Kane (Face-Off Series Book 2)

by Jillian Quinn

  She tugs at the arm of my sweater, the corner of her mouth turning up into a tiny smile. I can tell she is holding back and wants to laugh her ass off. I would not blame her because this outfit is awful, which seems fitting since it matches the rest of my day.

  “C’mon. I have something that will cheer you up. I bought more of that French Roast coffee you like, and I went to the bakery this morning. I have chocolate chip and sugar cookies with your name on them.”

  After I lock my car, Sydney drags me through her front door and up the stairs to her apartment. Her living room is three times the size of mine with high ceilings, a view of the city, and gorgeous decorations and furniture to match. Her place is something you would find in a magazine but in real life.

  I plop down on the crazy expensive couch she had imported from Europe as she heads into the kitchen to fix our coffee. The gray fabric is soft yet rough and unlike anything I have ever felt. Even with all the wealth I had for most of my life, I don’t recall every touching something as unique as Sydney’s couch. Sydney made it big right out of high school with her first romance novel, a super smutty teacher-student book she based on the affair she was having with our hot English Lit teacher.

  He was five years older than we were at the time and the things they did together make for good bedtime reading material. Over the years, people speculated that her book was about Mr. Delaney because of the out-in-the-open flirting she did with him during class, but no one could ever connect them together. She has a habit of writing about her life experiences, and those conquests are what land her on the best-seller lists.

  “Here you go,” Sydney says, handing me a coffee mug on a saucer with two chocolate chip cookies on the side. “Cream and sugar. Just the way you like it, babe.”

  She settles in next to me on the couch, her pinky turned up as she sips from her cup. While Sydney is far from a snob, she sure as hell looks like one when she drinks coffee or tea. For the ten years we have known each other, she has never been able to break that habit she says comes from her mother showing her how to drink tea from her play set as a child. Unlike Sydney, her mother is a snobby elitist, just like my mom and sister.

  “I’m done with this social experiment, Syd. I gave it a shot, and it worked, but I just can’t repeat this again.”

  She lifts her laptop from the coffee table and sets it on the couch between us. “Then, do what I would do and write about it. Our readers will go apeshit over a story like this, and you know it.”

  “Yeah,” I try to hide my irritation and fail, “but Tyler has been reading our blog. He even commented on some of the posts.”

  She rubs my shoulder and sets her coffee on the table. “After what happened today, I doubt Tyler will read our silly little blog. I’m sure he has better things to do with his time.”

  I frown, drowning my sorrows in my mug. “Like throwing women out of his house. He seemed experienced in that department. Everything was going great, and then I asked about these pictures he had on his mantle, and he just went psychotic over them.”

  “Which tells me that whatever you found is important to him. You struck a nerve, and if he’s that sensitive, you don’t need a man like that. How many losers have you been with in the past year alone?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer because it was a statement, not a question. “At this point, it’s safe to say that most of the men in this damn city have no idea how to treat a woman. But,” she says, slinging her arm around me and pulling me into her side, “you still have me, and what more could you need?”

  Finishing up with a goofy smile, she releases me from her grasp and lifts a cookie from the saucer, holding it up to toast me before taking a bite. “Now, get writing.” She speaks with a mouth full of food and shoves the computer into my leg. “I want to hear all about his porn dick and don’t leave out a thing.”

  Right. Check my humiliation at the door along with my self-respect just so I can entertain our followers. Since when do I have any shame? I talk about sex on the regular on our blog and with Sydney. Why would talking about sex with Tyler be any different?

  After I drink half my coffee, I set it on the table and lift the computer onto my lap. The first thing I find when I open the lid is a porn site with a paused screen, followed by a Word document containing Sydney’s latest naughty manuscript. Unfortunately, this is normal when it comes to Sydney. She says porn helps her write the super smutty stuff that no one dares to write.

  Opening a new document, I think of all the things I want to tell our followers, my mind drifting back to when I ran out of Tyler’s house, too prideful to cause a scene or make myself look like more of an ass in front of him. That much I learned from my mother. She would have said a lady holds her head up high and acts accordingly, whatever the fuck that means.

  I wanted to scream and yell and tell him he was an asshole, but what good would that have done in the grand scheme of things? It would have served zero purpose other than make me look like a child having a temper tantrum. So, what else can I do now other than taking out my anger on the keyboard and shame that bastard the only way I know will hit him where it hurts?

  “To all the tiny sticks I ever sucked before: a hate poem to small sticks,” I say aloud while typing.

  Sydney leans over my shoulder and laughs at my title. “Good one, except that is far from true if he’s that big.”

  “But our followers don’t know that. For all they know, his dick is the size of my thumb.”

  “You’re just trying to get under his skin, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe. I doubt Tyler will ever read this anyway. Stop interrupting and let me finish. Then you can read it all you want.”

  She sinks back into the couch, sipping her coffee and pretending I am not in the room. I go back to typing fast and furious, imaginary smoke coming off my fingers they move so fast along the keyboard.

  Hello, Puck Bunnies! Hope you are having a fabulous day. This week, I decided to conduct a social experiment to see if men are as dumb as we think they are and guess what? It turns out they are even dumber. Shocker, right? Well, no, not really. Going into said experiment, I knew it would work on at least one man, and the man in question just so happens to be famous.

  “You cannot write that,” Sydney says, laughing. “Why don’t you write the truth and just leave him out of it? I’m sure knowing he was a project to you will piss him off more than you stick shaming him, and it doesn’t sound like he has anything to be ashamed about.”

  “Fine,” I huff, my fingers moving again at a rapid pace.

  Fuck. Fuck. Motherfucker!

  I hit the keys so hard my hand hurts and glance over at Sydney. “How’s that? Maybe I’ll write him a poem that goes something like, There once was this guy who thought he was the shit—”

  “Okay, babe, I think you’ve had enough for the day.” She takes the laptop away from me and sets it on the coffee table, shaking her head. “Maybe writing is not the best therapy for you. We can either talk about it or get drunk. My vote is for filling up our wine bras and walking along the waterfront. What do you say?”

  “My wine bra is at home.” I pout and fall back into the couch with a loud sigh.

  “I have extras, and they’re all yours so cheer up.”

  “I need something stronger than wine to help me forget about Tyler.”

  “You like him, huh?” She sounds surprised as if liking Tyler is the worst thing in the world.

  I didn’t think so at first, not that I knew him well. Giving into him was one of the dumbest decisions I have ever made.

  “I’ll get over it. It was just so humiliating how Tyler threw me out of his house like that after everything went so well. I thought we were hitting it off and then—bam! It’s as if he flipped a switch and went into asshole mode. His attitude change is making me want to find out what he’s hiding.”

  She props her left foot up on the coffee table and sips from her mug. “What kind of secrets do you think pretty boy is keeping?”

  I sh
rug. “He has at least a dozen pictures of a young boy with blonde hair and blue eyes who is the spitting image of him on his mantle. I asked Tyler if the little boy is his son, and he checked out on me. The next thing I knew he was asking me to leave. I tried to apologize, but there was something about him, a look in his eyes, that I could not place. Guilt, maybe, but I don’t know—”

  Sydney shoves her palm out in front of her, cutting me off. “Tyler Kane has a secret love child that no one knows about except for you. Babe, don’t you think you could use this story to help your paper? The media would flip shit over this, and you could be the one to break the story.”

  “If he has a son, one of the big news outlets would have discovered it by now.”

  She hands me the laptop, her face glowing with excitement as she scoots closer to me on the couch and places the computer in my hands. “You’re a good reporter. Do your homework. I’m sure you will figure out what Kane is hiding. Everyone has skeletons in their closet. You can be the one to find his. Plus, you need the money to keep Sports Buzz alive.”

  I groan, resting the laptop on my thighs and flip open the lid. “Don’t remind me. My dad already called on my way over to Tyler’s house to tell me for the hundredth time that my paper is not making any money and that Lockwood’s are winners.”

  She snorts and flips her hair over her shoulder. “Your dad needs to get off your ass about that after he pissed away his money.”

  “You got the same crap from your parents when you told them you were going to become a smut writer instead of going to college.”

  “Well, in my defense, I didn’t need college. The advances from my publisher were insane, and money changes everything in my house—yours too, which is why you need to make some money off this story. Tyler was a jerk so forget about him, do your job, and report the news.”

  “Yeah, but what if there is a child involved? I don’t want to drag a kid and his mother into a publicity nightmare. Tyler might be a giant ass, but they don’t deserve to be thrown into the spotlight.”

  “Good point. So, what are you going to do?”

  “For now, nothing, but I would like to find out more about his personal life. I want to know why he would hide a child. Plenty of players are private, and I don’t blame them, but Tyler looked upset, which tells me something happened that is keeping them apart.”

  Sydney lowers her head, a strand of black curls falling into her eyes, and points at the screen. “Get to work, K, you have some dirt to dig.”

  Feeling guilty about doing research on Tyler, I open the web browser, hoping there is nothing there for me to find.

  Chapter Ten

  TYLER

  On the last Sunday of each month, unless I have a game or hockey related event I cannot miss, I have the same plans. I always know what I am doing on that day because it haunts me the entire month, rips me apart from the inside. I drive over to the home of Britt and Steve Hudson, all the way from South Jersey to Long Island just so I can be confronted with the worst mistake I ever made.

  I choose to do this because I have so much pain, guilt, and shame on a constant basis that I need to see that my decision turned out well for at least one of us. Parked in front of their house, I sit in my car, gripping the steering wheel as I try to compose myself before getting up the nerve to go inside. For the few hours I spend in their home, I remember what it is like to have a family, feel the love and warmth of a mother and the strength and support of a father.

  I am always the first one to arrive and the last to leave, stuck waiting out front for the rest of our clan to show up. From the rear view mirror, I spot my parents dark gray Mercedes coming down the street followed by Payton’s black Range Rover.

  I’m always torn about how I feel when it comes to my parents and Payton. I love Payton and hate myself for it because she doesn’t deserve my love. And I hate that she drove the wedge between my parents and me, yet she has somehow brought us back together, no matter how dysfunctional the relationship.

  My father is the reason I am a professional hockey player. He made sure of it. For whatever reason, he was obsessed with the sport and thought I had the athletic ability. Well, at least he was right about that. Growing up in a middle class neighborhood with a mom who didn’t work and a father who had to work two jobs just to make ends meet, we never had any money.

  Dad had taken on a side job mowing lawns every summer to stash away enough money to pay for my hockey equipment and rink time. Even though we barely speak, except brief texts and our monthly visits, I did everything in my power to ensure my parents are financially set for the rest of their lives. I owe my father that much after everything he did for me.

  I suck in a deep breath and let it out before I get out of my car and lock the door. My dad parks behind me, giving me a quick nod as he takes off his seatbelt. Mom holds up her hand and waves. For a few seconds, this all seems real and normal, as if we’re one big happy family. That is until Payton shuts her door and walks toward me with her four-year-old son, Noah, holding his hand.

  Noah looks just like her with those big blue eyes that dominate his face, making it impossible not to notice, and the same blond hair—except his is short, and Payton’s stops right below her shoulders. The first time I saw Payton, I was fourteen and thought I was hot shit at our high school after making it onto the varsity hockey team my freshman year and could have just about any girl I wanted.

  But the only girl I wanted was Payton once I spotted her in the crowded lunchroom. She made me chase her for weeks, earned my respect, and by the end of the school year, I was crazy in love with her. I had my first everything with Payton, thought she’d be alongside me once I made it big. I guess life had other plans for us.

  “Tough break this season,” Dad says to me, slamming his door shut.

  Of course, that’s the first thing he would mention. Because why would we have a conversation about anything other than hockey?

  “Yeah, we’ll get them next year.” I try to play it off as if all the losses this year wasn’t a big deal.

  When we lucked out and scored Alex Parker on a trade to the Flyers, I had thought we’d hit the jackpot. Until he went through some rough times with Coach and sulked his way through the last half of the season, leaving us with zero chance of securing a wild card spot in the playoffs.

  Dad runs a hand through his messy dark hair and blinks from the sun in his eyes. He flashes a tiny smile when he meets my gaze and stalks toward me. “Have you started your off-season training yet?”

  I try my best not to roll my eyes and keep my irritation at bay. “No, not yet. The season ended for us a week ago. I’m planning to take a few more weeks off to allow my body to recuperate.”

  He throws his hands on his hips, his disappointment with my response written all over his face. “Well, it’s never too soon to start.”

  We are complete opposites in every way. He has dark hair, hard features, and the attitude to match, where I have my mom’s light hair and eyes. I suppose I have his fly-off-the-handle temperament.

  “Dad, I know what I am doing, thank you very much. I’ve been playing hockey for almost as long as I’ve been alive.”

  “Leave the poor boy alone, Carl,” my mother says, leaning over the hood of the car and shaking her head at my father in disapproval. They have this fight every time.

  He glances in her direction and shoots her a pointed look. “You don’t get to where Tyler is in his career and stay there without the proper structure. The boy needs to work hard if he wants that paycheck, and maybe he’ll even win us a Stanley Cup.”

  Not this shit again. Every time my parents start up over my career, it turns into a fight that my mother never wins, even though she tries her hardest to prove my dad wrong.

  “Hi,” Payton says in her singsong voice, coming up from behind my father. ‘How are all of you doing on this beautiful Sunday afternoon?”

  Most of the time, it eats me alive to be in the same proximity as her, but at this moment, her int
rusion is a welcome relief. I cannot have another conversation about my career or the shitty season with my father again. For the brief periods we do speak, he chooses to spend the time ripping apart my game or the team, telling me I can do better and pull our team out of the gutter.

  He thinks I am the key to the Flyers winning the Stanley Cup. I hate to break it to him, but we are nowhere near the Cup with our current roster, regardless of my talent. And just because he’s a real fan that believes in his team that doesn’t mean miracles are about to happen if he wishes hard enough or prods me to death.

  “Oh, we’re wonderful, dear,” Mom says to Payton. “How was your drive?”

  She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles, revealing a set of white teeth just as perfect as the rest of her appearance. “I hit a bit of traffic coming into New York, but overall, it wasn’t too bad. Noah likes the bridge so being stuck on it ended up working out for us.”

  I can’t help but stare at Payton. Even after our lives had changed forever, she was still like a ray of sunshine, always smiling and full of life. She could light up a room with the aura she gives off. On the other hand, I was and still am a miserable fuck who deserved to lose her in the end. But I still hate her or at least resent her for the permanent damage she did to my heart and my life.

  “Hey, Ty,” Payton says with a wide grin, holding her hand up to her face to shield her eyes from the sun, her grip slipping on Noah once he sees my mother on the other side of the car.

  “Hey,” I mutter, keeping my distance.

  Noah says hello to me and then runs over to my mother who has her arms open wide, ready to lift him up and into one of her bear hugs. For someone who is so good with kids, my mother should have been more on my side when it had come to Blake. But we both allowed my father to make our decisions for us, only to regret it after I had signed the papers and it was too late.