Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

Lucy

“E than, slow down. You’re not making any sense.”

My brother’s voice crackles through the line—thick, slurred, and bouncing between guilt and word-vomit panic.

“Luce… I tried. I really tried to clean it up. But I messed up. Again.” A glass clinks in the background. Something falls. “Shit.”

I close my eyes and press the heel of my hand to my forehead. So much for the champagne glow. One second I’m basking in post-sex sparkle, the next I’m back in the land of inherited messes and late-night crises.

“Ethan, breathe. What are you talking about?”

There’s a pause. A soft, shuddering inhale.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and try a long, deep breath to calm the nerves surging through me.

“Ethan. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what to do,” he says, and suddenly he sounds like a little boy again. “Everything’s so tangled. I thought I could stay ahead of it, but I can’t. I screwed up.”

“Okay,” I say gently. “Talk me through it, big guy. Where are you?”

“I’m home,” he says, like the word tastes sour. “At the house. Just for a bit. I was trying to… sort through a few things before anyone noticed.”

My fingers tighten around the phone.

“Ethan, you’re spiraling. You need to sleep. Maybe… not next to sharp objects or open flames.”

He laughs, but it’s a miserable sound. “You sound like Mom.”

“Great,” I deadpan. “Now I’m traumatized and offended.”

Connor shoots me a look from the bed, the corners of his mouth twitching despite the tension behind his eyes.

“I don’t know what to do, Luce,” Ethan says. “I messed it up. And now I’m in it. Like really in it.”

My voice softens. “Okay. Then just stay put, alright? Don’t do anything. Don’t delete anything. Don’t talk to anyone weird. I’ll… I’ll figure it out.”

"You can't fix this, Luce. The money. It's gone."

I press a hand over my heart and close my eyes.

So I really am back in this world again.

The one with late-night damage control calls and family secrets tucked into designer closets. The one I worked so damn hard to walk away from.

“Shit, Ethan. Okay…" I glance to Connor who's just standing there now with those big arms crossed over his chest, like a statue of strength that I need so desperately right now. "I'm half way through this tour, think you can make it until I get home?”

“I guess so. Just tell Walsh to keep you safe,” he says. “He owes me that much.”

My eyebrows knit. “What does that mean?”

But he’s already spiraling again, a drunken ramble that's muffled before I finally manage to make sense of the last of his slurred words.

“…and I love you, Luce. Even when I was being a shit brother. You’ve always been the only good thing to come of this family.”

“Ethan, don’t—” My throat tightens. “Don’t talk like this is goodbye.”

Then, without warning, the line goes dead.

I lower the phone slowly, blinking at the screen.

Connor’s already up, his jeans halfway on, his face still warm from the soft glow of candlelight but his eyes sharp.

“What did he say?”

I swallow. “That he’s at the house. That he tried to fix something and made it worse."

Connor exhales, his jaw tightening. “And he dropped the look after you line?”

I nod.

“He always did have a flair for dramatics,” I murmur, my voice a little hoarse. “God, Connor. I think I’ve been gone from that life for so long I forgot how heavy it really is when shit goes pear-shaped.”

He touches my arm gently. “You’re not there anymore. You don’t have to carry it all. He got into this mess, he can get out of it. He's a big boy now.”

I look around the suite. The candles, the leftover chocolate, the champagne flute tipped on its side like a little ghost of the girl I was five minutes ago.

That world feels miles away now.

“I don’t want to go back to it,” I whisper. “But I don’t think I have a choice. When we get home, I'm going to have to help him, Connor.”

Connor wraps me in his arms, solid and warm and safe.

“Then we’ll go. Together.”

His eyes close for a second, and when they reopen, I can see the restraint there. He wants to say something. Probably a lot of things. But he doesn’t.

“He’s never called me like that before,” I whisper.

Connor's arms shift, wrapping around my waist after adjusting his hoodie. His chin rests lightly on my shoulder. “I’m guessing you’ve never heard him sound like that, either.”

“No,” I admit, blinking back tears. “Not since…”

I trail off, but the memory pushes through anyway.

I remember the frantic phone call at 3 AM, Ethan's voice cracking as he begged me to wire him more money.

"Just a temporary loan, Luce. I swear I'll pay it back."

I'd send it without question - every damn time.

"He lost everything once before," I whisper. “This won't be the first time. He's got a track record—Macau, some sketchy crypto thing, Cayman ‘startups’ that were actually just yacht parties with a fancy business label. He’s a one-man financial cautionary tale.”

My fingers trace absently on Connor's forearm.

"And now… he sounds like a ghost of that young man with the world at his feet. Broken and completely unraveling. Without his parents there to guide him. And the worst part is… I don't know if there is anything else I can do to help him."

Connor’s hand smooths over my arm as he presses a kiss to the back of my head. He spins me on the spot and grips either side of my face, pulling my blurry eyes to meet his.

“Hey, listen to me. We’ll figure out what’s going on, alright?” He kisses my forehead repeatedly. "Don't worry your pretty little face over this. You’re the strongest person I know—and now you’ve got backup."

I nod, but I don’t move.

My body is frozen in the moment, suspended between panic and disbelief. It feels like the walls are thinner now, like this whole trip was a terrible mistake.

“I should’ve asked more questions,” I murmur. "I should have just stayed home instead of storming out on him."

“You tried, baby. We both did,” Connor says.

I turn in his arms, pressing my face to his chest. He’s warm. Solid.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Stay here. Lay down for a second while I make some calls and get some people to check in on him, alright?”

I nod and grab a tissue, stumbling to the bed as Connor disappears into the bathroom.

When he returns a few minutes later, he’s carrying… a bar of soap?

“Okay,” he says seriously. “I brought you three things. First—hydration.” He hands me a glass of water like a nurse in triage. “Second, sugar.” A mini chocolate bar appears, already unwrapped at one corner. “And third, cleansing vibes.”

He holds up the bar of soap with a hopeful expression. It smells like eucalyptus.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

“No idea. I think I was going for emotionally cleansing shower?”

I let out a choked laugh and take the chocolate, curling up on the edge of the bed.

“God,” I mutter. “And he told you to keep me safe.”

Connor’s gaze sharpens. “Yeah. That part caught my attention. He's still not real bright, is he?”

“Connor…"

I try to keep it light, to absorb Connor's amazingly steady calm right now, but the weight of my brother’s voice is still echoing in my ears.

"What if someone’s threatening him? What if—” My throat tightens. “He said something about losing it all.”

“Then we get answers,” Connor says, his voice steel now. “He’s in trouble. We’ll figure it out. He's family, and family is supposed to help each other.”

I study him for a second, my heart twisting. “You’d really do that? Even after everything?”

He looks me dead in the eye.

“Lucy, your brother could burn my car, punch me in the face, and name his dog after my worst playoff performance—and I’d still protect him if it meant keeping you safe.”

I blink. “You have got to stop saying things that make me fall in love with you during a crisis.”

Something flickers across his face.

His smile fades, but not in a bad way. It softens, grows more tender as the silent seconds pass between us. Like the words have hit him somewhere he wasn’t expecting, but maybe always hoped for.

He steps over closer and brushes hair back from my face, his fingers lingering ever so gently on my cheek.

“Say that again.”

I swallow, my heart racing. “Which part?”

“The part where I'm making you fall more in love with me.”

My cheeks burn as I realize what I just blurted out.

The L-word.

Connor's eyes dance with amusement. "Do you know how adorable you are when you're flustered?"

"I'm not flustered," I protest, but my voice comes out squeaky. "I'm... strategically overwhelmed."

He laughs deeply before pulling my face to his. His lips brush mine, soft and sweet, completely at odds with the chaos of the entire fucking world swirling around us.

"Don't worry, Lucy Lou." His forehead rests against mine. "Because I love you too."

My heart stops, then starts again double-time. "You do?"

"Obviously." He kisses the tip of my nose. "Why else would I let you drag me on a death march up Runyon Canyon?"

"That was a team activity!"

"Why else would I spend three hours planning the perfect rooftop date?"

"Because I paid fifty grand for it?"

He pinches my side playfully. "Why else would I stock your favorite sour peach rings in my jacket pocket?"

I gasp. "You have peach rings? Right now?"

"See?" His eyes crinkle. "That right there? That's why I love you. The world could be ending, and you'd still get excited about candy."

I wrap my arms around his neck. "To be fair, they're really good peach rings."

"They're gas station peach rings."

"The best kind."

He kisses me again, and for a moment, I forget about everything else. The phone call. Ethan. The mess waiting for us back home.

"We'll figure this out," Connor murmurs against my lips before yanking the packet of my favorite candies open. "Together."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to face Coach Brody's Celine Dion punishment drills for the rest of eternity."

I laugh despite myself. "Now that's commitment."

He tosses me the peach rings. “You get three now. The rest are snacks for the plane ride back.”

“Excuse me?” I arch a brow, reaching into the bag. “Who do you think paid fifty grand for that rooftop sex? These are my rings now.”

Connor’s eyes narrow. “Are you seriously using the auction against me? You bid on me fair and square. No pressure.”

“I’m just saying…” I dangle one near my mouth and then pop it in slowly. “If you want your girlfriend to survive this trip, you better fork over the sugar.”

He lunges across the bed and starts tickling me until I’m gasping-laughing and rolling away from him, peach rings spilling across the sheets.

“Stop!” I wheeze, batting his hands away. “This is assault.”

“This is candy justice,” he says, straddling me just long enough to swipe the bag from my hand and hold it triumphantly over his head. “You abused the snack power dynamic. There had to be consequences.”

I scowl, chest still heaving from laughter. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He drops down beside me with a smug grin. “You’re lucky I’m devoted .”

“To me or to the peach rings?”

“Yes.”

I nudge his shoulder, but the moment stretches long enough that I catch the flicker in his eyes when he glances at me. Something shifts in the air, the sweetness giving way to something a little heavier. A little realer.

“You called me your girlfriend,” I say softly.

Connor goes still. Not in a panicked way. More like he's playing back the footage in his head.

“I did,” he says. “Is that… not accurate?”

I blink. “No. I mean—yes. I just…” I fumble with a peach ring. “I didn’t know we were labeling things.”

“I wasn’t trying to pressure you,” he says gently. “It just slipped out. But I meant it.”

The ring drops to the sheets.

“I don’t want to fake anything anymore,” I murmur. “Not after tonight.”

He nods once, then reaches over and links our fingers together.

“Lucy,” he says simply. “I don't think anything about this was ever fake. At least, it wasn't for me.”

And just like that… it’s real.

He kisses me—slow, sweet, and a little shy around the edges. Like the kind of kiss you’d give your girlfriend , not your fake auction-winning date. And when he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. Just rests his forehead against mine.

“So,” he murmurs. “What happens after this?”

I let out a slow breath. “After Ethan. After the media. After our names stop trending?”

“After we go home,” he says softly. “Back to Iron Ridge.”

I picture it—cold air and snow-dusted mountains. No family drama or gallery galas or velvet ropes.

Just early morning skates at Icehawk HQ, coffee at Chapter & Grind, maybe a blanket draped over both of us on a beat-up couch while we watch hockey and pretend not to care about anything.

“Something quiet. Something real," I whisper, letting the smile lift my lips ever so gently. "Something that has nothing to do with last names or net worth or headlines.”

“Something that has everything to do with sour peach rings and heated blankets?” Connor teases.

“Yeah. And kissing you whenever I want,” I add, leaning in again.

He brushes his lips over mine once more, softer this time.

“Yeah. I think I’d like that too.”