Page 3 of Accidentally Joining His Cult (Chicago Awakenings #1)

CHAPTER THREE

Beckett

T he horn blares, and Adrian and Jordan are out of their seats on either side of me, clapping and cheering along with the rest of the Caldwell Center. My friends glance down at me with mirrored looks of concern as they realize that I’m still sitting, and I belatedly lift my gaze to the giant scoreboard above center ice to watch the replay of the goal I just missed.

Our captain, Hudson Roy, streaks down the ice, faking a shot before passing the puck around a defenseman to our star rookie on the far side of the net. He sends it clean past their goalie, who’s still focused on Hudson. It’s a perfect setup and an even better finish. Beautiful play. Damn, I can’t believe I missed it.

That ties the score 2–2 in the third period, with just over six minutes left in regulation time. The energy in the arena is electric, but I can’t seem to focus.

When everyone settles down, Jordan is the first to question my behavior. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you? Are you sick or something?” He’s been my best friend since middle school when we were paired up for a class project and he boldly asked the teacher if he could be partners with “someone less spoiled than a Caldwell”. I was so used to our classmates fighting for my attention for the same reason that he didn’t want to talk to me, I thought it was hilarious. Thankfully, our teacher didn’t grant his request, and I was able to win him over with my sarcastic remarks about the other kids as we did the assignment together. We’ve been best friends ever since.

Adrian leans around me to answer before I get a chance to come up with an excuse. “He’s been like this all day.” Then he shifts his gaze to me. “Can you tell me what a single one of our meetings was about today?”

When I give him an unamused blank stare in response, he dramatically rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to Jordan. “I should have gotten him to agree to a raise or more vacation time or something while he was so distracted.”

That finally gets me to speak. “Do you need a raise or more vacation time? What’s going on?” Why wouldn’t Adrian tell me if something was wrong?

“Calm down, you already pay me way more than any of your siblings’ assistants make. I’m fine,” he reassures me with a wave of his hand, but they have my full attention now.

“Beck, did something happen?” Jordan clearly won’t let up. As an on-screen reporter for Chicago’s largest news network, he shifts into full investigation mode anytime he thinks I’m hiding something. There’s no chance he’ll drop it.

Jordan originally applied for a journalist position—he’d be excellent at it, with his knack for getting people to open up—but his boss took one look at him and put him on camera instead.

Now, he’s stuck doing fluff pieces. With his tall, athletic build, light brown skin, and gorgeous eyes, it’s obvious why. He pulls in views just by being on-screen. They don’t want him off-camera long enough to dig into anything serious. Whenever I point that out though, he just shrugs and says his big break will come eventually.

“Nothing bad happened,” I admit, looking around to make sure that none of my family members are close enough to overhear. Our private seats are above the one hundred level at center ice, connected to the owner's suite behind us.

Oakley and his best friend, Parker, are on the opposite end of the second row. They’re usually so absorbed in each other that I doubt they’ll hear anything I say, but I wouldn’t actually care. The five of us hang out all the time. Oak and I have always been close, and Parker is like his shadow.

The rest of my family must all be watching from inside the suite or networking in other ones by now. Although we all love the Werewolves, I’m by far the biggest actual hockey fan, so they're usually content to let us take the seats out here while they stay inside with the bar and food. “I have a date tomorrow, and I’m a little distracted by the whole thing. I don’t think I’ve been on a real date since high school,” I attempt to say casually and not like I’m kind of freaking out.

You’d think that I just admitted to a secret marriage with a woman by how shocked they both look.

Adrian grabs my arm, his voice coming out in a much higher pitch and volume than I think he intends. “You have a date, and this is the first I’m hearing of it?” His grip tightens as he goes on. “Who is it with? I thought that I knew every detail of your life! I feel so betrayed.”

Shaking him off, I laugh at his theatrics. “His name is Cody, and he ran the seminar yesterday at work. You really should have come, A. He’s very hot.”

“What was the seminar about?” Jordan asks. He must finally be over his own shock.

“I couldn’t tell you. I was too distracted by the man giving the presentation to care about the content. I don’t think I’ve ever been more attracted to someone. All that I really remember was him flirting with me in front of everyone after asking us to stand on our chairs. Then he did a backflip off of his own chair before straddling it like he was starring in some kind of fully clothed Magic Mike show.”

“Did he also ask you out in front of everyone? Is that why you agreed to a real date?” Jordan asks, continuing to look confused.

“Nope, believe it or not, I asked him out. After the day was over, he hung around to answer questions and talk to people about some class that he’s hosting tomorrow. You’d think that he was a celebrity with how excited people were to talk to him. When everyone finally left him alone, we chatted and I tried to get him to go out with me to dinner, but he already had plans and suggested we go out and hookup after his class tomorrow.”

“Wow! You like this guy,” Adrian says excitedly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you light up when you talk about someone until just now.”

I roll my eyes again but don’t disagree with him.

“I don’t think that you need to be nervous if he already mentioned hooking up, sounds like he likes you too,” Jordan points out.

“That’s true.”

The crowd groans, pulling our attention back to the game. A holding penalty was just called against one of our defensemen. With only three minutes left in the game, losing one of our players for the next two dramatically decreases our odds of winning.

Maybe we can hold them at a tie, go into overtime, and at least get one point for the season.

Our penalty kill unit takes the ice for the face off. Somehow, our center wins possession and passes the puck to the left winger, who breaks away toward their goal. The entire arena holds its breath as he charges down the ice. Near the net, he fakes right and flips the puck into the top-left corner.

Goal!

Werewolves take the lead with just over a minute left in the game.

Our goal song plays, and everyone jumps around scream-singing along. I love our fan base so much, I’ll never get bored of being in this crowd. The joy is infectious and reminds me of Cody with his contagious smile and upbeat attitude.

Does Cody like hockey?

Focus. Stop thinking about the hot man. Be present.

We’re all on the edge of our seats as the final minute counts down, and when the final buzzer sounds, the true celebration begins.

No one brings up Cody or my date again, but I can’t stop thinking about him.

* * *

I’m pretending like I’m my usual, confident, put-together self as I walk into the hotel for today’s class. Like I didn't change my outfit five times while getting ready this morning.

I started in one of my usual designer black suits. I figured that I’d met Cody while we were both in suits, and he must have liked what he saw to agree to this date, I should stick with what works. But then I was worried about looking like a pretentious asshole wearing a fancy suit in a Saturday morning self-help workshop or whatever the fuck this class is.

My next attempt was too casual in a designer tracksuit. It probably costs more than most people’s tuxes, but I have money and I like nice clothes, sue me. Back in the black formal suit, I thought that maybe a colored one would be more casual, but couldn’t decide if that looked like I was trying too hard.

I finally landed on a pair of charcoal tailored chinos and a fitted black button-up with some wing-tipped black boots. It’s one of those random warm days in early March, and if I don’t have to deal with a coat all day, I’m happy to skip it. It’ll probably snow again next week, so I’ll enjoy it while I can.

I’d hoped to talk to Cody before the program began to confirm the details for this evening. I arrived at the hotel thirty minutes early, and even though they insisted on having us sign NDAs and turn our phones over as a part of the super fucking weird check-in process, I still figured that would leave us plenty of time.

Apparently, I underestimated his popularity.

Cody has a crowd around where he’s standing at the front of the conference room, casually leaning against a podium in a hot as fuck fitted royal blue suit. He definitely doesn’t look like he’s trying too hard. His dress shirt has the top few buttons undone, and a silver necklace draws my attention to the light dusting of hair visible on his defined chest. My cock is already thickening as I picture ripping the rest of his buttons off tonight.

Fuck. It is way too early in the day for those thoughts. I don’t know how I’m going to get through a whole day of staring at him without being hard the entire time.

I think of boobs and women, willing my dick to calm down as I reevaluate my plan of securing his attention before the class. There’s no way all of those people will give us a moment alone.

I also don’t want to be stuck in the back of the room all day, so I snag the last open seat that I can find in the first few rows. It’s at the end of the third row near the center aisle, so my view of Cody should be unobstructed.

I still would have preferred to sit in the very front.

I’m not above asking people to give up their seat for me, but that might not go over as well when they don’t work for me, and I’m not trying to start any drama before the class even begins, so this will have to do.

Looking around the room, I’m surprised by the number of people who have shown up to participate. The screen at the front of the room next to the podium reads “Individual Empowerment Program” with smaller text under that reading “a Kyla trademark developed by Viktor Kivela” so apparently that’s what we’ve all signed up for.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m out of touch when it comes to the cost of things, and “expensive” to me might not be the same as the average person. I tend not to look at prices when I buy things, but even I was surprised when I heard how much this program was.

I’ve heard people complain about how expensive it is to go to a Werewolves game. But even if a couple bought first-level seats at center ice, brand new jerseys, meals, and beer for the entire game, it would cost less than one of these courses.

Looking at the crowd surrounding Cody, and even glancing around at the faces throughout the room staring at him, it’s evident that most of the people are here to be around him. Not going to lie, that gives me a little ego boost.

You can all pay to spend time with him, but I’m going on a date with him later.

Granted, I paid to be here, too, but that’s beside the point. While everyone else wants him, he wants me.

At least for tonight.

I wonder where Cody’s from. I think he might have mentioned he flew into Chicago just for this. Maybe he's here often, and we could set up a regular hookup situation.

I know that I’m getting ahead of myself, but there’s something about him that draws me in. Makes me want to wrap my arms around him and protect him from anything bad ever happening.

Even though he’s taller than me and a little more built, he’s just adorable, and I want to take care of him. Which is a fucking weird thing for me to think about a practical stranger.

There’s no other way to describe how engaged he is with every single person that he talks to, though. His big eyes and the way he seems to be bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet like he’s so excited that he can’t stand still. Adorable .

The crowd around him disperses as he announces that it’s time to begin our program. I really do try to pay attention to whatever it is that he’s saying, but when our eyes meet and his grin grows wider in response to seeing me, I start thinking about that mouth. Will he still be smiling later, looking up at me from his knees with his plump lips wrapped around my cock?

Fuck, I’m doing it again.

Maybe the screen is a safer focal point. There’s a super cheesy picture of a diverse group of people with their arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, all laughing like they’re just so damn happy all the time. No one is actually that happy.

Except for maybe Cody. There's something about him that seems so genuine.

Most people who are all bubbly and have constant smiles make me feel like they’re hiding something or trying to get something out of me by acting how they think I want them to.

Not Cody. For whatever reason, I actually think that his happiness is sincere.

After staring at the picture for a few more moments, I notice that everyone in it is wearing a matching necklace. The delicate chains are all different colors of metal, resting on their collarbone with a pendant dangling from it. The pendants look like mountain peaks—some with more peaks than others, some in different colors. A glance in Cody’s direction confirms that it’s the same one he’s wearing.

It’s probably a company thing, like how our HR is always trying to show off on our social media accounts how much fun it is to work for us. Their thing must be matching “friendship necklaces” to represent how close everyone is. Or maybe they sell them at these classes. A quick glance around the room doesn’t show any merch tables, though, so I guess not.

They really should sell products with how many people Cody got to take the class. I bet he’d be great in sales.

To my extreme disappointment, there’s no acrobatics or chair straddling to start off today’s activities. He has us start by doing this strange handshake, if you can call it that, that’s more like awkward hand holding with our neighbors. We have to keep our fingers spread apart so that we can interlock them with the other person’s, but keep them extended straight so that they form a mountain or something. It’s weird as fuck, but it has everyone laughing so I guess it’s not the worst icebreaker.

I startle a little when Cody’s upbeat voice is replaced by a woman, and I realize that we’ve moved on to watching videos. The person, I think they called themself a “coach”, is talking about identifying your goals and playing to your strengths or some crap like that.

Looking at Cody is much more enjoyable. He probably watches these clips all the time, but he didn’t pull out his phone or leave for a break. He looks utterly fascinated by whatever this lady is saying.

You’d think his team is in game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals with how closely he seems to be following the video, nodding along, a contented grin on his gorgeous face.

Adorable.

The videos seem to go on forever before Cody eventually tells us that it’s time to break off into small groups for our working lunch.

They pulled this bullshit the other day at the office too. No one wants to work through lunch, I don’t care what magic food you’ve catered, let me have a real break, dammit.

That also means there’s no opportunity for me to talk to Cody before this thing is over. Given how much I’ve already built up this connection in my head, I’ll be devastated if he has to cancel.

We’re supposed to be talking about our goals with the ten or so people around us in a circle. I’m half listening, mostly watching Cody walk around and join the groups that seem to be struggling. Each interaction he has looks so genuine, like he really wants to hear whatever they have to say.

In between groups, he catches me staring at him, chuckling when he sees that my attention is on him and not my group. He takes a few steps toward me before another group calls out for him, and he has to stop to help them.

He offers me an apologetic smile before giving them his full attention, and I can’t even be disappointed that I’m not the one talking to him when he’s just so damn nice.

When it’s my turn to share with the group, I struggle to come up with an area in my life that isn’t already perfect, so I blurt out that I’m single and let people assume what they want to about that.

I really have no issue with not being tied down to anyone. A few of my siblings are in serious relationships, and sure, it seems nice sometimes. I even used to think that was what I wanted, but I’m not convinced it’s the path for me.

In high school, I was certain that my first real boyfriend and I would be together forever. Until Jordan overheard him bragging to his friends that he was only dating me because I paid for expensive dates and kept buying him presents. Jordan got suspended for punching him, and I was pissed that he didn’t wait for me to confront the asshole with him. After that relationship ended, I found out how much fun I could have without commitments and have never looked back.

Since then, I’ve had a few too many guys find out my last name and try to be whatever version of themselves they think is perfect for me, only to turn nasty when I call things off. It’s not even a true breakup when it was only a hook-up arrangement, but the drama has been very real. I meant what I told my friends the other day, I haven’t gone on an actual date in over ten years. There’s just something about Cody that makes all of this effort seem worth it.

Cody makes sure that everyone has had the opportunity to identify and share a goal with their groups before having us return our seats to the initial classroom setup that we began in. He goes back to the front of the room, setting up two chairs across from each other, angled out toward the audience, before sitting in one of them.

“You’ve all done a fantastic job here today identifying your individual personal goals and learning about some of the Kyla tools that you can use in your everyday life to help you achieve them.”

He looks so fucking excited for everyone. I can’t help but mirror his grin.

“This final activity will be the most challenging of today, but if you take it seriously and give it your all, it will also be the most rewarding.”

That would sound kind of ominous coming from literally anyone but him. Cody makes it feel like he’s about to introduce a summer camp game.

“I’d love for each of you to come up and sit across from me here.” He gestures to the other chair. “While in your small groups, you’ve already identified what area of your life could use the most improvement. Now, I’d like each of you to share a goal with everyone about how you’d like to see that area improve.”

Okay, that seems redundant with what we just did. But not any more challenging.

“Then, I’d like for you to reflect on your past,” he continues. “It could be from your childhood or a more recent experience. Try to think about a memory that shaped this area of your life. Share that with me today so that we can shed its burden and begin building a new foundation for your better future,” he says excitedly, flashing his giant smile at us.

People start clapping like he’s just announced their team won the number one draft pick, and not like we’re all about to trauma dump in front of an audience of strangers.

The back row “gets to” start, so I have some time to figure out what bullshit to say before it’s my turn. I already told my group I was single, so I guess it has to be related to that.

Not awkward at all when I’m going on a date with the person running this.

Even though this New Age, self-help bullshit really isn’t my thing, I can appreciate how passionate Cody is about it all. He really is damn good at his job. It’s obvious from the way people leave the stage—lighter, happier, even when they were crying moments before. Cody never pressures anyone to share if they don’t want to, and his empathy is evident in how gracefully he handles each person’s experiences.

I’m so in awe of him that I don’t even realize that it’s somehow already my turn until the person next to me taps my shoulder.

I join Cody, cautiously lowering myself into the chair as I scramble to think of some random memory to share that he won’t want to talk more about later, or be able to call me out on embellishing as we get to know each other.

I wait for Cody to prompt me as he did with the people before me, but I find that his eyes are locked on the intricate shading and lines of my tattoos. I must have folded up my sleeves as I was fidgeting, trying to think of something to share. His gaze seems darker, maybe he has a thing for guys with ink.

When he finally looks up at me, our eyes meet, and the moment seems to stretch on endlessly. The room around us fades away as I stare at this perfect man.

And then a throat clears, snapping us both back to reality. I remember where we are and shift in my seat before Cody chuckles, “Hey, Beck.”

Fuuuck. Why did he call me that in front of all these people when I can’t kiss him?

I’ve never asked anyone to call me Beck, but many of my closest friends and family do. It always makes me feel seen, like the person is interested in the real me and not the eldest Caldwell son and heir.

It’s also really hot when he does it.

“So, what did you decide to focus on for your area of improvement?” he asks with a flirty grin.

After an awkward pause, I blurt out, “Well, my mother would love it if I found a nice man to settle down with.” I swear I have no filter around him.

Cody’s expression grows more amused. “Alright, let's take a moment to reflect. Close your eyes for me, and think about what experiences might prevent you from settling down with a nice man.”

I’m so glad they took our phones at the beginning of the day and had us sign NDAs. At the time, I thought it was all overkill for a self-help class, but now I’m very grateful to avoid whatever potential PR nightmare my answer might cause.

I’m already this far in, so keeping my eyes closed, I continue with whatever pops into my head. “Growing up, I had a great life. A fantastic family, we all like each other and enjoy spending time together. My parents are still together and have one of those disgustingly sweet relationships where they’re constantly all over each other and saying cheesy things. Anyone who looks at them knows they’re still in love after the almost forty years they’ve been together,” I say.

I never questioned if my family would accept me or treat me any differently for being gay. My coming out consisted of correcting my mom in the sixth grade when she asked if I had a crush on any of the girls at school, and I answered, “No, but the new boy is really cool. I think I like him.”

She didn’t have any sort of reaction. She just asked me to tell her more about him and reminded me that I was welcome to invite him over whenever I wanted. No one in my family ever asked me about girls again, and subtle rainbow decor seemed to appear throughout the house overnight.

The new kid did end up spending a lot of time with me that year, but he turned out to be straight and only wanted to be my friend so he could go to Werewolves games. Once the season ended, he completely ignored me. He wasn’t the first or last to care more about my family connections than he did about me.

My family also didn’t care when I started to cover myself with tattoos. I didn’t get them as some big rebellion against the straight-laced corporate image my family presents to the world, like some people assume. I just really like the look of them and appreciate them as an art form and means of personal expression. My dad and I even have matching tattoos of our hockey team’s logo on our triceps.

“I was always popular in school, being athletic with a lot of money helped, even if people only wanted to know me because of my last name,” I continue, even though I’m not sure where I’m going with this. “And aside from not knowing if my friends only cared about getting to my family, I guess that I wasn’t completely exempt from the struggles of growing up knowing that I’m gay. No one directly bullied me, but I still overheard ‘gay’ being used as a derogatory term. I heard what people said about the other out kids or even people that they thought might be gay. I knew everyone didn’t accept same-sex relationships. Hell, same sex marriages weren’t even legal until I was in my twenties.”

At some point, I must have opened my eyes because I find myself searching the crowd for looks of disgust or judgment. I don’t spot any, so I continue. “Maybe I internalized some of that, protecting myself from the criticism. I’ve always known I’m gay and that it wasn’t something I had control over. But, I can’t ever remember a time I fantasized about getting married or even living with a partner,” I admit. Even with that first high school boyfriend, my thoughts of our future were more about prom or if we’d go to the same college, not anything beyond our teenage years.

As I say this, images of that life with Cody flash through my mind without permission. Cody waiting for me with dinner in my condo at the end of a long day. Us in matching jerseys at Werewolves games. Sitting on a beach, enjoying a relaxing vacation, just the two of us.

What the fuck was that?

Cody interrupts those thoughts, his voice now calm and reassuring. “So you’re saying that you think you might have subconsciously decided that if people were going to look down on same-sex relationships, you wouldn’t want one. That you were protecting yourself by denying that you might actually want that type of future with someone?” He looks so supportive with his big puppy dog eyes looking right into my soul.

I thought that Jordan was good at getting people to open up, but Cody could give him a run for his money.

I have no idea if that’s something I did. Those images with Cody were the first time I’ve ever considered it. But I numbly nod along because I have no idea what to say.

“Thank you so much for being brave enough to share that with me,” he says in a soft tone. I’m not sure anyone else can hear it, and he places his hand on mine reassuringly. His touch sends a bolt of electricity up my arm. “I think you have a lot to reflect on as you consider your goals for the future. Don’t be afraid to think about what will truly make you happy.” He looks so fucking proud of me, that I don’t even regret saying all of that.

A part of me might even be questioning if what I said had some truth in it.

The rest of the program flies by in a blur, and before I know it, Cody is talking about the other programs we can sign up for. A ton of people approach him after the class, and even more people go straight to the tables that have been set up off to the side to choose their next course.

I hang back for what feels like an hour as I wait for each person to get their moment with Cody. I can’t even be mad about the delay, as everyone who talks to him seems to amplify his joy somehow while sharing in it themselves. Eventually, the last person leaves, and it’s just the two of us.

“Hey, Beck! Did you still want to go out?” he questions, like that's not the entire reason I showed up today.

“Obviously.” I wink and bump my shoulder with his. “I’ve been waiting all day to get you out of here.”

He laughs as he shuts down his laptop and slips it into his bag.

“Can I help you do anything before we go?” I ask, even though looking around, it seems like everything that’s left probably belongs to the hotel.

“Nope!” he replies with a big smile. “I’m all yours.”