’s problem—not saying it’s not a problem, but it’s not the problem.
The door opens, and Harper returns with Reece, followed by Ethan and West Coast.
Reece drops a black backpack to the floor and kneels across from me, Niko between us. “Can someone turn on a light?”
I start to stand, only to remember Niko broke the sole light source. “Can’t. There’s no overhead, and he smashed the lamp.”
“I’ll get another one.” Rocco heads to his room.
Reece slips a penlight from the front pocket of his bag and shines it into Niko’s eyes. “What happened?”
My brother jerks his head away and swats at Reece’s hand. “Who the fuck are you?”
I grasp his chin. “Reece is a medic, Niko. Hold still.”
He draws back his fist. “Get the fuck off me. I said no hospital.”
Ethan crouches and grabs his wrists. “He drunk or concussed?”
“Both.” Reece shifts the light from one eye to the other. “You’re not at a hospital. You’re home. Any drugs?”
Niko tugs against Ethan’s grip. “This ain’t my fucking home. I hate this place.”
“No drugs that I’m aware of,” I answer. “He was jumped outside a bar. Started coughing up blood.”
“That’s probably from the broken nose. It doesn’t look terrible; we’ll see how straight it is in the morning. Might have to be reset.” Reece studies the cut on Niko’s brow. “He could use some stitches, but I doubt he’ll let me. I got zip strips we can try tonight. You lose consciousness, Niko?”
“Nope.”
“Do any drugs?”
“Nope.”
“Anything else hurt?”
“Nope.”
“Can I take your vitals?”
“Nope.”
“You always this chipper?”
“Fuck off.” Niko jerks his chin free and yanks at his arms. “Get off me.”
Ethan releases him with a warning. “Keep your hands to yourself, and we won’t have a problem.”
Rocco plugs in a lamp, and the room illuminates. The Viking puts the penlight away and removes supplies from his bag, lining them up on the rug.
“He was holding his ribs,” I tell him. “Nauseated and unsteady.”
“How much you have to drink?” he asks Niko.
Blinking, Niko adjusts to the light and takes in the group staring at him. “Lost track.”
West Coast leans over Ethan, shock written across his face. “Whose kid is this? How old is he?”
I scowl. “He’s my brother, and he’s twenty-one. Why?”
He glances off to the side, mumbling numbers. “Oh, thank fuck.” He presses his palm to his chest and exhales. “I was freaked out. He has my husband’s eyes.”
Reece snorts as he wipes Niko’s brow with a wet gauze pad. “They’re cousins. That’s typically how genetics works, idiot.”
Ethan peers up at Jackson. “You worried I got kids out there?”
West Coast lifts a hand. “Let’s not talk about it. You’re not exactly trustworthy when it comes to birth control.”
Niko glances between them. “This is the weirdest fucking dream. Jackson O’Reilly…and a guy who kinda looks like us…are married?”
Definitely a concussion.
“Ethan is taking over Dad’s position, and Jackson is coming to play for the team. You already knew that, Niko.”
“I didn’t know they were married.” He turns his head so Reece can clean the blood from his swollen cheekbone.
Ethan raises his left hand to show his ring. “Tattoo married, but yeah.”
“Are you openly together?” Niko asks.
“You see him?” Ethan nods toward Jackson, who’s still hovering over him. “He never leaves me alone. He’s clingy, always touching me. He can’t hide it.” He smiles with affection.
Jackson rolls his eyes. “Says the guy who planned a date in one of New York’s busiest spots so everyone would know we’re together.”
My brother watches them intently, longing clear in his eyes. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Niko—”
His gaze meets mine, bright with unshed tears. “I want him,” he sobs. “I want Pax back. I don’t want him with anyone else.” A tear slides down his temple.
I brush it away and lean in to whisper, “Shh. I know. Not now. Later, okay?”
He closes his eyes, tears still falling, then grows annoyed and flinches from Reece.
“Keep him talking.” Reece carefully applies a thin strip of tape above Niko’s brow. “It keeps him distracted.”
“Ah… Who do you want?” West Coast asks. “Who’s Pax?”
“No one,” I snap. “He’s intoxicated, that’s all.”
But Jackson won’t let it slide. “Maybe it’s the reason why he’s intoxicated. Let him talk.”
“Paxton,” my brother mumbles. “But he’s forbidden.” He lowers his tone, mocking our father.
I take a deep breath. “Niko plays for our AHL team. Our dad told him if he ever wished to go pro, he couldn’t be with Pax.”
Niko is bisexual, and our father pushed him toward women, insisting being with men was unacceptable in professional hockey. Niko desperately wanted to make our dad proud, so he went along with it. He broke things off with Pax—or at least tried to—and started seeing women.
Perhaps Dad was trying to protect Niko from negative publicity and harassment, but he also doesn’t approve of Paxton.
Our grandmother took Pax in and loved him like her own, but our father has always challenged Paxton’s place in this family.
He even argued against Paxton’s share of the will, but Rocco, as executor of the estate, wasn’t having it.
Pax is proudly gay. To our father’s dismay, he attracts a lot of attention. I’m not gay, but I can recognize when a man is attractive, and Paxton is beautiful. He’s a dancer, figure skater, model, and New York City socialite. I’m surprised he waited this long for my brother.
“Let me get this straight: because Paxton is a man,” Jackson clarifies, “your father won’t allow them to be together if Niko wants to play hockey. That’s messed up.”
“Something like that.” I nod. “I think, in a way, he’s trying to protect Niko, but he gave him an ultimatum when he was sixteen, and shit has been downhill ever since.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Rocco adds, standing a few feet away with his arms around Harper. “Pax is family.”
Niko’s eyes pop open, red-rimmed and furious. “We’re not related. He doesn’t share our last name.”
“No, but he’s still considered a Rossi, and I’d expect you to treat him better. You almost killed him. You’re pictured with a different woman every other weekend—”
“Because that’s what you fucking wanted!” Niko attempts to sit up but is held down by Ethan’s hand on his chest. “You wanted me to break up with him. You wanted me to be with women.”
“Not me. I don’t give a shit who you’re with. That’s your father. I care about Pax.”
“You’re all the same.” Niko’s words blur with anger and alcohol. “You wanted me to stay away from Paxton, to let him move on—and guess what? He did. Now here I am, not giving a fuck about hockey or anything else. You got your wish. I fucking hate this family. I hate being here.”
Great. How the hell am I supposed to leave him for several months?