A Secret for a Secret

by Hunting, Helena

  “Hungry all the time. Insatiable.” She trails her fingers down the side of my neck and over my shoulders.

  “Exactly.” I could forgo food, stay in bed for days with Queenie, forget every single obligation there is, including my job, if it meant being able to appease my appetite for her.

  “It’s nice to be wanted.” She bends, and I think it’s to kiss me, but her lips skim my cheek and brush my ear. “Maybe I’ll skip the panties altogether. Then you don’t have to feel bad and I don’t have to risk losing another pair.”

  She snatches up the panties from the comforter and tosses them in her overnight bag. It’s a distraction, a way to end a conversation that makes her feel . . . uncomfortable? Vulnerable, maybe? But I’m not sure that’s it. Not after everything that’s happened today.

  Every time I think I’ve made some progress, I run into another wall. But I’m nothing if not patient. I’ll get inside more than just her body. Eventually I’ll work my way inside her fortress of a heart too.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE EDGE OF THE SWORD

  Queenie

  I fully expect my dad to stage a massive inquisition about Corey and my previous relationship with him. But for whatever reason, that never happens. Possibly because he’s too busy putting out fires with his new asshole superstar. He and Alex have been in a meeting with Corey’s agent for the past hour and a half, and, based on the number of times I’ve heard raised voices, it’s not going well.

  It’s amazing how much one person can change the entire dynamic of the team. Corey is the same entitled, self-indulgent, egotistical jerk he was six years ago. In the short time since he’s come to Seattle, he’s had altercations with several players—on his own team.

  Despite Corey’s unpleasant reappearance in my life, and the dissension he creates for the team, things between Kingston and me are amazing. When we’re in Seattle, I spend most nights at his place. I have an overnight bag already in his car for tonight.

  Kingston is a big fan of what he calls “little surprises.” Pretty much every time I end up at his house, there’s something new in his closet for me, which now has a rack that’s slowly amassing outfits in my size. He’s even started to fill a drawer with cute pajamas and pretty lacy bra and underwear sets—some expensive and some not. He says it’s so I don’t have to worry about packing an overnight bag all the time, and if I forget something, I’ll have the essentials at his place. It makes logical sense, and I love his thoughtfulness, but sometimes I wonder if I truly deserve all this, him included.

  I give my head a shake and focus on work. As I wrap up replying to emails, Violet pops her head in the office. While she’s always a bit of a verbal whirlwind, she’s also generally very put together. Today that doesn’t seem to be the case.

  “Oh, thank God you’re here. Have you seen Alex? He’s not in his office.”

  “He’s been in a meeting for”—I check the time on my computer screen and cringe—“a couple of hours now. I’m not sure when he’s supposed to be done.”

  “Is it important? Do you think we can interrupt?” Two little figures appear behind her: Lavender and River. Today they’re not holding hands, though. Instead, River is clutching one of those plastic beach pails to his chest. His little shoulders cave in, and he makes a sound that’s a combination of a groan and a sob before he wretches. Lavender pats him on the back, and Violet turns her head and tries to suppress a gag.

  “Oh God, is River okay?”

  “I think he has the flu.”

  I grab a handful of tissues and round my desk. After leading him over to one of the chairs, I get him to sit down while Lavender clambers into the one beside him. I wipe his clammy face and brush his damp hair away from his forehead.

  “Thank you for doing that. I have a hard time with—” She motions toward her face and the bucket River is holding.

  “It’s fine. So does my dad. Whenever I was sick as a kid, I had to keep him away from me so he wouldn’t react by tossing his cookies too.”

  “I can totally relate to that.” Violet blows out a breath. “I have an appointment with his doctor in half an hour, but I was hoping I could leave Lavender with Alex, because I’d really like to avoid her getting it too. Or being in a doctor’s office with a bunch of other sick people.” Violet pats her daughter on the top of her head but keeps her gaze averted from the contents of the beach pail.

  “Lavender can hang out with me until he’s finished his meeting, if that works for you.”

  Violet drops down into a crouch so she’s at eye level with Lavender. “Do you think you’d be okay to stay with Queenie for a while? Just until Daddy is out of his meeting?”

  Lavender looks from her mom to me and back again, little lips pursed in a line.

  “Did you bring your coloring stuff? We could draw together while you wait for your daddy,” I offer.

  Lavender considers that for a few seconds before she finally nods.

  “Awesome. Looks like you’re good to take River to the doctor and get him all fixed up,” I tell Violet.

  “Thank you so much. I really appreciate this.”

  “It’s no trouble at all.”

  Violet kisses Lavender on the forehead. “I shouldn’t be too long: an hour and a half or so tops. And I’ll call or text with updates so you don’t worry too much,” she tells Lavender.

  “What about Robbie and Maverick? Are they here too?”

  “They’re in school until four, and then Robbie has his Botany Club and Maverick has hockey practice, so we’re all set there.” She guides poor River out of the office, murmuring reassurances.

  I turn to Lavender, whose attention is focused on the empty doorway. Her hands are in her lap, and she’s wringing them nervously. “We should probably wash our hands, shouldn’t we?”

  She drags her gaze away from the doorway and nods once. After slipping off the chair, she follows me to the bathroom. She’s too small to reach the sink, so with her permission I lift her up onto the vanity and turn on the taps. She runs her hands under the water, and I pump soap into them. “We’ll wash them really well so you don’t get what River has, okay?”

  She nods again and rubs her hands together, and I start singing “Happy Birthday.”

  She tips her head, and a slight smile curves one corner of her mouth.

  I pause to tell her, “My dad always sang ‘Happy Birthday’ twice when we washed our hands; then we’d know all the germs were gone. Do your parents do that?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Want me to keep singing?”

  At her nod, I start over, thinking it doesn’t hurt for us to wash our hands longer, considering how ill her poor brother seems to be. Once we’re all done, we dry our hands with paper towels. Back in my office, I clear a spot on my desk for her and grab some paper from the printer while Lavender unpacks her knapsack.

  I pull up a chair beside mine, and Lavender sits on her knees, shimmying forward until she can reach the desk and her crayons. She picks up a piece of blank paper and very carefully lines up the corners, her tongue poking out as she tries to get one side to line up and then the other. But her little hands make it impossible.

  “Do you want to make a card for your brother?”

  She nods.

  “Can I show you a trick?”

  Another nod.

  “You hold the corners for me, okay?” I wait until her little fingers are pressed on each corner; then I pinch the center on both ends, helping her flatten it out. For the next half hour we sit side by side, quietly coloring. Every once in a while Lavender peeks over at my paper to see what I’m drawing.

  Crayons aren’t the best medium for fine art, but I follow the contours of her face, sketching lines with a pencil first before I start filling them in with color. When Lavender is done with the card for her brother—she spells River without any vowels, although she’s barely four—she starts another picture while I continue working on mine.

  Lavender tugs on my sleeve to get my atte
ntion.

  “What’s up, kiddo?”

  She points to the two crayons I’ve been using to shade in the area around the nose and then the picture itself. “How do that?”

  She’s pretty shy around people she doesn’t know, but maybe since we’ve met a bunch of times, she’s getting more comfortable around me. “You mean the shading?”

  “Yes. The sading.” She points at her own picture. This one has a big sun in the sky. “I want here.”

  “Want me to show you how?”

  We bend over her picture together, and I lightly run the yellow crayon around the edge of the sun, filling in the middle. Lavender hands me the orange crayon when I set down the yellow one and slips it back in the package.

  She doesn’t have the manual dexterity yet to be able to manage it, but I can already see her eye for color in the way she sets up her pictures.

  “Do you ever use paint instead of crayons?”

  Her lips pucker and her fingers flex, lids fluttering rapidly. She exhales a loud breath and says softly, “At home. It’s too messy for here.”

  “Mmm. Good point. But maybe we can find a time to paint together, when it’s okay to be messy. Would you like that?”

  A huge smile breaks across her face, and she claps her hands. “Oh, yes!”

  “I’d like that too.”

  We go back to working on her drawing, heads bent together over her paper while we shade in her sun, then give it a silly face.

  And that’s exactly how King finds us when he stops by, likely wanting to discuss our dinner plans for tonight. His eyes flare with surprise, and a wide grin makes his gorgeous face even more stunning. “Miss Lavender, what a wonderful surprise.”

  She ducks her head and gives him a shy smile, peeking up at him from under her lashes as she waves.

  “What are you two up to?” He tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his khakis and rocks back on his heels.

  “Creating masterpieces, of course.” I hold up the card she made for her brother, where Lavender re-created a version of a puking emoji sitting in a sunny field, but instead of throw up, it’s a rainbow coming out of his mouth.

  “That is definitely a masterpiece. We should call the Louvre and tell them we have the next Picasso on our hands.”

  “I totally agree.”

  Lavender blushes some more and snuggles into my arm.

  The door to my dad’s office opens, and a man I’ve seen once before, when Corey was first brought to the team, steps out. I have to assume he’s Corey’s agent. I seriously hope he gets a decent cut of his salary for dealing with so much bullshit. Alex and my dad follow behind him. They all look a little worse for wear, and agitated. The men shake hands, and Corey’s agent nods at us, then rushes out like his ass is on fire.

  Alex runs a hand down his face and sighs. “Well, that’s three fuc—” He stops just before he completes the curse, his gaze landing on his daughter, whose eyes are as wide as saucers, and a hint of a naughty smile flirts at the corners of her mouth. I’m sure she’s heard bad words before, since Violet often forgets to censor herself.

  “Lavender? Hey, sweetheart, I didn’t realize you were here.” Alex gives me a look that’s halfway between questioning and apologetic.

  Lavender hops off her chair and rushes over to her dad. He scoops her up and plants loud kisses all over her face. She giggles and then snuggles right into his neck.

  I bet every pair of underwear I own that Kingston would be exactly the same kind of dad. And that thought makes my lady parts excited. Which is crazy, because I’m only twenty-four and I’m in no way ready for kids. We haven’t even dropped the L bomb on each other.

  “Is everything okay? Where’s Vi?”

  I stop staring at Kingston and address Alex. “River isn’t feeling well, so Violet took him to the doctor. She was hoping she could leave Lavender with you, but since you were in a meeting, I volunteered to hang out with my favorite budding artist.”

  “Is River okay?”

  “Violet thinks he might have the flu.” I look at my phone to check how long she’s been gone. “I have messages from her. Hold on.” I pull them up and scan them quickly. “Yup, it’s the flu. She’s going to take him home and get the nanny to come over to watch him so she can come back and get Lavender.”

  “When did Violet drop her off?” He adjusts his hold on Lavender so she can effectively wrap her arms around his neck without choking him.

  “Maybe a little more than an hour ago.”

  He rubs the space between his eyes and then kisses his little girl’s cheek. “Jake, I might need to run Lavender home. I don’t want Vi to have to leave River with the nanny if he’s sick.”

  “Or we could take her,” Kingston offers. “Queenie and I, I mean. I don’t need to be on the ice for a couple of hours.”

  Alex looks conflicted. “Lavender, would it be okay with you if Queenie and Kingston took you home?”

  She rubs the space between her dad’s eyes and then leans in, whispering something in his ear.

  “I’m okay, honey. It’s just work stuff and nothing you need to worry about.”

  She places her hand on his cheek and says quietly, but audibly, “Okay. I go with Keenie and King.”

  He blinks a bunch of times, clearly taken aback that she’s answered without whispering in his ear, which is pretty typical, from what I’ve witnessed. “Okay. That’s great.” He kisses her on the cheek and sets her down.

  Together she and I put away all her art supplies. It takes far less time with me helping than it does when it’s her brother.

  “Oh, this is for you. Do you want to put it in your sketch pad?” I pass her the crayon portrait.

  Alex leans in so he can have a look. “You drew this? I didn’t know you were an artist.”

  I wave off the comment. “It’s just a crayon doodle.”

  “That makes it even more amazing. You know, if you get tired of working for this guy, you can teach Lavender art classes.” He thumbs over his shoulder at my dad.

  I laugh at that. “I’m not sure that’s a great way to earn a living, but I’m always happy to spend time with Lavender.”

  Once she’s all packed up, we head out to the parking lot, and Alex hands over his car keys, which is easier than moving the car seat into Kingston’s SUV.

  “You want me to drive your car?” Kingston stares at the keys like they’re acid-soaked zombie piranhas.

  “You’re the safest driver I know. Much safer than my wife, but don’t ever tell her I said that. You either,” he says to Lavender.

  She gives him a coy little smile but makes the zipped-lips sign and lets him buckle her into her car seat. Kingston and I get in the car, and he turns the engine over. It’s another two minutes of seat and mirror adjustments before Kingston is ready to leave the parking spot. I turn the radio on, and a familiar song comes on. I glance in the rearview mirror and smile as Lavender shimmies in her seat. “You know this song?”

  She nods.

  “Want me to turn up the volume?” Kingston isn’t a huge fan of loud music in the car, because he worries he won’t be able to hear emergency vehicles, but turning it up a little louder can’t hurt.

  She gives me a thumbs-up, little head bobbing to “Fireflies” by Owl City. When we get to the chorus, I sing along. I can carry a tune most of the time, and it’s a catchy song. What I don’t expect at all, and apparently neither does Kingston, is for Lavender to start singing too. Not only can she draw but she has an incredible little set of lungs on her. I find her absolutely fascinating.

  When we arrive at Alex and Vi’s house, we get to see the real Lavender. The one who speaks above a whisper. In full sentences. Lavender insists that Kingston and I see her bedroom and her art room. Violet puts the kibosh on the bedroom, since her brother is currently sleeping and they share a room, but I get to see where she obviously spends a lot of time. The room has great light and a balcony. The floors are covered in some kind of easy-to-clean vinyl, but the walls are what
grab my attention. One wall boasts chalkboard paint, and the rest are covered in poster paper that turns the majority of the room into a massive changeable canvas.

  “This is so cool!” I walk the perimeter, taking in the splatter-paint designs, the crayon drawings, and the chalk pictures.

  “It’s her favorite place to be,” Violet says. “Isn’t it, Lavender?”

  “Yup. I love coloring. And painting. ’Specially with my hands!” She grins up at us and rocks back on her heels.

  Kingston has to get back to the arena, but I promise to come back and have an afternoon of finger painting soon.

  Once we’re back in the car, I turn the music down and settle into the passenger seat. “Well, that was . . . something else, wasn’t it?”

  “I’ve never heard her talk like that. It’s like she’s a totally different person when she’s at home.”

  “It must be about her comfort level.” I kick off my shoes and cross my legs. “I wonder if they’re doing art therapy with her, and that’s why they have that room set up. It’s supposed to be great for helping with anxiety.”

  Kingston shifts his foot from the gas to the brake when the light turns yellow, even though he totally could have gone through it. The person behind him obviously doesn’t appreciate it, since they honk at him. Instead of flipping them the bird, he waves.

  But his hand doesn’t return to the wheel. Instead it slides along the back of my seat between my neck and the headrest. His thumb smooths down my nape. “Can I ask you something without you getting defensive or changing the subject?”

  If it has to do with Corey, the answer to that will be no. “I guess it depends on what it’s about.”

  He smiles, like he expected as much. “You said you had most of an art degree. Why didn’t you finish?”

  This is definitely one of those questions I don’t want to answer. “Because I wasn’t good enough to make a career out of it.” And I’m too emotionally messed up to effectively be an art therapist; my mom made sure of that.

  The light turns green, but the arm stays slung across the back of my seat. “Who told you that?”

  “What does it matter? It’s the truth. I’m mediocre at best. I’ll never be in galleries, so it’s a waste of money.” The words taste like cardboard as I spit them out. Words that felt a lot like knives when they were given to me.