Perhaps I’ll invite him to our Thanksgiving 2.0 with our half-siblings next week. Thiago, Mathias, and Alejandro. The two girls won’t be there, though.
Yup. Old father dearest has twin daughters, Lucía and Isabella, that Athena discovered a few weeks ago. They aren’t ready to talk to us just yet, they’re a little on the young side, and certainly not ready for an overwhelming, full-familial onslaught at Thanksgiving.
Even without the twins coming, it’s going to be quite the weird and awkward gathering, but we want to spend time with our siblings, and we want them to know we aren’t their enemies. Alonso wears that crown. He’s everyone’s enemy, including his own.
Ares elbows me, jerking his chin to my screen. “There’s still plenty of time, Hermano. You could take the plane and go give your friend a Thanksgiving kiss.” He keeps his voice quiet, probably so the man himself at the end of the table doesn’t overhear or ask questions.
Heat flashes up my neck at my brother’s suggestion. People definitely don’t do that… take planes to kiss people.
Scott kicks me under the dinner table, glaring at Ares like he wants to climb over the fancy place settings and smash his face into something. “He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.”
Am I though?
Scott holds my gaze, narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to telepathically tell me something. Does he know about Xavier? Did Apollo tell him?
No. My twin wouldn’t betray my trust to anyone, not even my best friend. Ares wouldn’t either.
Then why is Scott staring at me with what feels like white-hot judgment right now? The hum of conversation around usdoes nothing to lessen the severity of his gaze. Is he staring at me with judgment? Or is my judgment my own reflected back at me?
Let my father cling to his crown. For now. I’ve got work to do. And once I’ve taken everything he thinks is his… maybe then I’ll be free enough to deal with the man I can’t get out of my system.
CHAPTER 20
Xavier
I’m so not done. And yet… Ihaveto be done.
I tell myself that I’m fine.
Totally. Completely. One hundred percent fine.
Which is exactly what I tell our enforcer, Lachlan, when he squints at me like he’s doing a damn MRI with his eyeballs.
“Dude.” He taps the side of my helmet. “You’re vibrating.”
“It’s called adrenaline, sweetie.” I shove past him onto the ice.
“Looks like denial to me.” He causally lifts his shoulder.
“The Nile is just a river in Egypt.” It’s a lie, itisdenial. I’m vibrating because I haven’t heard from him. Artemis. The man who has climbed under my skin and left a piece of himself, so it taunts me every goddamn day.
Lachlan doesn’t buy it. Of course he doesn’t. He’s astute as fuck when it comes to his little flock. I haven’t slept, my coffee has had coffee, and I keep checking my phone like I’m waiting for fucking test results.
“Sure you’re okay?” He elbows me as he skates past.
“Peachy.” I can’t tell him the truth. Can’t tell anyone thetruth. Not when the truth is a rival enforcer with wicked hands and a mouth that tasted like… home? Not when the truth is that he left a mark on me I can’t explain in the locker room.
Not a text. Not a meme. Not even one of those tiny, stupid ‘heart’ reacts on social media when he wants attention without actually saying he wants attention. Ghosted.
I am being ghosted by a millionaire who kissed me like I was oxygen.
I skate harder, faster, until my lungs burn and my brain short-circuits. Good. Maybe if I skate hard enough the overthinking part of me will die and stop rewinding that back seat of his car like I’m editing reel footage.
Coach blows the whistle. “Martinez. You planning to shoot sometime this century?”
Oh. Right. I’m holding the puck. And not moving. I fire it past the goalie so hard it clanks off the back pipe, ricochets out, and almost takes Colton’s head off.
He raises a brow. “Okay, what the hell did you drink this morning? Jet fuel?”
