A Secret for a Secret

by Hunting, Helena

  I check the clock on the stove. “About an hour and a half, but you have an appointment in an hour, so this’ll have to be a quickie.” I find the zipper on her skirt and pause. “Is that okay? I promise I’ll take better care of you later.”

  “Your version of a quickie is not the same as everyone else’s, King. And yes, it’s okay. And you take amazing care of me, always.” She flicks the button open on my pants. “Wait, I don’t have an appointment.”

  “I set up a pampering session for you and Stevie before the game tonight. I thought you might need some extra TLC, and since I can’t provide it in the form of excessive orgasms, this was the next best thing.”

  “You are the most amazing boyfriend.” She slips her hand in my pants. “Now please get inside me so I can have at least one of those orgasms you keep taunting me with.”

  Thirty-seven minutes and two orgasms for Queenie later, we’re dressed again and in my SUV, on the way to the spa.

  Except when we arrive, there are all sorts of media vans parked in front of it. “What the heck is going on?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they got wind that there’s a celebrity around or something?” I say as we pass the spa. It’s an exclusive one, and very expensive.

  The last time I sent Queenie there, she told me the lead singer of a local band was getting a facial. They’re usually really good about keeping celebrity clients under the radar, but occasionally someone posts something and forgets to shut off their locator, and the media jumps all over it.

  “Maybe.” I park around the corner. “I’ll walk you in to make sure it’s nothing we need to worry about.”

  “Okay. Sure. That would be good.” Queenie nibbles on the end of her fingernail.

  I hop out of the SUV and meet Queenie on the sidewalk. I thread our fingers together and give her hand a squeeze. “I’m sure everything is fine.”

  Except as we round the corner, the throng of media vipers suddenly turns and moves toward us in a wave. I look over my shoulder, expecting to see someone notable, but then famous people often wear hats and big shades to hide who they are. And then I realize what’s happening, because the reporters start yelling. At us.

  “Ryan Kingston! Are the rumors true? Did you get the general manager’s daughter pregnant?”

  “Are you being blackmailed?”

  “Did you really take all of Corey Slater’s money in the divorce?”

  “Are you dating the GM’s daughter as a PR stunt?”

  “Did you know that Queenie Masterson was married when you two started dating?”

  “Is she going after all your money too?”

  “Oh my God.” Queenie tucks herself into my side, trying to hide from the flashes and the microphones suddenly pointed in our direction. Stevie’s aqua hair appears as she shoves her way through the crowd, Bishop’s mammoth frame hulking behind her.

  He spins around and holds out his arms. “What? No questions for me? Me and my wife aren’t exciting enough for you?”

  “We gotta get Queenie out of here. They’re sending one of the stylists to our house. We showed up early, and Bishop thought he was being funny posting about ball waxing. The media showed up because you two have your bromance going on.”

  One of the reporters asks him if Stevie’s pregnant.

  Bishop jabs a finger in the reporter’s direction. “Yes. With sextuplets, because my army of sperm is the motherfucking bomb. We’re gonna start our own damn hockey team in one fell swoop.” He raises his arms in the air like he’s preaching a sermon.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. My brother is going to shit a brick when this goes viral.” Stevie spins us around and flanks me as we head back to my SUV. She and Queenie duck into the back seat and I get behind the wheel, soon pulling out into traffic before the reporters can surround us. Bishop does a good job of distracting everyone, letting us make a quick getaway.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Queenie’s eyes are wide, her fingers at her lips, and she looks like she’s about to cry. Again.

  Stevie meets my concerned gaze in the rearview mirror and throws her arm around Queenie’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s just fresh gossip.”

  “I can’t go to the game tonight. I can’t face that kind of mob.”

  “It’ll be fine. We already have a plan to get into the arena tonight. And you don’t have to worry because we’ll be in a box and reporters can’t get to us; plus, now that I’m pregnant with sextuplets, no one is going to care about your divorce from Douchey McDickface.”

  “I can’t believe Bishop did that. You hate media drama.”

  “I hate it when they use baseless facts to railroad people more. Let them have a heyday with that. I’m sure I’ll get knocked up sooner than later, and someone will say it’s someone else’s baby.”

  I want to stick around and make sure Queenie is actually okay, but I’m out of time and I need to head to the arena, so I’m forced to leave her in Stevie’s capable hands. So much for a relaxing afternoon for her.

  Obviously I’m worried about Queenie, and distracted. I check in with Queenie after I get to the arena, and she assures me she’s okay, sends me a shot of her team-color-themed manicure, and tells me that she’s still coming to the game, which is a relief. I’m grateful for Stevie and the other wives, because today has been tough enough for her as it is. I just want things to go smoothly tonight.

  Most of my family has already arrived in Seattle, apart from Hanna, who’s coming in through LA because of a conference she was attending, and her flight was delayed by a couple of hours, so she’ll miss the first half of the game.

  I check my messages on the way from the parking lot into the arena. Based on the family chat, they’ve already dropped their stuff off at the house, fought over rooms, raided my fridge, and made fun of my lack of exciting beverage options for anyone but toddlers. They obviously haven’t found the liquor that Queenie brought over. Or the stocked beer fridge in the garage.

  I have a new message from Hanna letting me know she’s finally on her way to Seattle and that she’ll see me after the game—that one was sent about ten minutes ago.

  There are private messages from my mom telling me she has a very special surprise and that everyone is very excited to see me. “Special surprises” are not a rarity and often take the form of a hand-knit sweater, or a beanie, or a scarf. I have a closet full. I message back to let her know I’m excited to see everyone and that I look forward to the surprise before I pocket my phone and push through the doors to the arena.

  I pass the hall leading to the offices and use the back entrance to access the locker room. Normally Bishop and I would have ridden in together, but with my family coming it made more sense for us to come separately.

  Bishop is already there, in his underwear. They have a strange print on them that I don’t want to inspect too closely, because it looks like there’s a woman hugging his junk, and it’s magnified thanks to the cup he’s wearing under them. The woman actually looks like Stevie when her hair is pastel purple.

  I drop down on the bench in front of my locker. “Thanks for helping us out earlier.”

  “Least I could do. It was my fault the media showed up in the first place. Ten fucking minutes after I posted about getting my junk waxed, a million freaking reporters showed up, being assholes, asking stupid questions. I shoulda known better, considering what’s been going on today.” He nods in Corey’s direction.

  He’s sitting on the bench on the other side of the room, looking rough. He was quiet during pregame skate, which was highly unusual.

  “I saw him in his car earlier; looked like he was getting chewed out by the fiancée about something. You’d think she’d be happy now that there’s nothing standing between her and his bank account anymore.” Bishop slides his feet into his skates and starts lacing them up.

  “You don’t think it has anything to do with the actual divorce?”

  “Based on how she tried to blackmail Rook back when he started out, and th
e number of players she’s been on the arm of over the years, there’s a good chance she’s looking for an easy meal ticket. Besides, you’ve been in the shower with him: there sure isn’t anything to get excited about.” He motions to his crotch.

  He has a point. Corey is about as well endowed as a Chihuahua.

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” Rook reaches around Bishop and steals his deodorant out of his locker.

  “Hey! What the hell, man?”

  “I ran out. I’m borrowing. You’re family.”

  “Uh, no, in-law is not the same as a blood relative. And even if you were my blood, I would not lend you my fucking deodorant.” Bishop tries to snatch it back, but Rook’s on his feet and Bishop’s skates are only half-laced.

  He pops the cap off, and it hits Bishop in the chest. He grins as he lifts one arm high in the air and rubs the stick all over his armpit.

  Bishop makes a gagging sound, then smiles right back. “Reverse cowgirl.”

  “What?” Rook frowns.

  I elbow Bishop in the side before he can repeat himself, aware that this conversation isn’t going anywhere good. “I have a brand-new one in my bag. Rook, you can keep that one.”

  Rook’s eyebrows pop as he finally digests what Bishop’s said. “You son of a bitch!” He hurls the deodorant at Bishop, who ducks out of the way. It ricochets off the wall behind him and lands on the floor.

  “I’m fucking kidding, man, but you asked for it. Borrowing deodorant is like borrowing underwear or a toothbrush. The only person who gets to do that is the one whose tongue is routinely in my mouth, and that person happens to be your sister.” Bishop is still grinning, aware he’s skating near the edge.

  “Even that was more information than I needed.”

  “Well, maybe you’ll think twice before you go around borrowing deodorant.”

  “Winslow, Bowman, you’re worse than a couple of toddlers fighting over the last cookie. Give it a goddamn rest or I’ll change the starting lineup, and one of you isn’t going to be happy about it.” Jake has the uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere, generally when those two are in the middle of one of their bitchfests. Since Queenie made the suggestion, they’ve been putting them on the same line for home games to change things up, and so far the results have been highly favorable. While Queenie might not always believe it, it’s clear that she has good instincts and she sees solutions or possibilities that others might miss.

  “Rook used my deodorant.”

  Jake grimaces. “That’s just wrong.”

  “He divulged personal information about my sister’s sexual-position preferences.” Rook thumbs over his shoulder at Bishop.

  “I was joking, and I only said it after you used my deodorant.”

  “Just get your asses dressed and game ready.” Jake turns to me. “King, you good?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “It’s been a rough week; thanks for sticking by her,” he says quietly.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way, sir.”

  He nods, then continues on over to Corey, expression stoic. I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it’s been for Jake to deal with him through all this.

  Bishop and I finish getting game ready. “Hey, check this out.”

  He shows me his phone. There’s a picture of Queenie with Lainey and Stevie, hair done and dressed in my jersey and a pair of jeans, and she’s smiling. It looks genuine.

  Once we’re on the ice, I scan the arena, look for the girls, and find them up in a box. At least Queenie is here, even if she’s not close enough to steal a kiss from. I find my family in another box on the other side of the arena.

  I shift my focus away from my family and Queenie—the latter is more difficult than the former—and get my head in the game. It’s intense since we’re playing one of the best teams in the league, but I manage to keep the puck out of our net during the first period, and Rook scores a goal. In the second period our opposition gets lucky with a rebound off the bar, but Bishop scores for Seattle, keeping us ahead in the game. In the third Corey gets back-to-back penalties, putting us at a serious disadvantage. Offense has to work twice as hard to keep the puck on the other end of the rink, and the defensemen are all over it, protecting the net. We take the game 3–2, so it’s still a win, but I blame Corey and his chippy playing for the close score.

  Regardless, we won, my family is here, Queenie’s divorce is finalized, and we’re in a good place, which I’m taking as a positive sign.

  Half an hour later I’m showered and dressed in my suit, ready to meet up with everyone. Bishop and I arrive at the bar together. My phone is blowing up with messages from my family, and I have a bunch from Hanna, which I assume is her letting me know she’s here. I hear my family before I see them.

  “Oh, man, you ready for this? Sounds like Gerald is already three sheets to the wind.” Bishop’s expression is somewhere between a cringe and a smirk.

  “It would be cause for concern if he wasn’t.” I shake out my hands, almost like I’m preparing for a fight. My family in public can be a lot to deal with. At least my cousin Billy didn’t tag along, as he sometimes likes to do. “You see Queenie anywhere?”

  “Stevie messaged a while ago and said they’re waiting for the bathroom, and there’s a line or something. Sucks to have to sit to pee.”

  It’s at that moment that Gerald spots me from across the restaurant and yells my name. My entire family turns around as if they’ve been practicing a choreographed dance move. My mother pushes through the crowd, not gently either. She elbows at least three people out of the way. I love my family, but man, they can be a rowdy bunch.

  “King! What an incredible game! Kept me on the edge of my seat. I’m pretty sure your father nearly peed his pants a couple of times; it’s a good thing he wears Depends when we go to events like these.” She pats my cheek and smiles, then hugs me. She may or may not be joking about the Depends. “How are you, honey? I know the last week has been a struggle.”

  “I’m actually doing fine. I wanted to—”

  “That’s great. I’m so glad! And I brought you something that’s going to brighten your day even more than a family visit! Come on, let me show you!” She grabs my hand and pats Bishop on the chest as we pass. “Hi, Bishop. I just need to steal our baby boy for a few minutes.”

  “Do whatever you gotta do.” Bishop waves us off, and I follow my mom through the crowd toward my family, who all seem to be wearing slightly strained smiles. Hanna is at the end, beside Gerald, who’s holding a beer in each hand. Her eyes are wide, and she’s mouthing something at me, but I’m not adept at reading lips so I have no idea what she’s trying to say.

  Not that it matters, because the moment I get close enough, my dad and Gerald step away from each other, and my surprise appears.

  Jessica.

  My ex.

  CHAPTER 28

  WHAT THE H-E DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS?

  Kingston

  “Surprise!” Jessica hurtles herself at me, which is as much of a shock as she is. She’s more of a kiss on the cheek and an arm squeeze kind of woman, especially in public places.

  I turn my head in my mother’s direction, which is a good thing because Jessica’s lips connect with my cheek. My mother looks gleeful, and Hanna, who’s standing beside her, looks helpless and apologetic.

  I scan the bar, searching for Queenie. This is not ideal at all. I can’t introduce my girlfriend to my family when my ex has shown up for whatever reason. I pat Jessica on the back once before I take her by the shoulders and disconnect her from me. “What’re you doing here?”

  Her smile falters, possibly because of my harsh tone. “Your mother invited me as a surprise.” She glances at Mom and then back at me, her expression shifting from excitement to uncertainty. “She said you’d be happy to see me, but you don’t really look all that happy.”

  I blow out a breath and try not to take my frustration out on Jessica, because it’s not
her fault that my mother is a natural-born meddler. She generally has good intentions, but she misses the point. And now, despite the fact that I’ve told her repeatedly that Jessica and I are not getting back together, here she is.

  “It’s not that, it’s just—” I spot Queenie across the bar. Her eyes lock with mine and shift quickly to Jessica, whose shoulders I’m holding on to. She also has her hands on my chest.

  I have to assume Queenie knows what Jessica looks like. There are eight years’ worth of photos of us together at various events, and just because we broke up doesn’t mean I’m going to erase her from my life.

  She scans the faces around me, gaze bouncing around my family—it’s rather obvious that they’re mine, since they’re all wearing hand-knitted sweaters with my face on them. Apart from Hanna, since she’s sane, and also she didn’t fly in with the rest of them. Even Jessica is wearing one.

  When Queenie spots Jessica, her expression shifts to something that looks a lot like defeat. She doesn’t make a move to come to me; instead she gives me a small, sad smile, inclines her head toward the exit, and starts moving in that direction.

  “I need to deal with . . . someone important,” I mutter, and I try to step around Jessica.

  She grabs my arm. “I came all the way from Tennessee to see you.”

  “I know, and I’m confused as to why, so we’ll have to talk about that, but after I speak with my girlfriend.” I shake her off and pin my mother with an unimpressed look. “This is a step too far,” I tell her as I make my way through the crowd, following Queenie. My phone buzzes in my pocket as I reach the door and push outside. It spits me out into the alley behind the bar. It smells like garbage and urine. Queenie is standing there, phone in one hand, her face half-masked because it’s buried in the crook of her elbow.

  “Oh God! This is horrible!” I turn to find Jessica with her hand covering her mouth and nose, gagging, but her delicate sense of smell really isn’t a priority right now.