"That's fine," I say, just hoping to get her to stop her rant over how beautiful the day is. I kiss Ben on the forehead and lower him to the ground. "Stay up here and play for a bit while Kate and I go talk in the kitchen, okay, bud?"
"Okay," he says, and runs over to his toy chest. "I'll play with my LEGOs."
I turn away and head back down the stairs and into the kitchen. I can hear Kate following behind me.
"Want something to drink?" I ask her as I head to the refrigerator.
"I'm good," she says genially, and I hear her slide a chair out from the table to sit down. "But thanks for the offer."
I grab a bottle of water, uncap it, and walk over to the table. She watches as I approach, her eyes open and trusting of this new working relationship we will have.
As I pull my own chair out, I don't take my eyes off her. I sit down, set my bottle on the table, and say, "There's something about you that doesn't sit right with me, and I personally don't want you here."
Chapter 4
Kate
There's something about you that doesn't sit right with me, and I personally don't want you here.
Hmmmm.
Have you ever seen someone just ridiculously good-looking? Like a movie star or something? And you think there is nothing in the world that could ever make that person ugly. They just have such super-stellar good looks that they could be dunked in a vat of pig shit and still look fantastic.
But then that same person can do something horrible, or say something utterly mean and cruel, and it actually changes how that person looks to you. Makes their features look not as perfect, and twists their beauty into something unrecognizable.
Yeah, well, that's not what happens here when Zack tells me he doesn't want me here.
He's still just as gorgeous as ever, and that's because I can be objective in this moment right now.
His tone isn't cruel, but it's brutally honest. I don't take his words personally, and he's just as stunning now as he was ten seconds ago before he said that, and that's because I recognize the place from which those words hail.
They're coming from fear, uncertainty, and territorial rights. I recognized it on his face the minute he opened the door yesterday to greet me. The way he stared skeptically at me this morning before he left for his appointment. The way he's looking at me right now, utterly lost.
Zack Grantham isn't the first broken man I've dealt with. The world is so unkind at times, I'm sure he won't be the last. My daddy lived under a cloud of sorrow and guilt for many years after my mom died, so I know how profoundly someone can touch your life and then leave it in a shambles when they're gone.
Thus, I must tread carefully and thoughtfully where he's concerned. Zack's shoulders are squared and his chin is set in a stubborn pose that tells me he's almost gearing up for a fight. Unfortunately, he won't be getting that from me today.
"I can totally understand that," I tell him kindly. "I can come on a little strong and I speak my mind. I'll try to tone that down so I don't make you uncomfortable. And I'm well aware that I'm intruding in your home...your personal life. I'm also sure that I'll probably, but not with any ill intent, step on your toes at some point. Just let me know and I'll fix it. Mostly, I can imagine it's tough to see me with Ben...another woman providing a caretaking role to him. I'm sorry for that. Just know that everything I do, I do in Ben's best interests, and I'm also here to help you as well."
I finish by clasping my hands and setting them primly on the table before me. I look at him candidly, giving him permission to strike back at me if he didn't like anything I said.
Instead, I see him deflate right in front of me. I hadn't meant to take the wind out of his sails, as he has every right to feel ill at ease with this situation at first, but I think he maybe wanted to debate this with me so that he could come out on top, bang his fists against his chest like Tarzan, and proclaim himself still king of his castle.
"You seem to have it all figured out," Zack mutters as he slumps down in his chair.
"No," I assure him, "I don't. I just understand that this is a hard situation and I'm trying to put myself in your shoes. I want this to work, Zack. I need this job, and you and Ben need someone trustworthy. That's me."
He stares at me, his eyes still projecting unwarranted skepticism, but I accept it. I will just have to make him see that I'm good for Ben, and damn it...I'll be good for him too. One of the things I excelled at when dealing with my daddy and his depressive moods was bringing back a little bit of happiness and laughter to his life. I'm not foolish enough to think that my sunny personality and bright disposition were exactly the cure for my daddy's depression, but I spent many days basking in true and genuine smiles from him, and that was a direct result of my very cool yet goofy ability to make people laugh. My philosophy has always been to make lemonade from lemons, and I didn't mind imparting that little bit of wisdom to those around me. I may not have been able to get my daddy to give up the bottle completely, but I made him happy on many a day, and that has to count for something.
"Let's set some ground rules," Zack says in a change of subject. "First, your main priority is Ben. I understand you have experience with boys his age, so I'll assume you know how to deal with them."
"Tons of experience with boys his age," I affirm.
Zack nods. "Good. But don't ever forget this...I am the one and only parent he has now. You are not raising him...I am. You're just watching him. I expect you to defer to me when it comes to any issues, and I expect you to treat him the same way I do. He can't get mixed signals from us."
"Totally agree," I say. He's not telling me anything that I don't think he has a right to say.
Zack's eyes bore into me for a long moment, trying to ascertain if I'm heeding his words. And I totally am, so I stare right back at him.
Damn, his eyes are gorgeous. Light brown, and they seem to be filled with an inner glow that makes them shine like orbs of honeyed amber.
Shaking my head to chase away those completely inappropriate but absolutely true thoughts about my employer, I ask, "And I assume you want me to keep the house clean, do the grocery shopping, cooking, and such, right? I already started some of Ben's laundry this morning."
"Yeah," Zack says as he curves a hand around the back of his neck and gives it a rub. "You can take my SUV to the store and if you have to run Ben anywhere. Don't take the Mercedes. It's too small and I don't want Ben in it."
"What about when you're away? Won't you be taking your car to the airport or something?"
Blowing out a frustrated breath, Zack shakes his head. "No. I'll take Gina's car and leave you the Range Rover. It's safer."
"All right," I say with a bright and encouraging smile. Zack just looks back at me with half-dead eyes and resolute sadness. It makes me sad for him, and I have the wacky urge to give him a hug right now, but I'm quite sure that would cross all kinds of boundaries and have him kicking me out of the house. So far, he seems immune to my happy-go-lucky charm and I'll have to ease him into that slowly.
I think I'll take it upon myself, just the way I did with my daddy, to make Zack smile. Maybe not often, and maybe not permanently, but at least every once in a while.
It will do him good.
--
After washing my face, brushing my teeth, and putting my pajamas on, I pull back the covers of my bed--which is so deliciously comfortable that I think I could spend most of my life in it--grab my cellphone off the nightstand, and call my daddy.
"Hey, pumpkin," he drawls as soon as he answers. His voice is strong and clear, so he hasn't been drinking today. Robert Francis isn't a complete drunk, but when he gets depressed, he hits the bottle hard. "Hey, Daddy," I say, and I can't help that my voice goes all girly and sweet when I talk to him. He may have been absent emotionally at times when I was growing up, but he was always by my side and supporting me when it truly counted. He's my daddy, and in some ways, I'm still his little girl.
I grew up fast, and that meant I st
arted to understand at an early age that grief can create the worst sort of demons for a person to battle. I accepted that, and although it made me sad to see my daddy so sad, it didn't make me love him any less.
Nope. Made me love him and cherish him more. Made me work hard to bring smiles to his worn face.
"So how's the new job going? All settled in?" he asks, and I can just envision him sitting in his old brown Naugahyde recliner.
"Yup. Everything's great," I say as I snuggle down into my pillows. "Oh, and you should see this little boy, Ben. He's adorable and witty, and he thinks I'm just the most hilarious thing ever."
"You are the most hilarious thing ever," my daddy says with a laugh. "Kelly's three boys think the sun rises and sets on you."
"And speaking of which...how are Kelly and the boys doing? I called her a few times this week, but she hasn't called me back."
My dad makes a chuffing noise of disappointment. "She's moved in with some guy that lives over in Rose Hill. Says she's in love."
"Again?" I ask drily.
"Again," he confirms with a sigh. "But she's got her a job at some little mom-and-pop convenience store out in the country. Seems happy."
"That's good," I say with a smile. "And Thomas?"
My brother, Thomas, is serving an eighteen-month stint in prison for drug possession. It's his second time in the pokey, and I expect he's going to be nothing more than a career offender. He's five years older than me and left home when he was sixteen, so I'm not very close to him. Daddy goes to visit Thomas in prison, but Kelly and I don't have much contact with him.
"He seems to be doing fine. He's safe," he says sadly.
"That's good," I say softly, wishing I could give my daddy a hug right now. He carries a lot of burden on his shoulders, and I know one that eats at him is his potential failure as a father after my mother died. He feels like Thomas's drug issues and Kelly getting pregnant so young are solely his fault. He doesn't place any blame on their doorstep, which is wrong, in my opinion.
Clearing his throat, my dad says, "You make me so proud, Roberta."
"Kate," I say with exasperation, which causes him to chuckle. He intentionally calls me by my first name to poke at me.
"You ashamed of your name?" he asks with mock offense.
"Not when I'm a seventy-year-old granny sitting on my front porch knitting an afghan while surrounded by my grandchildren," I tell him with a snort. "But in my younger years, I think I'll stick to Kate."
He lets out a bark of a laugh followed by a smattering of chuckles. "A father couldn't ask for more than what you've given me, Kate. You are something else."
"I get it all from you," I tell him hoarsely. My father was never stingy on handing out warm sentiments to me, but they still get me choked up every time.
"I hate that you don't want to go to your graduation," he says with a slightly bitter voice. "I would have bought that cap and gown for you. Would have loved to see you graduate."
"It's just a ceremony, Daddy," I say gently. Truth be told, it's killing me not to be able to walk the stage with my classmates, but I couldn't see spending that money, and I wasn't about to let my daddy pay for it. Not when he lives hand to mouth most of the time because of his spotty work history.
"It was the most important thing in your life and mine as well," he grumbles.
"Well, the diploma is going to come to your house, so keep it safe for me. We'll frame it one day and have a grand old party when we do. We'll sit out on the porch and eat boiled peanuts and drink birch beer to celebrate. How's that sound?"
"Sounds mighty fine," my dad says, and everything is good once again.
We talk for a bit more, but when I give a big yawn into the phone, I regretfully tell him I need to get some sleep. He tells me he loves me and I tell him right back. We hang up and I set the alarm on my phone before plugging it into my charger beside the nightstand.
Snuggling down into my covers, I think about Ben and Zack. I never knew my mother, since she died while having me. I've heard stories about her and seen lots of pictures, but it's a very pale substitute. Ben's pretty young, and I wonder how much he'll actually remember of his mom. I know Zack tries to keep her memory alive and well. Her pictures are all over the house and he talks about her to Ben quite a bit.
At dinner tonight, as we were eating the pot roast I had made, Ben just blurted out of nowhere, "This was mom's favorite dinner, right, Dad?"
I paused with a bite of carrot halfway to my mouth, and wondered quickly if I had committed some type of faux pas by making it. I hadn't thought anything of it, the pot roast sitting nicely in the freezer just waiting to be cooked.
Zack just smiled at Ben but shook his head. "No, bud. It's my favorite, but your mom loved cooking it for me. She always said the way to a man's heart was through his stomach."
Ben giggled and Zack cut his eyes to me briefly. He was smiling for Ben's benefit, but I could see it didn't reach his eyes. I could see that the pot roast was bringing up bittersweet memories, but I had to admire the way in which he refused to push them down, but rather celebrated them with Ben so he'd always keep something of his mom with him. I very much respected the way he acknowledged Gina's memory and kept it existent for his son.
I make a mental note to approach Zack at some point to talk about Gina. I'd like to know if there was anything special she would do for Ben that we should continue doing, so we can continue to celebrate her influence on her son. That's going to be a tricky conversation, because Zack didn't deny it when I called him out...told him that I was sure it was difficult to have another woman caring for Ben.
I'd have to play this one by ear and hope that over the coming weeks Zack and I will ease into some type of mutual partnership that will promote the ability to talk about these things. I'm figuring the best way to make that happen is for him to get to know me a little bit, and that will just have to come naturally as we spend more time around each other.
Chapter 5
Zack
Coach Pretore blows the whistle in one long blast and calls out, "Okay, that's it for today. Hit the showers."
Everyone turns and starts skating for the open wooden gate that will lead under the Cold Fury arena and back toward the locker room. As is custom, Coach stands by the door and fist-bumps each player as he walks through.
Alex and Garrett skate up to me, one on either side, as we get in line behind the other guys, who walk through one by one. Alex taps his stick against my leg. "Great practice, man. Looking really good."
"Thanks," I say with a smile, which has been coming easier since I've been back on the ice this week. "Felt good."
Felt fucking amazing, actually. It's Wednesday and I just finished my third practice back with the team. I've quickly knocked the rust off my stick-handling and skating skills. My endurance and stamina are completely intact, as I've been running diligently during my recovery and working with the weights as best I could. My wrist feels pretty good, with just some minor aches and stiffness. In fact, I feel like I'm playing better than I ever have, and I think that may be due to the fact that I'm desperate for something to get me out of the dark place I've been living in.
"You are so ready to get back in the game," Garrett says, and I couldn't agree more. For the first time in four months, outside of the love I have for Ben, I'm starting to feel a stirring deep inside me of excitement and hope. I'm ready to start making my way back.
When we reach the gate, Coach holds his fist out for me. "Great job, Grantham. I want you to suit up for Saturday's game."
I tap my glove toward him and push. "What about tomorrow's game?"
He shakes his head sternly at me. "Saturday. Deal with it."
I grimace at him but nod my acceptance. "Thanks, Coach."
As the three of us lumber on our skates back to the locker room, Garret says, "Let's go out and celebrate tonight."
"Hell, yeah," Alex says. "Without our women, okay?"
I wince over his words, innocent as they were. He
didn't mean anything by it...only that it would be a guys' night out. But I can't help but think that the no-women policy tonight just isn't a problem for me.
My woman is dead.
"I'm fucking sorry," Alex murmurs as he places his hand on my shoulder. "I wasn't thinking."
I look at him and Garrett, both of their eyes worried and sympathetic. "It's okay," I assure them with a smile. "Guys' night out sounds awesome."
They both continue to stare at me warily, so I reach out and give each of them a tapping punch to the chest. "Lighten up, dudes. It's fine. Quit looking at me like that."
Their looks now turn to skepticism, and I turn away from them with an exasperated grunt. "All right, you fucking pussies...I'm hitting the shower. When you two get your tampons pulled out, come find me and we'll go out."
I hear Alex snicker and then Garrett lets out a bark of a laugh before saying, "Our boy is back."
I shake my head and smile as I walk into the locker room. I'm not all the way back, but I see the door sitting wide open and I've stepped through. I've got my hockey career back on track and Ben is being cared for.
And he's being cared for well.
It's with reluctance that I admit that Delaney was absolutely right about Kate being perfect for the job. She's settled into her role with amazing ease. She cares for Ben with the utmost diligence and patience, and every day this past week I've seen his attachment to her cementing hard. That causes me relief, but sadly, it also causes some bitterness within me. At first I thought I was angry over her stepping in and filling Gina's shoes, and there is an element of that, no doubt. But as Ben starts gravitating toward Kate, he is equally pulling away from me.
I hadn't realized that Ben and I had grown much closer since Gina's death, since I was his sole caretaker and parent. He came to me for every problem. We clung on to each other in our grief. He was the only thing that made me happy, and our entire existence was only for each other.
That's all melting away now as Ben is opening up to a new relationship and I can't help but feel somewhat jealous over it. Ludicrous, I know, but there you have it.
As I reach my locker, I pull out my phone and quickly call Kate. She answers with that country drawl of hers: "Hey, Zack."
Zack Page 4