Jessica Novak O’Reilly. My PR manager.
Not good.
I swipe. “Morning, Jess?—”
“Don’t ‘morning’ me, Russo. Did you lose your goddamn mind last night?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you were starring in your own reality show at the W Gramercy.”
My stomach drops. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I don’t know…maybe thethreeseparate TikToks of you storming up to a booth, Camille storming out, some guy storming out right after, and you—” she pauses, savoring it, “—kissing a girl like you were auditioning for a fragrance ad calledBad Decisions. And thenshestormed out, too. Congrats, you’re trending. Caption of the week: ‘Hockey Boyfriend Tryouts Escalate Quickly.’”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Christ.”
“Yeah, Christ. If my memory’s right—and it is—that girl’s Eden Carver, Leo Carver’s sister. Your new PT. The same Leo ‘Lionheart’ Carver who defends his U.S. heavyweight title in a few weeks. So unless you want him watching this over his morning protein shake, keep your head down and stop giving the internet free soap opera content. I’m already working on getting it buried.”
“Thanks, Jess.”
“No thanks necessary. I’ll send you the bill. And Russo, don’t make me clean up after you again.”
She hangs up, and I’m left staring at my phone, pulse pounding. All I can think is: if Leo sees that clip, things are going to get real ugly, real fast.
14
GREENBEARY NIGHTS (EDEN, AGE 12)
Rain patters against the windows as we spread out on the living room floor. The air feels heavy. The storm’s waiting to crash down any second. Or maybe it’s just me noticing how Nate keeps sneaking looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
The grown-ups are out on the porch under the gazebo, sipping wine under string lights while the wind plays with the screens. Their laughter drifts through the open door, warm and easy, as if the sky isn’t about to crack open.
Leo dumps board games on the middle of the rug. “We’re doing Monopoly.”
From the couch, Ryan groans, full don’t-make-me-move energy. “That game takes forever.”
“Because you cheat,” Leo fires back.
“Allegedly,” Ryan says, not even blinking.
We start playing, and I’m quietly crushing everyone, buying up properties while the boys argue. Every time I collect big rent, Nate grins, and that makes me happier than winning the game. Meanwhile, each lightning flash makesmy chest coil tight, but I try to hide it, focusing on my colorful money instead.
When I slap a hotel on Boardwalk, Leo groans and Ryan rumbles about beginner’s luck. Nate’s laugh is so contagious I can’t stop smiling, even as the wind howls louder outside. Then the power flickers, and we all freeze. When it stays on, Leo exhales. “Just a little rain.”
But the next flash of lightning lights up the room as bright as daylight, and I flinch so hard my game piece topples over. I keep my head down, hoping no one saw, but my hands shake when I right the thimble.
Nate’s dad, Antonio, appears in the doorway. “Okay, little people, wrap it up. This is going to be a wild one.”
Leo pulls on his hoodie. “I’m gonna head to Max’s for a bit.”
“I don’t think so, young man,” Antonio says sternly. “You stay put.”
Leo huffs but flops back down. Ryan yawns dramatically. “I’m out. Double shift tomorrow.” He steps over the scattered pieces, patting my head in a condescending big brother gesture. “Good game, kid.”
The house feels different once they’ve both gone to bed—quieter, the kind of quiet that makes you notice every creak and groan. The lights are on, but my stomach still twists.
“You okay?” Nate asks from across the rug.
I nod too quickly. “Yeah. Just...I dislike thunder.”
He grins, teasing. “Good thing you’ve got Greenbeary to protect you.”
