My phone buzzes on the table where I’d left it, giving me a welcome reprieve from this room. I see Lemmy’s name and snatch it into my palm, hoping to escape whatever hellscape of a reality I’ve landed in tonight. Opening our texts, my heart sinks to my fucking ass for the second time in the last few minutes. I stare at my phone. Words on a screen, a bomb in my hands.
No.
My throat bobs.
Fuck.
Holy. Fuck.
I must say that last part out loud because Forker’s voice tapers off and everyone’s attention diverts to me. I’m still staring at my phone, my eyes wide and my stomach sick. I type quickly. I type without thinking. I’m aware that nobody’s speaking, but I’m face-to-face with a disaster and I need a fucking second to decide how I’m going to handle this.
Shit.
Our whole world is about to go up in flames.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ariana
Boston’sgreen eyes snap upward. He scans the room as if he’s searching for a threat, his phone still hanging between his knees.
I don’t know why my heart sinks, but it does. Whatever information he’s sitting on is bad. That much is obvious. The whole room can feel it. Every single one of us. Whatever he says next is going to shake things up, and not in a way that anyone wants.
“What?” Saltzy asks carefully, being the first to brave the silence.
Boston swallows, dropping his head between his shoulders. He lets out a little breath and makes a feeble attempt to regain his composure, but fails. When he finally lifts his head and pulls his shoulders back, he looks somewhat ready for battle. Acts it, too. But by the way his leg is bobbing up and down, I don’t think he’s as calm as he’s pretending to be.
“Lemmy,” he announces. He sighs, glancing down at the phone again. When he looks up, he looks right at my brother. “She found the leak. About Irina.”
Carter immediately straightens, brow furrowing. “It wasn’t Irina?”
Boston runs his hand over his jaw. He shakes his head. “No. Lemmy had a field day with that journalist, and now she’s too scared to publish anything about the team all together. Her media company just got another tip from the same source, but since they don’t trust it anymore, they sent it to Lemmy instead.”
The room is so quiet, I can practically hear his heartbeat across the room.
Irina Coasta has an obsession with the Pittsburgh hockey team. She used to follow them around, and then she went on a podcast to claim Arden was a mistress andshewas the one who was actually dating my brother. It was a nightmare. Easily proven to be a lie, but she tried it and I still want to drag her face along the concrete for it.
Nobody speaks. Boston keeps his hand over his mouth, but says nothing.
“What the fuck, Boston?” Carter bites out. He sits up and places his beer on the table. “Who was it?”
There’s one beat of silence. A moment where we all pause, knowing that things are going to be very different the moment this information slides from Boston’s mouth and lands in our laps. It’s somebody they know. Someone that wanted to hurt my brother and their team. This is a game changer.
“Morgan,” he blurts out, swallowing heavily as his eyes dart around the room. “It was fuckingMorgan.”
The balcony falls silent. I don’t know who Morgan is, but everyone else seems to.
I slowly take in everyone’s reactions, not comprehending the enormity of that name in this group of people. I glance at Carter, whose jaw is set, fists tightening by his sides. Arden slowly reaches over and places her fingers around the back of his neck, attempting to smother out his rage before it grows.
Penny is rigid in her seat, her eyes burning into the side of Boston’s face. She stares at him like she’s waiting for the punchline, but it doesn’t come. I don’t think she’s blinked since that name slid from his tongue.
Declan rubs his hands over his face beside her, letting out a long, drawn out breath.
“What a fucking bitch,” Penny mutters, finally, her tone pure ice and fury.
Boston is still staring at his phone.
Carter is about to implode beside Arden, shaking out his hands the way he usually does when his temper comes on too strong, too quickly.
