A Billionaire's Game (Ellsworth Brothers #2) (9 page)

Drake put his glass down on the bar with a loud thwack and
motioned to the bartender for a refill. He watched as the golden amber liquid
was poured then stared into the drink as if he’d find answers at the bottom.
Twisting on his bar stool he leaned in to the woman sitting next to him. “Hey,
I’m sorry to bother you,” his words slurring. “You got any cigarettes? I really
need a smoke.”

The brunette glanced his way, looked down her nose and
replied, “Sorry, I don’t. You can’t smoke in here anyway,” and she returned to
her companion.

“Who makes rules like that?” Drake said to no one in
particular, his voice raised. “I mean, really. When you need to have a drink,
chances are pretty close to a hundred,” he hiccupped, “…percent that you need a
smoke to go with it.”

No one was paying any attention to him. He grabbed his
whiskey and ambled over to a table where four women were seated. “Ladies. How
are we this lovely evening?” They smiled warily at him. He took a slug from his
glass. He cleared his throat and in a stern voice imitating a newscaster he
posed the question to the group. “Miss, what is your feeling on the laws that
restrict us, the free public,” gesturing with his hands in a wide arc to
indicate everyone in the bar, “we, the free public from having a smoke in such
an establishment?”

The women giggled nervously. Finally the blonde sitting
across the table from him spoke up. “Cigarettes will kill you. Why would you
want to knowingly breathe that air?”

Pointing a finger in her direction he stumbled backwards
and said, “Aha! You have not hurt someone that you care about. Clearly.” He
tipped the glass back and drank the rest of the whiskey in one gulp. In an
effort to remain upright, he grabbed the shoulder of a man sitting on a
barstool just behind him.

“Hey, buddy!” the man said, sitting up straight. “Hands
off, asshole.”

Slurring once again, Drake apologized and slammed the
glass down on the bar and reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet. He pulled
out a black credit card and handed it to the bartender. “Sir, please put this
man’s drinks on my tab,” he said, patting the man on the back.

The bartender took the card, nodded his head and went to
the register to settle Drake’s bill. A minute passed and the bartender
approached Drake. “Hey, buddy, your card has been declined. It’s no good.”

Under his breath Drake muttered “Fuck.” Reaching back into
his wallet he searched for cash. He pulled out a hundred dollar bill and handed
it to the bartender. “Keep the change Mr. Bar Keep. For your trouble.” With a
mock salute to the patrons, Drake stumbled out of the bar and onto the
sidewalk.

With his index finger and thumb he formed a circle and put
his fingers in his mouth, flat on his tongue. Out came a piercing whistle.
Instantly a cab screeched to a halt in front of him.

Drake opened the car door clumsily and flopped down on the
seat, his legs still sticking out of the door as the cab began to pull away
from the curb. His hand finally found the door handle and pulled the car door
closed; a corner of his jacket stuck in the door and flapped in the wind
outside of the vehicle. Wearily, Drake leaned his head against the car window.

“Where we goin’?” inquired the cabby.

Drake opened his eyes and mumbled “Mill City Park.”

“You got it,” the cabby responded and began weaving
through the maze of one-way streets until he stopped at a drop off point for
the park.

Drake reached into his wallet and pulled out the last
bill. He tossed the twenty into the front seat and mumbled, “Keep the change,”
and got out of the cab.

Two hundred feet below him the dark Mississippi River
churned strong and menacingly, beginning its arduous journey south.

Drake walked onto the pedestrian bridge and stopped to
look over the railing at the swirling water below. Within seconds, tears began
to flow as he arched backward, faced the sky and let out a soul wrenching,
angry wail filled with angst, frustration and self-hatred. A few late walkers
passed by, giving him a wide berth. His nose ran sloppily, and he wiped it on
his sleeve. He turned away from the railing and began to walk aimlessly. A mist
had started to form, which soon became heavy drops of cold, October rain.

Jill made sure Thea and family were okay before she left
to go to work. If Thea noticed Jill’s change in mood, she never mentioned it.
Jill had taken a cab home, packed a dinner to eat on break, and rode her bike
to work.

Upon entering, Nate greeted her with his usual, “Hey,
J-dub. What is shaking on this fine day?”

Jill, however, did not give her standard answer. “Hey,
Nate,” she said as she threw her coat and bag on her desk chair.

Nate turned in his chair to look at her. “Who are you, and
what have you done with my friend? If you’re an alien who has taken over Jill’s
body, you should know that I’m on to you and am not afraid to call the
authorities. Consider yourself on notice.”

Jill grinned meekly and sighed. “I’m sorry Nate, it’s just
been a really shitty day.”

“Okay, hon. Come tell Nate all about it, and he’ll fix it
for you.”

Gratefully she looked at her co-worker and friend and
said, “Dinner. I’ll give you all the details when we break for dinner.”

“Suit yourself,” and Nate turned back to his computer,
readjusted his headset and got back to work.

Surprisingly, the first four hours of her shift passed
quickly, and she soon found herself seated across a table in the tiny break
room spilling her guts to Nate.

“Ooh, baby. That is big,” Nate replied after Jill
explained the events of the day in detail.

“Nate. I don’t know what to do. Do I tell Thea? Her
husband? This is all just so unbelievable.”

“You know the answer to that question as well as I do.
Sometimes the hardest things to do or say are the kindest and wisest way to go.
You’re strong. I have no doubt that you’ll do the right thing. Now pass me some
of those pretzels. I’ve been doing Atkins for the last four days and am ready
to kill someone in exchange for a carb.”

Jill smiled knowingly and passed the snack to her friend.

~

The next morning Jill arose and dressed, then drank two
cups of coffee as she contemplated what she should do about Drake. Resolute,
she grabbed her coat, wheeled her bike to street level and took off for the
hospital to meet Thea.

Thea greeted her friend with a tight hug and a quiet,
“Thanks for being here.”

“Can I get you guys anything? Coffee, food, newspaper,
anything?”

The Ellsworths were gathered in a family lounge near the
nurse’s station that served the ICU patients.

Landen approached Jill, and he too greeted her with a hug.
“Westin made it through surgery yesterday and is now in the ICU. He’s still
unconscious. They are limiting his visitors to a maximum of two at a time. Mom
and Grandma E are with him now. My mom won’t leave his side, so the rest of us
take turns being with her in his room.”

“Landen, I’m so sorry this happened. You must be
devastated. But Westin is young and strong; I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”

“Thanks, Jill. Appreciate you taking the time to be with
Thee, and well, all of us.”

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need anything.” Jill
paused awkwardly. “Um, Landen there’s something I need to…”

Suddenly, a disheveled, dirty and blood-stained Drake
appeared in the doorway, halting their conversation. There was a collective
gasp when everyone noticed his unruly appearance.

William stood up, pointing at his middle son. Shouting, he
said, “What in the devil have you done now? We really don’t have time to bail
you out of whatever trouble you’ve gotten yourself into this time. Go home,
clean up and come back when you can offer a little support to this family.
Don’t let your mother see you in this condition. It will kill her.”

“Drake,” Landen chided, “What the hell?”

Drake held his hands up, palms facing forward. “I know. I
know. I’m not here to cause more trouble, but there is something I need to tell
you.” Drake’s voice cracked, he drew a deep breath and admitted, “It’s me! All
of this, Westin, it’s all my fault. I’m the bastard here.”

“Drake,” Landen interrupted. “What the hell are you
talking about?“

“It’s my fault. I’m the reason that Westin is lying in
that hospital bed.”

A chorus of “Whats?” sounded in the small room.

“I’ve been playing in some games. Card games. High stake
ones. I mean high stake card games with some not so very nice people. I was
doing great until just recently when my luck went to shit, and I got in deep
and owed this guy a shit load of money.”

“What does that have to do with your brother? I cannot
believe he would knowingly take part in any scheme of yours,” William announced.

Landen grabbed his brother by the collar of his shirt and
pulled him forward, his fist resting on Drake’s throat. “What. Are. You.
Saying?” Landen asked in a very low and very menacing voice. “What does that
have to do with Westin?”

Choking and gasping for air, Drake tried to speak. With a
shake and a toss Landen finally released his hold on Drake’s throat and shirt.
“I used his name,” Drake admitted quietly. Then he picked his head up and with
his gaze locked onto Landen’s and repeated, “I used, well, I use Westin’s name.
The players, the thugs, everyone at the Grand Hotel all think I’m Westin
Ellsworth. When I lost again two nights ago, the word went down that I was to
get a beat-down because I couldn’t pay, not only what I owed, but also the
additional I borrowed to try and win it back. They let me go, initially, and I
was able to hide and avoid them.

“Not knowing what I look like, the thugs they hired to
beat me up went out looking for me. They found the real Westin Ellsworth
instead, and he got what was meant for me.”

A deadly silence filled the room.

“Get. Out,” were the only words that were heard. William
Ellsworth spoke. “You are dead to me,” he said as he walked to his middle son.
With his index finger pressed into Drake’s chest he repeated, “You are dead to
me. Take your sorry ass and get out of here. Don’t you ever show yourself to
this family again. Do you understand?” The words came out fiercely and spit
flew from William’s mouth, hitting Drake in the face. Drake didn’t flinch. He
simply nodded his head once and turned to walk out of the room.

“Hey, Drake,” Landen said. Drake turned to face his older
brother. Pain shot through Drake’s head as Landen’s fist connected with his
jaw. Another blow came quickly after that and pain shot through his nose. Blood
started flowing down Drake’s face. Landen shook his fist in pain. Thea came up
behind him and put her arms around his middle and rested her head on his back
just below his shoulder blades.

Drake put his hands to his face and pinched the bridge of
his nose in an effort to stop the bleeding. Jill watched the whole exchange in
horror and relief. Thankful that she didn’t have to be the one to have to tell
them what had really happened and distraught knowing the person she was falling
for was in pain. Ultimately, though, she knew he deserved it. Maybe now that
he’s facing up to the truth he’ll be able to change his ways and live up to the
man she knew he could be.

Jill threw her leg off the seat of her bike and walked it
to the entrance to her condo building the next night after work. As she neared
the entrance, she saw a man slumped on the pavement next to the door.

She approached cautiously, and when the man looked up she
saw it was Drake.

She moved past him to unlock the outside door to her
building.

“Jill,” Drake said in raspy voice. She ignored him as she
fumbled for her key.

“Please. Jill.” Again she said nothing in response. She
put the key in the lock, and it turned. Drake’s hand touched her foot. She
pulled it out of his grasp.

“Jill. No. Please,” Drake begged. He began to cough and
pulled his hand back, holding his rib cage in pain.

Jill took the opportunity to slip inside the building,
never looking back as the door shut on Drake’s pleas.

She lifted her bike onto her shoulder and trudged up the
stairs to the third floor. When she reached the landing she lowered her bike to
the floor and walked it to her door. The silence in the hallway was filled with
the clicking of the bike wheels as they turned. She paused, unlocked her door,
walked into her living room and stood still.

She sighed audibly as she flicked the kickstand down with
her toe. Her shoulders sank, and she tossed her messenger bag onto a chair.

She paused for another moment before she turned, walked
out of her apartment, closed the door behind her and walked back down the
stairs to the building entrance. Cautiously she opened the outside door so as
not to hit the pathetic man sitting next to it.

She stepped outside and stood, arms crossed, her feet
together and she looked down at Drake.

“What?” Jill asked impatiently.

With one eye swollen shut, Drake looked up at Jill, his
cheek a dull blue like a bruise was starting to form; dried blood caked under
his nose and mouth. “I need help,” Drake said, wincing in pain. “Fuck.”

“What happened to you?” she asked as she kneeled down to
examine his face more closely.

“I went to Cunningham, the guy I borrowed the money from.
He was surprised that I looked so good. I told him my real name and that I was
the one who deserved to be taken out. He listened, said it was unfortunate that
my brother had been hurt unnecessarily, then sucker-punched me in the gut. He
called me a low life and a pussy for letting someone else take the fall for my
fuck-up. That’s when he called his regular goons to come and beat me up.
Unfortunately for me, they didn’t do as much damage as they did to Westin, and
I’m still alive.”

“Drake,” Jill whispered and gently touched her hand to his
face. He winced. “I’m still pissed off at you, but I’ll never fall asleep
knowing you’re out here on the sidewalk. Let’s get you upstairs.” Jill reached
under his arm in an effort to help him stand. When he was upright they entered
the apartment building and slowly made their way up the stairs.

Once inside her place, she led Drake into the bathroom,
making him sit on the toilet while she washed the dried blood from his face.
“Let’s get some ice on that eye. It looks pretty bad.”

Nodding his agreement, Drake stood and followed Jill into
the kitchen. Jill pulled out a bag of frozen vegetables and wrapped it in a
kitchen towel. “Here, put this on your eye. Hopefully it will ease the swelling
a bit. Do you need something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“Coffee would be amazing if it’s not too much trouble.”

With tender eyes she looked at the bruised and battered
man sitting before her. She couldn’t believe he was the same man who had burst
into her apartment just a few months before.

“Coffee,” she responded. “Right. I can do coffee.” She
turned and pulled out the filters from the cupboard.

Two hours and three cups of coffee later, Jill helped
Drake get situated in her bed. “You really should see a doctor, Drake. I’m
worried about your ribs.”

Drake shook his head and responded with a curt, “No. I’ll
be fine. It’s Westin who needs all the care and attention, not me.”

Sighing, Jill didn’t press the issue; she turned off the
lights and crawled under the covers as well.

“Am I going to be able to sleep, having just had three
cups of coffee?”

Jill smiled and assured him that, “Yes, you’ll be able to
sleep because the coffee was decaffeinated.”

“Thank god,” he muttered and promptly fell asleep.