Page 24

CHAPTER 23

ETHAN

The patio door opened with a soft scrape. I turned toward the sound, heart still heavy from everything Marjorie had just said.

Bell stepped back out side, his movements lacking their usual fluid grace. The string lights blowing in the breeze cast shifting shadows across his face, highlighting the pallor beneath his usually warm complexion.

His brows were together, his lips parted. He blinked a few times, like he’d just woken up in a place he didn’t recognize. The Bell I knew—always vibrant, always fully present in the moment—seemed momentarily replaced by someone caught in the aftermath of unexpected news.

“Everything okay?” My voice came out steadier than I felt.

His gaze finally landed on me, then flicked to Marjorie, her wine glass cradled in one hand. For a moment, confusion passed over his features, as if he’d forgotten she was even here.

I caught Marjorie’s slight eyebrow raise at his obvious distraction—the same look she’d given me minutes ago when I’d been equally scattered.

“Uh. Yeah. Just …” Bell ran a shaking hand through his hair, the slight tremor visible in the candlelight. A blond lock fell back across his forehead, but he didn’t brush it away. “Kind of still processing my call with Jax.”

He made no move to sit, just stood there with his hands resting on the back of his chair, knuckles white with pressure.

“Hey, you all right?” I asked, forcing myself to stay seated even as every instinct urged me to go to him.

I’d never seen Bell this out of sorts, but if I reached for him, he might freak out even more … might fixate on what my reaction looked like instead of what he was supposed to be telling us.

So I stayed put, sitting on my hands to keep myself from reaching for him. “You’re kind of scaring me right now.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Marjorie watching us with that knowing look of hers, the one that said she saw right through my hard-fought composure.

Bell chuckled slightly and shook his head, an expression of awed disbelief transforming his features. The tension seemed to melt from his shoulders as he finally pulled out his chair and dropped into it, leaning forward with elbows on the table, fingers laced together like he was trying to contain the energy suddenly radiating from him.

Marjorie gestured gently with her glass, the wine catching the light as she moved. “Well, go on. Don’t keep us in suspense.”

He let out another quiet huff of laughter and rubbed the back of his neck, a flush of excitement rising in his cheeks. “Jax just landed two major deals for me. Like, big time major.” His eyes were bright now, that familiar spark returning with an intensity typically reserved for the ice.

Something flickered in my chest—pride, curiosity, and something sharper I couldn’t name. Surprise? Bell hadn’t mentioned his agent pursuing anything out of the ordinary. “What kind of offers?” I found myself sitting up straighter, drawn in by his excitement despite my lingering thoughts about my conversation with Marjorie.

He looked at me then, almost sheepishly, his head tilting in that way it did when he was gauging my reaction before speaking. “You know that look you get anytime I mention TikTok? Like you suddenly regret all your life choices?”

Marjorie made a soft sound into her wine glass—not quite a laugh, but close enough that Bell glanced her way before focusing back on me.

Is that what he thought my expression was? Mostly, it was confusion. As someone who cherished my privacy, I had no idea why people felt the need to share every damn minute of every damn day of their lives with millions of strangers.

It all seemed so … performative.

And now that I knew Bell as intimately as I did, even more so.

My Bell was a man of contrasts—incredibly sweet but wickedly irreverent, deeply caring and slightly snarky, fiercely proud and highly competitive.

But the man he portrayed on his social media channels was almost one-dimensional.

As much as I hated to think it, lately, some of the stuff he posted seemed like a caricature of who he was. Not fake, exactly, but exaggerated. Like he was playing a part that had been created for him.

In my worst moments, I really hated some of those videos.

I would never question Bell’s devotion to LGBTQIA+ causes or how he felt about his own queerness, but there seemed to be a new level of … camp and sass in them that I hadn’t noticed before he’d joined the Aces.

It almost felt like by being one of the few openly queer athletes in the league, he wanted to be even more extra about his sexuality.

It sometimes felt like he was flaunting it, daring people to react.

And part of me couldn’t help wondering if this was why the trolls had come crawling out of the woodwork with that PR series we’d been forced into. If Bell had waved a rainbow flag one too many times, daring the bulls to charge.

On the other hand, I also recognized it wasn’t just about building his brand or increasing his follower count. There was history baked into all the decisions he made when it came to this stuff. Deep down, I understood that part of it went back to what his parents had done to him, how they’d tried to stifle who he was at his core.

It didn’t take a PhD in psychology to understand that a lot of Bell’s more dramatic behavior—the eyeliner, the glitter lip gloss, the snark and sass—were a big old “fuck you” to them and all the religious zealots like them who espoused similar values.

But I couldn’t lie to myself either.

That persona—the one that seemed to come out only when he had his iPhone pointed at his face—rubbed at something uncomfortable in me. Made me wonder if all the noise he made about his sexuality was putting an unnecessary target on his back.

On my back, too.

Still, despite my misgivings, I couldn’t pretend that Bell didn’t get more out of it than just thumbing his nose at his family. He legitimately enjoyed the business side of being an influencer. This was a business for him, even if I didn’t fully grasp it.

Though it wasn’t for lack of trying.

He’d tried explaining it to me once, but my eyes had glazed over when he started detailing how the algorithms were in a constant state of flux and how tirelessly he worked to stay ahead of them. Frankly, it sounded like a full-time job, and I was often exhausted just thinking about how much time he spent on it outside of his actual career as a professional hockey player. Surely he could get someone to manage it all for him.

I realized my silence had stretched too long when Marjorie shifted in her chair, the soft scrape against flagstone pulling me from my spiral of thoughts.

“Sure,” I said.

“You know how Jax and I have been working on expanding my brand this year?”

Marjorie nodded politely, but I didn’t miss the way her eyes flicked to me for a beat. I was sure she could read my expression: Actually, no, I hadn’t known that. A small knot formed in my stomach as I realized Bell had never said a word about pursuing additional sponsorships or media opportunities, at least any that I recalled.

He cleared his throat, looking suddenly bashful, his eyes flickering with apology as he seemingly came to the same realization I just had—he hadn’t been as forthcoming with that information as he should have, especially considering how our relationship was becoming increasingly serious. This may have started off as just fucking, but neither of us could pretend emotions weren’t involved now. “Anyway, all our hard work has paid off.”

I arched a brow. “Yeah?”

He hesitated, his gaze bouncing between us like he was trying to decide if we were ready for this. Then he smiled—slow, deliberate, and a little dazed. “I’ve been asked to be the face of a new underwear campaign for REND.”

Marjorie blinked. “Is that a thing I should know?”

“It’s like the queer-inclusive version of Calvin Klein,” Bell said, his tone slightly breathless. “Up-and-coming, but already huge with Gen Z. Hyper sleek branding, super body-positive. Their holiday campaign was one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

Ah . I knew them.

He had shown me a really slick video from the company a week or so ago, where each person featured was an influencer he was familiar with. So he’d been testing the waters without telling me what he was pursuing?

It opened with extreme closeups—a non-binary DJ from Berlin whose fingers were adjusting a dial on their mixer, a plus-sized ballerina from Harlem’s pointed toe in mid-relevé, and a trans comic book artist’s hands delicately inking a page—before the camera slowly pulled back to reveal each of them comfortable and confident in their skin. Err, their underwear. The final scene brought everyone together for a holiday dinner, an inclusive celebration of chosen family and community that made Bell tear up the first time he’d watched it.

When I’d finished watching it—not unaffected, thank you very much—he’d looked at me and said, his voice so damn earnest, “I want that.”

At the time, I assumed he was talking about holiday dinners where everyone was happy and well adjusted, but now I wondered if maybe he’d actually meant he wanted to be in a campaign just like that one.

“They want me for the summer campaign, and it’s gonna be even bigger than what they did for Christmas. Similar concept, but bigger ad spend in more markets across the globe. A print campaign, too, with a billboard in Times Square over the Fourth of July weekend.”

“A billboard?”

Bell grinned, finally brushing the blond strand of hair off his forehead. “Yeah, and that’s not all.”

Marjorie lifted her brows, clearly enjoying this. “There’s more?”

“There’s more,” Bell echoed, and this time, his grin was dazzling. “ World of Sports wants me for the ‘Bodies in Motion’ special issue.”

I blinked. “You mean ‘The Naked Issue,’” I said, using the name everyone called it.

He winced. “It’s tasteful nudity.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s a huge honor,” he said quickly, looking at me now. “They only pick a handful of athletes each year, and usually it’s people who’ve had breakout seasons or done something bold. Jax says the two offers coming in back-to-back mean my name’s starting to mean something beyond who my dad is.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, unsure what the hell I even wanted to say.

Because part of me was proud. These were huge deals.

But that wasn’t the part of me currently in control.

The part that was taking up all the space in my head? That part was furious at the thought of strangers ogling Bell’s body. The one I’d kissed and touched and memorized. The one I’d held in the dark, curled against me like something sacred.

And now he was going to let the whole damn world look?

Fuck no.

Marjorie cleared her throat and stood slowly, brushing her hands down her sweater. “Well,” she said lightly, “that all sounds incredibly exciting. I’ll let you two celebrate.”

Bell looked like he might argue, but she was already rounding the table. As she passed behind me, she laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “Think about what I said,” she murmured, then gave me a quiet smile and disappeared into the house.

The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed stretched tight and tense.

Bell reached for his wine glass, staring down into the swirling ruby liquid as he spun the stem between his long, elegant fingers.

After several long seconds, he raised his eyes back up to meet mine, setting the glass down without having taken a drink. “So, umm …” He scratched his fingers through the golden stubble lining his jaw. “They want you, too. For the ‘Bodies in Motion’ spread, I mean.”

My chest constricted like all the air had been sucked from the atmosphere. The thought of anyone but Bell seeing me that exposed made my skin crawl.

I’d spent my whole career maintaining my privacy, keeping a steel wall between the public and my personal life so no one ever guessed what I was hiding.

And now he wanted me to tear it all down? To strip myself literally bare for the speculation of millions of strangers?

“Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

Bell flinched—barely, but enough that I saw it—and his gaze skittered away. He reached again for his wine glass, but didn’t lift it to his lips. Just spun it slowly over the table by the stem, the motion aimless.

“So they already approached you,” he said after a beat, his voice subdued. “And you what—turned it down? Without saying anything to me about it?”

He didn’t sound angry. Not even surprised, really.

Just … disappointed. Tired around the edges in a way I wasn’t used to seeing.

“I thought maybe—” He shook his head and gave a small, humorless laugh. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

I stared at him, my throat tightening. Not just from what he said, but from how it sounded.

Like he was already halfway to giving up on me.

Like he didn’t want to be let down, but he’d braced for it anyway.

Because that’s what I did.

One step forward, two steps back.

Push and pull. Hope and hesitation.

And maybe the worst part wasn’t that he thought I’d kept this from him.

It was that I’d trained him to expect that I would.

“This is the first I’m hearing of it,” I told him, more defensive than I meant to be. “Holly knows not to bring that kind of shit my way.”

Bell nodded, slow and measured, like he’d expected this, too. His expression didn’t sharpen or harden, it just … dimmed.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Makes sense.” He leaned back slightly and folded his arms over his chest in a protective gesture.

The weight in his voice pulled something loose inside me, and it made me feel like the worst kind of asshole in this conversation, even though I hadn’t asked to be part of it in the first place.

But I couldn’t give in. Not on this.

I pushed back slightly in my chair, the legs scraping the stone beneath us. Leaned forward, elbows braced on my knees. My hands curled into loose fists, my chin dropping to rest on my knuckles. “You know I’m a private guy. I did those Aces videos because I had to. Stuff like that’s in my contract. And yeah, I smiled through them—gritted my teeth through the whole damn thing really—because I knew it mattered to you.”

I dragged my right hand through my hair, fingers shaking. Dropped it to my thigh and tapped a frantic, unsteady rhythm with my fingertips.

“But this? This isn’t for the team. And it’s literally naked, Bell. There’s nowhere to hide. You and I show up in a photo like that, no matter how ‘tastefully’ it’s done.” I bounced my fingers, simulating air quotes as my agitation flared. “And it’s going to invite more speculation about us. About what we are. And I can’t?—”

I stopped.

The words were right there.

I can’t deal with that.

But I told him I would.

Had gotten down on my knees. Had looked him in the eye. Had promised.

And now I was breaking that promise.

Bell let out a long sigh, the kind of exhale that sounded like it carried a hundred weighty thoughts behind it, and then pushed slowly out of his chair, his palms lingering on the edge of the table like he needed a second to find his balance.

His eyes met mine, just for a beat. Not angry. Not even upset, really. Just … tired. “I’m gonna go call Jax back.”

Then he turned and walked inside.

I didn’t stop him.

I wanted to.

But I didn’t.