Page 79 of Goalie's Obsession

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 traumatizedandoffended.”

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. Likereallyin 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."

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