“What?” Lex asks, sitting down more carefully next to me.
“There are some properties that haven’t been developed at all in this neighborhood.” I point at the area marked off in the map view. “You could build there if nothing is exactly what you want, and rent in the meantime.”
“Huh,” he says, tilting his head. Though his eyes stay on the screen, I’m pretty sure he’s got a million things passing through his mind. “I’d still need to rent a place,” he points out after a moment. “Let’s see what’s here to buy or rent.”
One hour later, as Lex swipes through the photos of a beautiful five-thousand-square-foot home built at the turn of the century, I admit that he’s found the one he wants.
“It would need so much work, though,” he grumbles to himself, but it’s something we’ve both been saying since we found the listing.
It reminds me.
“You know who just finished doing a full renovation on a brownstone only a few blocks away?”
He looks up, eyebrows scrunched up.
“Who?”
“Tucker,” I tell him, and though it’s a bit ridiculous, I jump slightly on the mattress, feeling triumphant.
“He did?”
“Yeah.” I nod quickly and take the tablet back from him, opening a new tab to see if I can find the street view of it from a few months ago to now so he can see the difference. “We can go talk to him about it. I know it took longer than he wanted to, but he was super happy to wait so it could be exactly theplace he wanted for himself. And also, we should actually get you two to reconnect now that you’ll be working together, and especially after he somehow pulled off the whole getting-you-traded thing.”
I don’t realize how icy cold the room goes until it’s too late.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
The clipped, quiet question puts me on alert, and when I turn, I see something I’ve never witnessed in Lex’s eyes when they’re aimed at me.
True anger.
17
Lex
I never thought I’d be indifferent to Eli’s startled gaze, to the slight fear and apprehension in his eyes, or to his stuttered out response.
“I-I said that T-Tucker made the t-trade happ?—”
“It was a rhetorical fucking question, Eli!” I shout. “Fucking hell, I can’t believe this,” I say to myself.
I have to stand, have to hold my head, pull hard on my hair, because this seriouslycannotbe happening.
“It’s fine,” Eli says, his obvious panic barely penetrating the rush of blood in my ears. “I asked him for a favor and I’ll have to do something for him at some point, but it got you here, didn’t it? So who cares if I owe him?”
I stare at him, incredulous for a long second, and wonder if he really thinks what he’s saying is in any way going to make this better.
“Seriously?” I ask, wondering—hoping—that he’s actually messing with me.
He nods, all earnest and fuckingclueless, goddammit.
“After Buffalo I started doing the social media thing we talked about right? But it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t going to get you out of that team, so when you told me you’d talked to Patrick, I just told?—”
“You stuck your smartass nose where it doesn’t belong,” I snap.
“Lex, I don’t understand?—”
“That’s right, you don’t fucking understand!” I roar at him. “You have no idea the fucking shitshow you’ve created, and if anyone finds out, I might never play hockey again.” His beautiful blue eyes begin to fill, but I’m past the point of caring. “All because your spoiled ass wanted me here, conveniently playing just a few blocks away fromyourhouse, inyourcity. You obviously didn’t stop to think about what it means that I’m now playing in the biggest media market in North fucking America.You of all people, should fucking know it, since your father owns that media market.
