Second Shot: A Men With Wood Novel

by C. M. Seabrook

“It is now.”

  He shrugs, the muscles in his back flexing and bunching with the movement.

  “Oh, and Kane…”

  “Yeah?” He glances over his shoulder.

  “One more rule.”

  He frowns. “What’s that?”

  “Put a shirt on.”

  He chuckles and turns. “No chance in hell, sweetheart.”

  Chapter 13

  Kane

  “She moved in?” Blake’s mouth hangs open as he leans against the bar, beer bottle frozen in midair.

  I don’t usually go out drinking after games anymore, but Blake had been bugging me all day about Brynne. And, in all honestly, I hate keeping this fucking secret. I need to talk to someone. Especially since I’ll be spending the next few nights alone in a hotel room. Without Brynne. And without my kid.

  “Please tell me you didn’t ask her to marry you.”

  I wince, and Blake groans.

  “Who’s getting married?” A large hand slaps me hard on the back, and I’m greeted by familiar blue eyes.

  “Carter ‘The Crusher’ Bennet,” Blake says, standing from his stool and taking the man’s hand. “God, it’s been a long time. What are you doing here? You still working for that rag piece? ‘Cause if you’re looking for some good gossip, this guy—” He shoves his thumb at me and winks, “—has some pretty good shit you might be interested in.”

  “Really?” Carter’s brows go up.

  “Thanks, asshole.” I glare at Blake, then turn to Carter, shaking his hand. The guy used to be a pretty good hockey player before he busted his knee up. Only played with him a season, but I’ve seen him around, covering games for whatever paper he works for. “Last I heard, you got yourself hitched and had a kid.”

  “And one on the way,” Carter says, grinning, pulling out his phone and bringing up a picture of a very pregnant brunette holding a little boy.

  “Congrats, man. Good looking family.”

  Blake grunts. “Whatever Kool-Aid you two have been drinking, just keep it the hell away from me.”

  Carter raises an eyebrow at me. “You had a kid?”

  The guy was always one to read between the lines. Guess that’s what makes him a good reporter. But the last thing I need is my relationship with Brynne getting out, not without her approval. She’d have my fucking head on a spike.

  I take a swig of my beer, before answering. I want to shout it from the rooftops. Show my own damn pictures. But I promised Brynne. I don’t know what the hell difference two weeks makes, but I’ll give them to her.

  Because I know she’s terrified. She’s one of the strongest people I know. But even steel can bend when put under extreme weight. And these past two years have been a pressure cooker.

  “It’s complicated,” I mutter into my bottle.

  Carter leans on the bar, signaling the bartender to bring him a drink. “As in, you don’t know if you have a kid, or you don’t know if it’s yours?”

  “As in, he knocked up Coach’s daughter,” Blake offers, tilting his beer to his lips and draining it.

  Fuck, Blake. I want to hit the guy. He doesn’t usually drink, but something’s eating at him tonight, and it’s clear I’ve got some sort of target on my head.

  “Brynne Jacobs?” Carter asks, his eyes going wide.

  “One and only,” Blake says, as if he’s enjoying himself.

  Asshat.

  Carter whistles. “Damn, Madden. You got a death wish or something? I’m surprised Jacobs hasn’t traded your sorry ass.”

  I glare at Blake, before mumbling, “He doesn’t know yet. And I’d appreciate you both keeping your mouths shut about it until I get the chance to talk to him.”

  Carter nods, but there’s something in Blake’s eyes that makes me uneasy.

  The guy is one of my best friends, and I trust him with my life, but he’s got a major stick up his ass right now.

  “I mean it, Bennett,” I say to Carter. “You can run the story in a few weeks. But I need time.”

  “Okay.” He slaps my back again. I haven’t spent a lot of time with the guy, but I trust him.

  “Thanks.”

  Blake is ordering another drink when Carter walks away.

  “You going to tell me what your problem is, or am I going to have to beat it out of you? Because, right now, the second option sounds pretty good.”

  He drains half of the beer the bartender hands him, his jaw clenching, eyes burning with something I can’t figure out.

  “I’m serious. You can’t tell people about Brynne and I. Not yet.”

  “Fine,” he mutters, finishing his beer, then swaying on his stool.

  “You’re an idiot. You know that?”

  He grunts, and we sit in silence for a few minutes while I wait for him to tell me what’s really bothering him.

  “You hear from Kiley?” he finally asks.

  I place my beer down on the bar and study him. He and Sebastian are the only people who know about my sister. I was in a bad place when she showed up. And it was Blake who’d spoken with her. Who’d tried to help her.

  I hadn’t told him about my last encounter with her because I knew he was already too involved. He always cared too damn much about everyone but himself.

  “She came by my apartment a few days ago.”

  “You saw her?” His gray eyes widen, and there’s a hint of anger there, an accusation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Because it’s none of your business. Because the girl is bad news. Because I saw the way you looked at her. Because you’re my best friend, and she’ll rip your fricking heart out of your chest.

  I lift a shoulder, then let it drop. “I only saw her for a minute. Outside the building. She wanted money.”

  He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought I saw her.”

  “When?”

  “Couple nights back.” His knuckles go white around the bottle he’s holding. “She didn’t look good. But when I called out her name, she looked straight at me, then took off.”

  I exhale a slow, uneven breath. “She’s a junkie. You don’t want to get involved-”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know the signs.” I shake my head at him. “Can’t go through that again.”

  “She’s your sister.”

  “Half-sister,” I correct. “And until a year ago, I didn’t even know she existed.”

  “That’s cold, man.”

  “No, it’s reality. And it’s not my fucking problem. You want to go down to the corner of Third and William and save all the meth heads, be my guest.” I push my stool back, knowing I sound like a complete asshole. But I have a family to protect now. “If I thought I could save her, I would. But we both know there’s nothing we can do, unless the person actually wants help.”

  “She’s just a kid.”

  “She’s almost twenty.” I shift off the stool, ready to go back to my hotel room. “Look. I’m not trying to sound like a dick. If she wants help. I’ll be there for her. But I’ve got Brynne to think about. I’m already walking a thin wire with her, and she’s still messed up about Sam. It’s just a fucking terrible time to have to deal with this.”

  He doesn’t look convinced. But he’s always been a bleeding heart. Always bringing in the strays. Women and dogs. He hasn’t had a healthy relationship ever because of it.

  “Stop trying to fix everyone else’s problems, and fix your own.”

  “I don’t have any problems.” He lifts his bottle and gives me a forced smile. “Living the dream.”

  I grunt, pushing away from the bar. “Good, then you can pay for the drinks.”

  Chapter 14

  Brynne

  I was worried when I moved in that Kane would be suffocating, but with his schedule, he hasn’t been around much. The trouble is, when he is around, he’s…perfect. And almost always shirtless.

  I know he’s doing it to piss me off, because who the hell walks around without a shirt on all the time? Kane Madden, that’s who.<
br />
  Not that I don’t enjoy the view. I enjoy it too much. And he knows it.

  “Is that supposed to be me?” Kane leans against the doorframe with a smirk, watching me.

  I follow his gaze back to the canvas I’d been working on, heat rushing to my cheeks when I recognize the similarities between the male form I’d been sketching, and the man standing behind me.

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “If I was, I’d add a little more definition around the abs.” He’s wearing a t-shirt, a rare occurrence. He lifts it, exposing his stomach, and runs a palm over the perfect six-pack.

  I roll my eyes at him. “What do you want, Madden?”

  “Noah’s asleep.”

  “Already? But it’s only…” I reach for my phone, eyes widening when I see the time.

  “Nine-thirty,” he says, still grinning. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  “I stuck a lasagna in the oven. It should be ready if you’re hungry.”

  My stomach growls. “Starving.”

  “Me, too,” he says, his gaze dark as it roams over my body, then lands hungrily on my lips.

  I suppress a shiver.

  “Rules,” I warn.

  “Come on, Jacobs.” He grins, then turns. “Time to eat.”

  I sit down at the kitchen island and watch as he pulls the lasagna from the oven. My mouth waters, and not just for food. But I settle for the lasagna, because as much as carbs are not my friend, they’re a lot less dangerous than the alternative.

  “It’s good,” I say, shifting under his gaze.

  “Thanks. It’s Jane’s recipe.” I’d only met his foster parents once before they passed away. But they seemed like good people. They had to be for putting up with Kane all those years.

  “You made it yourself?”

  “You sound impressed.”

  “I am.” My own culinary skills stop short at boiling a pot of water for Ramen Noodles.

  He chuckles. “I have a few hidden talents up my sleeve.”

  “When you wear a shirt,” I mumble, making him laugh harder.

  “Come on, Jacobs, admit that you love it.” He leans on the island, fingers entwined, muscular forearms resting in front of him.

  I shake my head, glancing down at my plate so he doesn’t see the truth in my eyes. “Just keep your pants on and we’ll be good.”

  He laughs, going to the wine cooler and taking out a bottle of Chardonnay. Pouring two glasses, he places one in front of me.

  “I’ve missed this.”

  “What?” I take a sip of the chilled wine.

  He leans against the counter and takes a sip before answering. “This. You. Your snarky comments-”

  “I’m not snarky.”

  “-and the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You do. You always have.” He leans on the island and whispers, “But want to know a secret?”

  “No.” Yes.

  “I watch you, too.”

  “That’s not a secret.” I take a sip of my wine, trying to hide the warmth that creeps into my cheeks.

  Deep dimples cut into his cheeks when he smiles. “No. I guess it isn’t. Even Sam knew-”

  We both freeze, and he winces.

  After a few seconds of silence, Kane takes my plate and places it in the sink.

  “Sorry.” His back is to me, but I hear the remorse in his voice.

  “It’s fine. Maybe it’s worse if we don’t talk about him.”

  He turns, but there’s a wariness in his expression. “Or maybe it’ll just bring up things neither of us are ready to face.”

  “Maybe.” I take a deep sip of my wine.

  “He asked me to take care of you.” Leaning against the counter, he crosses his arms.

  “What? When?”

  “The night he died. It’s why I knew something was wrong. Hadn’t spoken to him in a few months. He’d been…” His voice cracks, his eyes going distant.

  He finishes his glass of wine, then refills it.

  “I’d been busy. Not an excuse. I know that. Not when I knew he needed help. I did try…once. Took him up to Summerville to the rehab clinic. He was clean for a few months. Thought he was getting better…”

  I listen to him. His forced confession. Hear the truth in his words. The guilt.

  “You really think he did it on purpose?” I know the answer, but I’ve never wanted to believe it.

  I knew it when he’d called me that night. It’s why I’d driven across the city in my pajamas. Praying I was wrong. Hoping I could talk some sense into him.

  “He’s right, Brynne,” Sam had said, his voice void of emotion. “I’m weak.”

  “Dad’s an asshole. He doesn’t know you. Not like I do. You’re stronger than whatever you’re dealing with.”

  “Love you, dork.”

  Those were his last words before he’d hung up.

  “I just can’t believe he’d be that selfish,” I say now, running my finger across the condensation on my glass.

  “He was struggling with a lot. It wasn’t just the drugs.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “What else was there?”

  He exhales heavily.

  “Kane?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “It doesn’t change anything. He’s gone.”

  “And I want to know why. If you know-”

  “What? You think it’ll make you feel better knowing his secrets?”

  “Maybe.”

  “It won’t.”

  I push off the stool, causing it to screech across the marble floor. “Maybe it’s your secrets you don’t want me to find out about.”

  “Right.” He chuckles again, but this time there’s no humor in it, just bitterness. “Because it’s always my fault. FYI, Brynne. I didn’t force him to take drugs. I didn’t do half the shit you keep telling yourself I did. But you know what I did do? I watched as my best friend slowly, painfully rotted away in front of my eyes because he was too damn afraid to get help. Too afraid to look weak in your eyes.”

  His words slice straight to my heart. Because as harsh as they are, I know there’s a sliver of truth to them.

  “Fuck.” Kane rakes his fingers over his face, then leans with his palms on the counter, back slouched forward in defeat. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  I sit back down on the stool, my body trembling. “Did he say that to you?”

  “No.”

  He’s lying.

  I suck in a shaky breath.

  “I know you don’t want to believe me, but no one except Sam is responsible for what happened. Not you. Not me. Not Coach.”

  I glare at him. “You don’t know what he did. How he treated Sam.”

  “I was there, Brynne. I saw the way your dad acted around him. Heard the arguments. Sure, he was an asshole, sometimes. And he didn’t know how to deal with…” He rubs the back of his neck. “He didn’t deal with Sam’s illness well. None of us did.”

  “It wasn’t an illness. It was an addiction.” I slap my palms on the counter, anger burning my throat. “And he wouldn’t have touched the stuff if you hadn’t-”

  “Screw that,” he yells. “You want to blame anyone but the one person you’re really angry with.”

  His breathing is harsh, and so is mine. We stare at each other, anger simmering between us.

  “You want me to take the blame?” I ask, my voice hoarse, tears burning the back of my eyes. “Of course, I’m angry with myself. You think I don’t regret not being there for him? For missing the signs?”

  He moves around the island towards me and pulls me against his chest. “I wasn’t blaming you.”

  I want to hold on to the anger, the hatred that has been my anchor, but it too easily dissolves when he touches me.

  He pulls back, cupping my jaw and forcing me to look at him. “You want to be angry at someone, then be angry at Sam.
”

  I hate that he’s right.

  Heavy arms wrap around me, but I don’t want to be held. I don’t want his comfort. Or maybe I do. Maybe I’m just so damn scared of what it’ll mean if I accept it.

  I push him away, but he doesn’t release me.

  “Be angry, Brynne. But be angry at the right person.”

  “I can’t.” A damn sob chokes my words. “I’ll never know why he did it. Why he destroyed his life. You think I don’t want to be angry at him? I do. But he’s not here.”

  “No. But I am.” He cups my face again, his thumbs stroking away the tears that spill over my cheek. “So, if you need to yell or cry, or whatever it is that’ll make you feel better, then do it. I’ll be your fucking punching bag, Brynne. Give me your best. But when you’re done, you’re going to finally admit that you don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you,” I whisper. “But…”

  He rests his forehead against mine. “I’m angry with him, too. Angry with myself. With Coach. But it’s time to let it go.”

  “I can’t.” Because it feels like I’m letting Sam go if I do.

  He exhales, his breath warm against my lips. My body melts into his, and my fists tangle in his shirt.

  We stand like that for a long time. I take his strength, his heat, clinging to him.

  I should walk, no run, away. But I can’t. I don’t want to.

  “How can something feel so right and yet so wrong at the same time?” I whisper.

  “It’s not wrong,” he breathes into my hair, his palms pressed firmly against my lower back. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but we’ll make this work. We’ll make us work.”

  “There is no us, Kane. It was one night, and-”

  “Bullshit.” His body tenses, but he doesn’t let me go.

  I place my hands on his chest and push back. “You really think we’d be standing here right now if it weren’t for Noah?”

  “Yeah, I do. Maybe not here or now. But we’ve been fighting this thing between us for too damn long. Sam saw it. You know he did. And he didn’t care. You think he’d care now, when we need each other more than ever?”

  “I don’t need you.”

  “God, you’re so damn stubborn.” His mouth crashes down on mine, almost painfully, his kiss filled with a tsunami of emotions.