The Crease: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance

by Colleen Charles

  Kylie’s hands began to shake, and her mouth went dry. She hoped he was bluffing, but that wasn’t Denny’s style. He didn’t fuck around when it came to money.

  “Let me talk to Jezz,” she said, her voice tight.

  “Oh, she’s not in much shape to talk,” Denny replied, “seeing as she’s passed out like usual. Why don’t you come on over and bring the money? Then you can talk to her when she wakes up. If she wakes up. And if there’s no money, she definitely won’t wake up. I’ll see to it. You know what they say about a man who has nothing to lose, don’t you?”

  Kylie tried in vain to keep the terrified tremor out of her voice. “What?”

  “He’s capable of anything.”

  Kylie couldn’t hold back her gasp. “You wouldn’t hurt her, Denny. She took you in, took all of us in. How could you?”

  “Easy. In a heartbeat. Just like you skipped out on me.”

  “Don’t you hurt her. I’ll get the money. Don’t you touch her, understand?”

  Denny paused, and Kylie could practically hear the cunning grimace forming on his face. “See ya real soon then, Rosie.” The call ended as she stared at the screen.

  Kylie’s entire body now shook with fear. She didn’t have ten thousand dollars or even a thousand. She barely had the three hundred she’d taken that night and regretted taking it now more than ever. But if she hadn’t, she’d have never escaped, made a life for herself. The money was the entrance fee for her assisted college program. What extra cash she could spare had gone to that frail, deteriorating woman over the last few years. She was sorry, yes, but never thought she’d see Denny again, nor that Jezz would suffer because of it. She had to do something. She dressed and left her apartment with no real plan, only knowing she had to get to Jezz before Denny made good on his threats.

  Her throat tightened as she reached the wretched old walk-up. An evening breeze had stirred up and whipped against her face, ruffling her bangs and the hair around her ears. Dust and loose garbage skittered across the gutters. The shadow of a sewer rat wavered in the low light of a streetlamp. She shivered at the thought of entering the place at night, but it couldn’t be helped. She steeled herself and approached the back entrance. As usual, a small rock wedged the door unlatched. She pulled it open and went inside, the vestibule and stairs only barely lit by a fading bare bulb hanging overhead.

  She climbed the first flight of stairs and screamed. Jezz lay face down on the landing leading to the third floor, her legs splayed awkwardly over the last few steps. An ugly red gash showed on the top of her straggly gray head. The broken-off leg of the rickety end table lay just beyond her outstretched hand, smears of blood on its length.

  “Oh, Jezz!” she wailed, crouching down near her. “Jezz, can you hear me? Are you okay…it’s Rosie!”

  The woman was out cold, unmoving. She groped for a pulse but could barely feel anything beyond the thudding of her own heart. Where was that piece of shit, Denny? He’d lied, he hadn’t waited for her. He went ahead and did this out of pure cruelty. Maybe he was still here, waiting to get Kylie next, for all she knew. Had the drugs and bitter years on the street finally made him completely crazy?

  She fished her phone from her purse and dialed 9-1-1. Terrified, she stayed put in the stairwell, keeping an eye in all directions, and held Jezz’s thin white hand in hers until the ambulance arrived.

  ***

  Barbara Townsend’s desk phone rang just as she walked into her office, a mug of her PA’s heavenly coffee creation in hand. Her assistant seemed nervous and listless today, very un-Kylie-esque. Her usual effervescent manner had seemed to waver in recent weeks, but Barbara could understand her apprehension in light of what the girl had revealed to her in the interests of finding her birth mother.

  “Barbara Townsend,” she answered, plucking the handset off its cradle as she settled into her chair.

  “Hi Barbara, it’s Wendy. How are you?”

  “Just fine, Wendy. Great to hear from you. How are things down at social services?”

  “Oh, crazy as ever. I don’t need to tell you; you practically ran this department for years.”

  “Yeah, those were the days,” she commented with a sigh and leaned back in her leather office chair, grateful for her newfound comfort. She still had stress with this new position with the Riot, but the stress of the body was far less exhausting than the stress of the soul. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, you know that case you asked about…a girl named Rose Kinewski?”

  “Yes?” Barbara automatically jumped forward in her chair again with abject anticipation. She knew this was just what she needed to cheer Kylie out of her current funk. “You have some information for me?”

  “Possibly. A woman was brought to community hospital last night, an older woman with no identification on her, so they alerted us. She’d suffered a fall and blow to the head. Her blood records matched an old profile so it seems she’d been there before, many years ago, in the maternity ward. No record of her discharge. She’s the right age and blood type, could be a potential match. Do you want to requisition a DNA analysis?”

  “How’s she doing? Is she alright?” Barbara lowered her voice to avoid being overheard in the outer office.

  “She’s undernourished and weak, but otherwise alright. No broken bones, just a cut on her head and some bruising. Tough little bird.”

  Barbara sighed in relief. “Thank goodness. Yes, get the approval for DNA testing.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  He hadn’t known her long, but Shredder had to admit the time they’d spent together so far had been noteworthy – exciting and unpredictable. Despite a couple of false starts and some misunderstandings on both their parts, Kylie Rose intrigued him in a way no other girl had, which was something of a breakthrough for Shredder.

  He’d dated and slept with some women in the past, but truly couldn’t say he’d ever had an official “girlfriend” for more than a month or two at a time. Only by separation had he and Ariana even stayed connected over a period of years, and even then, more by his parent’s involvement than anything else. His nagging feelings of shame always seemed to surface in the end, driving away any potential love interests. Subconsciously, he knew his overwhelming surliness was meant to drive a wedge between them, and he’d close off and become distant. Now that the source of those emotional scars had reappeared in person, the need to heal became even more urgent. Did he call the bastard out, file charges of misconduct against Coach Griff, and make himself the topic of public gossip in the process? The tabloids would have a field day, and his mother’s pale skin would redden with embarrassment and never recover. He could just hear her moaning on and on about her charitable friends talking about their family. Or should he just forget it? Take a trade and move on? Hope his ghosts would eventually “find the light and cross over” so he could live a normal life. Get married. Have his own family.

  He sighed. That picture-perfect image seemed light years away. The realization hit him that he’d already tried stuffing it, and those ghosts still haunted him even after fifteen years. Would fifteen more make a difference? The decision seemed frighteningly clear, yet he felt paralyzed, uncertain he wanted to take that step. He needed some space, a break, something to feel good about for a while. He punched a number on his phone.

  ***

  Kylie jumped as her cell phone spun and vibrated on her desktop. Was it the hospital calling? She’d been so scared she only gave the bare minimum of information to the admitting staff; not even claiming to know Jezz, only that she’d found her in the stairwell and called for help. Guilt and worry filled her in equal measure as she reached for it. Her train wreck of thoughts were brought to a halt at the name on the screen.

  Keeper.

  She’d thought of that nickname after adding Shredder to her contacts. It seemed to fit on a number of levels. Her spirits lifted as his calming, earthy voice came over the connection.

  “Hi,” he said. “Remember me?”
/>   “Sure. The guy who likes his pizza slow and his women even slower.”

  He laughed. “That’s me. The big Polish sausage. How’ve you been?”

  “Alright. Busy.” Two words that always sufficed for an answer without raising additional questions. “You? Did you take care of your important business?”

  “Working on it. I’m sorry it ruined our evening.” He sounded truly apologetic. Kylie felt a little bit of her protective ice melting under the warmth of his words. “I thought I could make it up to you if you’ll risk going out with me again. Third times a charm. Or so they say.”

  Kylie smiled in spite of her distress, a little bright light of happiness glowing in the distance. She wanted him more than she’d realized. “Just who is this ‘they’ everyone is always referring to? No. Don’t answer. It’s a rhetorical question. Even though I’m no gambler, I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  “Good,” he said. “I knew you were a risk taker the second you climbed that wall.”

  “I could say the same about you, the minute you stood naked on a yoga mat.”

  The sound of his low, rumbling laughter even topped the Barry White Orchestra. She swore she could smell the sexy fragrance of him through the phone too. Tempted by the buttery tone of his voice, she almost asked him for his karaoke rendition of “Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe.” That would cause wetness to flood any woman’s panties.

  “There are times when the reward outweighs the risk. That was definitely one of them,” he said.

  “Is that a compliment, Mr. Politski? A girl could get used to your brand of flattery.”

  “I certainly hope so. I apologize if this is short notice, but do you have plans for the Fourth?” he asked.

  Kylie bit her lip. That was a week away…hardly short notice. Far more notice than either of them had given on their two previous dates. She had the feeling this meant something. A barbecue and meeting more of his friends big.

  Horizontal big.

  “Not at the moment,” she answered. “What did you have in mind?”

  She heard him take a deep breath in. “There’s a big party that my family puts on every year, on Long Island. Food, fireworks, everything. We’d have to fly there so it would take up the long weekend. Could you spare a couple of days? I’ll pick up the plane fare, no worries.”

  Kylie was dumbstruck. A weekend away? Meet his parents? Airfare? She’d hoped to see him again for some potato salad and sparklers, but this completely rocked her world. She’d never, ever been invited for a weekend away. Not by a girlfriend. Not by a man. It seemed too soon, but at the same time felt like something she’d waited for her whole life. This couldn’t be happening to her. And yet…it was.

  “Kylie? You still there?”

  “Uh, yeah, of course. Sorry. Wow, that’s…Long Island? New York?”

  “Last I checked, it was. At least the pilot told me that when the plane landed the last time I visited.”

  “Uhh…”

  “Just so you know, I take silence as implied consent,” he added, his voice still holding the teasing tone that made her toes curl.

  “Um, okay, sure…for a whole weekend? What should I wear? And don’t say dress casual.”

  Meeting the parents? Damn. What did a girl wear for something like that? And if they lived on Long Island, they had to have some money. Kylie’s heart started pounding with trepidation, and her old fears and inadequacies threatened to choke her. She didn’t have the funds for a new wardrobe. She had to tell him no even when every cell in her body screamed to say yes.

  “Shredder…?”

  “Don’t even worry about it, just pack whatever you want. We can get whatever you need when we get there. I’ll call you with the flight times, okay? We’re gonna have so much fun. Gotta go, Kylie Rose.”

  “But…”

  He hung up, and Kylie sat glued to her seat, hardly believing what just happened. Panic, joy, surprise all welled up at once, then with a whooping yell she thrust her arms into the air and kicked her chair into a giddy spin. Shredder had made the decision for her. Even though she carried some nervous energy around meeting his friends and family, Shredder had been raised right, so how bad could they be?

  Barbara opened her door at the noise, and she crossed over to Kylie’s desk. “Hey, what’s all the excitement out here?”

  “I’m going to Long Island,” she said, her rotations slowing to a stop. Her face felt permanently welded into a smile. Long Island. Kylie Rose was going to Long Island. “Is it okay if I take a few vacation days?”

  Barbara reflected Kylie’s smile back at her. “Of course, I’m sure you have enough days built up. I haven’t even looked at the vacation calendar yet. When do you go?”

  “July Fourth,” she said. “I know that’s soon, but…I’ve been invited to a big party.”

  Without going into too much detail, she told Barbara about her budding relationship with Shredder, and his spontaneous invitation. She left out the part about how anxiety threatened to ruin everything. She tamped it down. Something wonderful was happening to her for a change, and she vowed to enjoy every second.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” Barbara said. “Of course, go. You have to go!”

  “Thanks, Bubs!”

  ***

  Barbara returned to her office. It would take a few days to get the tests done and determine if there was any connection between Kylie and the woman in the hospital. If positive, the news could wait until Kylie returned from her vacation. No need to get her hopes up and then potentially dash them while she was in such a good mood. She did ponder the wisdom of her PA getting involved with one of the players, although she was no one to judge. The same circumstances had resulted in Barbara’s current appointment to director.

  Eloise Robertson and Cole Fiorino seemed very happy together and well-matched. And El, she was all business and didn’t take fraternization lightly. If she and Cole were in a serious relationship, then that’s just what it was. Serious.

  In spite of her quirky hair and ways, Kylie didn’t seem to be flighty. Shredder wouldn’t have invited her on a lark. Barbara leaned back in her chair and pursed her lips, worried for Kylie. From what the older woman knew, Shredder’s family might not be, quote, what Kylie would expect.

  She knew of the Politski family of Long Island. They were very old money, owners of a giant conglomerate of companies that spanned food producers to medical equipment manufacturing. Shredder was an only child, and next in line to the “throne.” He likely wouldn’t be playing hockey much longer. Now that she’d gotten to know Kylie, she had her doubts about how this relationship could ever work. She’d grown rather fond of her assistant in the past few weeks and didn’t want to see her heartbroken. Not with everything else she’d already gone through and probably would go through on the journey to finding her birth mother. But with the elder Politski’s, the poor girl was in for a major culture shock. She shrugged off the thought as she settled back into her chair. Love worked in mysterious ways.

  This turned her thoughts to another area of concern, in particular, the disconcerting presence of Mr. Bernie Griffiths in the corporate office. She knew Sheehan Murphy, God help her; and his secret lifestyle. Kristoff Helios had been a frequent visitor to Murphy’s office in her time as his PA. Barbara knew to disappear anytime Kristoff turned up and closed the door behind him. She didn’t care to hear anything that went on beyond it.

  The same pattern had been developing with Griffiths. She’d checked his resume, and while he did have management credentials, his background had mostly included the coaching of Major Midget and Junior teams. His appointment to COO didn’t sit well with Barbara, not to mention a personal distaste for the man. In short, he gave her the creeps. Something more was going on there and probably something illegal. At least something unethical. She longed to tell Lou of her suspicions, but being new to the job, ratting out the new guy with a bunch of rampant speculation wouldn’t be well received. And if Murphy caught wind of
it…her new career would be over not soon after it began.

  Secretly, she wished for something to come to light that would rid the team of the strange pall she sensed Bernie would soon cast over them. The guy was bad news, and Barbara knew it in her gut, even if she didn’t have proof.

  ***

  I fucked that up big time, Denny thought as he hunkered in the alley behind the KwikTrip. The store served as his base of operations; everything from drug deals to sex transactions, with the added benefit of access to junk food and beer 24/7. He still went on jobs occasionally, but at age twenty-six and with a grotesque scar on his face, he wasn’t so attractive to his clientele anymore. Petty bastards. Just because he wasn’t Brad Pitt gorgeous didn’t mean he still couldn’t get the job done better than anyone with a prettier mug.

  He’d gone to Jezz’s place and waited for Rose that night; he had no intention of actually harming the crazy old bat, but it sure made Rose come running. He hadn’t expected Jezz to wake up, and he sure as hell didn’t expect her to be so feisty and full of fight when she did. She didn’t recognize him and came after him like a minion of hell. He pushed her off, and she crashed into what little furniture was in the room. She’d picked up a broken table leg and chased him down the stairs. While he was nimble, the old lady was not. She tripped and fell on the first few steps, lurching helplessly downward and jabbing herself with the makeshift weapon intended for him. When she lay motionless on the landing with a bloody gash on her head, he took off.

  Rose would think he did it, he knew that. She’d probably rat him out to the cops, and he’d have to kiss his ten grand goodbye. But was there any way to prove it? Nah. Rose didn’t have a leg to stand on with her crazy accusations. According to law, all he’d done was make some empty threats that she couldn’t prove he made.

  He slipped inside the KwikTrip to get some potato chips and porn mags to pass the time. As he passed the news racks, he stopped cold.

  RIOT NAMES NEW COO, the headline read. A picture followed, and though sagged with age, he recognized that sick face. That fucking pasty face belonging to the motherfucker who’d carved him up five years ago. He grabbed a copy and added it to his pile of stash. As he leaned against the wall outside, sucking on a cherry slushie and scarfing down chips, he read through the article.