by Stacy Lane
I backed my sister up after what she had done. Alex was backing up his fellow man, justifying their life as a professional athlete.
But he’s a Labelle, and I expected so much better from him.
“Okay. You’re not speaking and you look mad.” Alex notes the wave of confusion and fury taking place on my face. With precaution, he says, “I’m going to stop asking anymore about Vic and assume you have no plans to forgive him.”
“You speak girl. Good for you.”
Alex smiles. Now he decides to smile.
Unfolding his leg, he stands. His crooked grin taunts me from above, towering over me.
These damn Labelles. Too sure of themselves in everything they say and do.
Alex’s eyes drop to my mouth once again.
Going on the defensive and still a little peeved with him, I answer even though he never asked. “I wasn’t allowed to wear red lipstick. He said the color signified I wanted attention.”
“A jealous man is a weak man.” His flippant response proves he understands nothing.
I was told my makeup needed to be in place every day in case I was recognized whenever I stepped outside the door of our home. Even if it was a trip to the mailbox. Makeup, something I loved, had the joy taken out of it because of my husband. To him, natural beauty was for people beneath us who couldn’t afford to buy it. But red lips were never allowed. I got lectured for his insecurities.
Every morning now I’ve woken up and applied that bright red to my lips. Not out of defiance, but to learn to love doing my makeup every day again. To overcome hearing Vic’s derisive voice telling me I look sickly when I don’t wear makeup or when I use a light hand.
And to remember in this exact situation, that if another man is looking upon my mouth with pleasing implications, I do not have to explain myself to anyone any longer.
Alex stares a while, and my gaze drops away. I say nothing more, but it’s as if he pulled the story, the memory, right out of my mind with his perceptive eyes.
He thought it simple enough for a married couple to reconcile. The truth was, I’ve been checked out of my marriage long before it officially ended.
“I have an appointment to get to.” Alex crosses the terrace, voice and stride clipped with aloofness. Before stepping inside, his tone lowers, deepens as he says, “If you were mine, I’d want you in nothing but red.”
My breath catches.
CHAPTER 3
ALEX
THE ASSHOLE RETURNED my call knowing there wouldn’t be enough time to ask questions and chew him out. The asshole in question is my brother.
Brooks has his final road game tonight in Miami. His flight takes off in just a few minutes. The short trip down south will have them returning late into the night, and finishing out their poor season tomorrow with one final game.
Despite Chelsea and I agreeing to our rooming situation, I wanted Brooks in the hot seat to figure out his game behind it. We’re a competitive family. There’s always a strategy involved.
“Dad made me do it.” Brooks jumps in, throwing blame at our father.
He tattles like a child. Though, not sure boys ever really grow up regardless. And in this case, our dad is usually to blame when it comes to his sons’ love lives.
“It’s your apartment,” I grind out.
“He’s a wordsmith,” Brooks sighs. Chatter from his noisy teammates thickens as he boards the plane. “I already gave Chelsea the okay to stay at my old place before you asked. And when you did ask, I just so happened to be with Dad.”
“Well, a heads up would have been nice.”
“We’re talking about Chels. Everyone gets along with her. You act like she threw a fit and kicked you out.”
“She did kick,” I mumble. The bruises I woke up with this morning were a reminder.
“What?” Brooks hollers into the phone, trying to hear my words over the chaotic sounds of the guys surrounding him.
“I arrived in the middle of the night. She was sleeping.”
There’s a short pause as he connects what I’ve said. Then he starts laughing, obnoxiously.
“Sorry,” he says through choked cackles.
No, he isn’t.
“Why would you listen to Dad anyway? You know his game. And she’s married.”
“Not for long.”
Great. Brooks is in on Dad’s schemes as well, obviously.
“Vic said as much?”
“He doesn’t have to. Chelsea’s said as much.”
I almost ask what he knows of her side of things. Almost.
Don’t get involved, Alex.
“I’m not looking to date anyone right now. Tell Dad that next time you hear from him. I’m sure he’ll be following up with you soon.”
“Alex,” Brooks drones. “You are always on the lookout. But I will still send the message to Dad that his hopes for Chelsea and you to get together are futile.”
“He’s insane,” I mutter.
“Hey, it worked out for me so I can’t complain any longer.”
Jo, Brooks’s girlfriend, met our dad at a hockey game at the beginning of the season. She just so happened to be in the seat next to him, and he tried using his connections to introduce her to Brooks. It backfired. Jo had no interest in hockey or its famous players. She still says she’s not much of a fan all these months later, but we all see the way she’s taken to the happy-angry medium that real sports fans acclimate to when indulging the games. Jo wound up meeting Brooks by chance anyway, but Dad likes to take all the credit.
“I need to get settled in Tampa with the Fury before I can even think about dating anyone.”
Before my injury, I was the guy always on the lookout. My family thought nothing had changed. I was the same Alex to them. But they wouldn’t have recognized me over these past two years if I had shown them the truth. Leaving California wasn’t entirely my decision, but it turned out to be for the best. I hid many things, but the final straw was pulled by a person I should not have gotten back together with.
“I get that. You’re definitely going to have your work cut out for you. What are you doing today? Looking at houses?”
“I fired my realtor. But the new lady I just hired is drawing up some places for me to take a look at. Gotta do some shopping today since all of my shit was sent to the wrong place.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. Look, I called to let you know me and Chelsea worked out the rooming situation. I don’t plan to stay at your place long, so we’re both going to live there for the time being.”
“Good, because I really didn’t want to have to kick you out.”
Here I thought sibling loyalty meant they would always be on my side.
I figured if Chelsea was staying at Brooks’s place, then he was helping her out while she separates from her husband. When I woke up this morning, I wanted to have a plan set before the conversation happened. And I couldn’t pose the idea that she leave so I could stay. I might be a hard-ass at times, but I wasn’t an asshole.
Rooming with a female I barely knew cannot be that bad, anyhow. She’s not a total stranger, yet I don’t know her well enough to become involved in her personal stuff.
It’ll be fine.
It’s only for a couple of weeks.
“Sorry, bro, I gotta go. Be nice to Chelsea,” Brooks rattles off.
“There went my plans to be mean.”
“Seriously, she’s—”
“Brooksy, you’ve seen Chels?” Vic’s beefy tone bleeds through the phone, reaching my ear.
“Uhh. Yeah, she’s been hanging with Jo,” Brooks responds to his teammate, hiding parts of the truth.
“She’s still here, then. I thought she moved back.”
Brooks leaves that unanswered. Conversation falls quiet.
I shake my head, remaining silent. He shouldn’t be involved either. I get that Jo is his girlfriend, and she’s friends with Chelsea, but his taking sides will cause problems with his teammate.
When he s
peaks next, Brooks’s hushed words allows me to assume Vic walked away. “Shit. I don’t know if she wants him knowing she’s here or not.”
“So they haven’t talked.” She told me as much. But having that discussion with her didn’t go quite as I had planned. It was a great example of why I needed to stay out of their business.
“His lack of concern over her whereabouts would have you thinking the divorce was already settled,” Brooks adds under his breath.
“Well. Have a good game tonight. I’ll be watching.”
“I don’t want to hear your shit. I still have two games left before I have to obey your commands.”
“Enjoy then,” I grin wickedly, and end the call.
Having finished my second cup of coffee for the day, I toss the empty cup into the garbage as I walk out of the coffee shop.
When I left the apartment this morning with an excuse for an appointment to get to, I wasn’t lying, but I was escaping. The time scheduled to meet with the tailor was an hour from the time I left.
I had to get out of there. Logical I may be, but a saint I was not.
Even in a relaxed state, she was dressed for temptation. Barefoot, wearing some one-piece shorts get-up that hung off both shoulders, with her mounds of curls and red lips—I was fucking doomed.
Damn, those lips though.
And it was my bright idea to be temporary roommates.
I’ve never met someone so appealing in every way. She doesn’t walk, she jaunts. When she speaks, there is a permanent smile in place. It’s impossible not to be taken with her. Even when she attempts to glare at a person. It’s like her mind presses for an angry reaction, but her body finds that a foreign concept and refuses to scowl.
Whether she knows how to express anger or not, there is a tempered fire sitting below the surface. I know it because it’s the way I’m built. It takes a lot to send me over the edge and lose my cool.
Though, angering her over the topic of her husband was not my intention. Defending Vic on any level is not what I had in mind when I began digging with all those questions.
But it came across that way. As if I was taking his side just because we share common anatomy. Majority of the time, those of us with a dick, act like dicks.
I do not condone cheating. Chelsea likely thinks otherwise. Typically I don’t care how I come across to someone. People are going to have their opinions no matter how much one tries to do to repair it. As I would with any other person out there, I would shrug it off and let it be.
But it all came back to the red lipstick.
My eyes were on her mouth for selfish, warped purposes, not from judgment. It’s lipstick. The color choice is nonsensical. My fixation on her pouty, wonderfully crafted mouth was merely a lack of restraint.
Now I understand it’s a shield of armor. An act of worth that has been taken away for who knows how long, and Chelsea's ready to battle anyone who tries taking away her choices again.
It’s a great war filled with vulnerability. There’s more to her reasons that I’m clueless of, I know it in my gut.
And that is a fight I cannot be a part of.
I slipped once already. It will not happen again.
So killing an hour of my time, instead of following up on calls and emails at home, was how I chose to avoid my new roommate.
I stepped inside the tailor’s, got fitted, put in orders for new custom suits, and dialed my other brother’s phone number before leaving the store.
It was near noon as I held the phone to my ear and walked along the impeccable streets of the shopping mall.
Cam ran the bar we own, Triplets. We opened the establishment last year, and with its location barely a mile down the road from the arena, it has become the go-to hockey bar.
I always found it remarkable how all three of us found ways to stay in the world of hockey. Brooks and I shared our love for playing the game, and Cam loved it as well, but not enough to make it his career. As long as he was happy with what he’s doing, I was glad to support him in any way. That bar was his baby.
I knew his play from the moment he pitched the idea. Buying the bar gave him reason to get me to Tampa as much as he could milk it for. He didn’t really need me. But in coming here, it caught the attention of the Fury’s organization reps to approach me for the general manager spot.
Cam’s a sneaky bastard.
“Hello there, sweet cheeks,” he answers, cheery voice forever in place no matter the time.
“I need a favor.”
“You know, it’s words like that I live for. My two brothers, millionaires, and yet they still need favors from the poor one.”
“You’re so full of shit,” I huff on a short laugh.
“If you are calling for me to take a roommate off your hands, no can do, bro.”
“Brooks is on a plane. How the hell do you know about Chelsea already?” They were a meddling bunch when I lived thousands of miles away. Why the fuck did I move to the same state?
“From Jo.”
Here I thought gaining Jo to the family would put her on my side of things. She’s a supporter of personal space, after all.
“Traitor,” I murmur.
Cam laughs. “So what’s this favor?”
“Your truck. I need it for a couple of days until my car gets here. You still use your bike, right?”
“Yeah, we can do that. I’m assuming you need a vehicle as soon as possible.” At my agreement, he goes on to say, “I’m actually heading out the door right now. I have an errand to run so I can pick you up and you can drop me off at home when we’re done.”
Turns out Cam was at Triplets when I called. He drove out to South Tampa to pick me up, which was a short distance away from the bar. Soon enough, I was jumping into the passenger side of his big truck, and he was steering back onto the roads.
“At the bar this early. You becoming a workaholic?” I muse, glancing over at him.
“All bar owners are workaholics, but I was there picking up boxes for Chels. I have stacks of them in the back.”
“What does she need boxes for?”
“To move.”
“She’s moving out of Brooks’s place?”
Cam glances over at me with a weird expression. “Have you done something to make her decide to leave already?”
“No,” I grind out.
“Good. And not Brooks’s. Her house.” He grins, loving to irritate any way he can.
I stab a bland look into the side of his face. “I didn’t know Chelsea still had things to pack. It’s been months since the split.”
Cam nods. “Months where Vic was here while she was in Vancouver. The team’s in Miami, so she’s at the house now. Jo’s helping her, but Chelsea had more than she let on. I don’t know, Jo was ranting about glitter spillage all over her back seat and Chelsea owning more shoes than one could wear in a lifetime.”
My lips twitch as I stare out the window. Glitter and shoes. If there were two words ever to describe a person, those portrayed Chelsea with perfection.
“Good thing you called when you did. We’ll get done quicker with an extra set of hands.”
I swivel my head his way. “I thought you were just getting the boxes.”
“That’d be kinda rude. Drive all the way there to deliver boxes and leave them to handle the rest.”
“They were already doing it on their own. What’s so rude about that?”
Cam smirks. “Are you avoiding your new roomie?”
I glare.
“Jo asked for boxes and my truck.”
“You could have told me that before picking me up,” I snap.
“Geez, I didn’t know taking an inside job would turn you into a snob. So what, your hands can only grip something as delicate as a pen these days?”
Ignoring his jab, I say, “It’s not ethically professional of me to be seen inside one of my player’s home, helping his wife move out. What if she trashes the place?”
“Chelsea’s above all that,” he brush
es off. “But if she did trash it, she has every right to after he cheated on her.”
“And then we’re accomplices to the crazy ex-wife who leaves murder messages in red paint.” As an afterthought, a pouty set of lips enter my brain, and I add, “Or lipstick threats on the bathroom mirrors.”
“Here I thought Brooks was the drama queen out of the three of us.” Cam laughs at my grunt. “If helping her move is so unethical, then why did you agree to live with her?”
Gnawing at my back teeth, I don’t answer right away. It’s not for lack of a response. But telling the truth would be just as damning if I were to lie to my brother. The three of us have an uncanny way of sensing when one is dishonest.
“Your silence says so much,” Cam chuckles. “Don’t worry, Alex, your secret is safe with me.”
“I don’t have secrets.” Once the words leave my mouth, I glance away with regret.
“In every other circumstance, I would agree with you.”
But you shouldn’t.
Even I keep secrets from my brothers.
“My God, have you always been this annoying?” I mutter, peering at him as if we haven’t shared the same amount of time on Earth.
“I think it’s just been a while since you’ve had to deal with me. We’ve lived apart too long.”
“Apparently not long enough.”
Cam turns onto a long driveway leading up to a big house painted cornflower blue. A fountain is positioned at the center, the path circling around it. He pulls the truck to a stop near the front door.
Jo comes scrambling out of it seconds later.
“Thanks for helping, Cam. I don’t know how she could forget the number of shoes she has in her closet. There’s just way too many to forget something like that. And asking her to part ways with some of them was a mistake. Don’t attempt it as I did. Oh, hey, Alex. I didn’t know you were coming to help.”
“Neither did I,” I retort.
“We’ve got most of it done. I just didn’t have enough space for it all.”
“What do you need the boxes for then?” I ask.
