Kane (Face-Off Series Book 2)

by Jillian Quinn

  My father joins them on the sidewalk, playing in the driveway with some toy Noah has in his hand. I’m just happy he has a distraction.

  “You don’t look too hot.” Payton closes the distance between us, and the choking sensation that creeps up the back of my throat threatens to suffocate me. “I heard about your season ending early.”

  Around her, the air is denser and harder to breathe. Despite how many years we have repeated this encounter in front of this very house, it never gets easier for me. Unlike Payton, I am unable to move on from the past.

  “It didn’t end early,” I correct, annoyed that she still does not understand how the seasons work after all these years. “We played all eighty-two games, same as always. We just missed out on the playoffs.”

  “Oh, well, you know what I mean.” She shrugs it off, nonchalant. “How are you doing otherwise? Are you sleeping? You look tired.”

  She reaches out to touch my face, and I take a step back. “I’m fine. Can you not pretend like you’re my girlfriend and that you still care and just do what we need to do right now. Blake is waiting.”

  “This is not some obligation anyone is forcing on you.” Her expression darkens from her usual sunshine and light, the storm brewing beneath her eyes. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be, and we both know you would never miss a date with Blake.”

  “I wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for you,” I say under my breath, but she hears me and grinds her teeth together.

  “You made the decision, Tyler. We did it together. When are you going to accept it and move on?” She doesn’t stop long enough to allow me to respond. “Blake has two parents who love him so much that they let us be part of his life. He has a normal life because of them. We had no money and nothing to offer him. It hurts me just as much as you.”

  “You have a family. I have nothing. So, don’t act like you know what I am going through, what it’s like to be me, because you have no clue.”

  She narrows her eyes at me, the two of us in a mental face-off. If this were a hockey game, I would win this no problem. But Payton has a way of creeping into my mind, body, and heart and destroying me from the inside out.

  “Are you kids ready?” My father calls out, shielding his eyes from the mid-afternoon sun.

  “Yes, we’re coming,” Payton announces, the smile already back on her face. She turns to me for a second, her mouth twisted in disgust. “Noah and Blake have a play date. Please don’t ruin this for them.”

  “I would never think of it,” I spit back.

  Following behind Payton, Noah, and my parents, I make an attempt to turn my frown upside down and find it almost impossible until my father knocks on the door and it swings open a few seconds later. Blake answers in a black-and-white striped tracksuit, a big smile on his face when he sees me.

  “Uncle Tyler,” Blake calls out to me, and I almost break down and cry. His words gut me.

  “Hey, buddy,” I manage to choke out, the pain of this situation killing me, same as it does every month.

  He holds up his hand, waiting for me to give him a high-five, and I smack his palm, wishing this was something we did every day and not just when I come to visit.

  When Blake sees Noah, his eyes light up. He runs over to him and drags him by the hand into the house, his voice growing louder as he tells him about all the fun games his parents bought for him.

  Britt comes out from the house to hug my mother, Steve behind her and extending his hand to my father to greet them. The Hudsons are the nicest people I had ever met, which is why I knew they were the right family for Blake when Payton and our parents forced my hand, making me choose. I had no choice in the matter.

  “Tyler,” Steve says, with a bright smile that reaches up to his green eyes. He looks so happy, and why shouldn’t he? Payton and I gave him the one thing he always wanted at the cost of my happiness. I got success and Steve got a family. And Payton just moved the fuck on as if it had never happened.

  “How are you doing?” He opens the door wider to allow me enough room to follow him into the house. Shitty, I want to respond but let him carry on with the conversation.

  “I caught the last game. That's a shame you guys didn’t make the playoffs this year.”

  “Yeah, it sucks. There’s always next year,” I mutter, annoyed I am having this discussion again.

  I am starting to get sick of hearing the same thing from every person I know. We didn’t make the playoffs, same as last year and the year before that. That was not a surprise. Regardless of the few good players we have on our team, we are nowhere near the shape we need to be in to have a real shot at making the playoffs.

  Teamwork wins games, and we don’t have much of a rapport after calling up guys from the AHL and having zero cohesion with them. But it’s not like what we had was working, to begin with, which is why the organization made some bad calls with the team. Even with Parker and Donovan on the ice with me, I still need to rely on the other three players, and so far, none of the wingers on our team has meshed well with each other.

  My mother and Britt stroll into the kitchen together, chatting non-stop and hardly taking a second to catch their breaths before they switch topics. With Payton at my side and Steve bugging me about hockey, I am not in the mood to sit in the living room with them and share the same couch as Payton.

  I wish I felt nothing for her and that I could move on with my life after all these years, but the pain never goes away. If we didn’t have Blake holding us together, I would have at least tried to forget she ever existed. But she was the first and only girl I ever loved, and she took a piece of me with her that she has yet to give back.

  I can hear Blake and Noah playing in the basement, the boys yelling and laughing so loudly that their voices carry up the stairs. The warmth and love inside the Hudsons home sometimes make me miss what I had with my parents before everything went downhill. Things are not the same between with us. Whether it’s me being stubborn and unwilling to let go of the past, I will never know.

  But what I do know is the chemistry we have together is about as cohesive as my team, which is not saying much. You can cut the tension between my father and me with a knife when we are in the same room together. He asks me about hockey, as per the usual, and I give him the same premeditated answers, pretending our father-son talks don’t annoy the shit out of me.

  Then we go without speaking for another month unless my mom calls beforehand to tell me she has a sweet girl she would like to fix me up with the next time I am in town. After that, my dad gets on the phone to tell me what he thinks I did wrong on the ice as if he has a fucking clue.

  It’s a real blast.

  “How’s Luke doing? He hasn’t made the drive in a while,” Steve says to Payton.

  I find it hard to hide my disgust, looking away from them as she speaks.

  “Oh, he’s doing good. Luke found this old boat at an auction that he’s been playing with for the last few weeks. He’s hoping to fix it up and take it out this summer. Noah is excited about it. Every weekend, he helps his dad polish the boat.” She stops to chuckle to herself. “Well, he thinks he’s helping, but Luke just gives him a microfiber cloth to wipe it down.”

  “That’s great,” Steve says, sinking back into the leather recliner in the corner of the living room. “Blake helps me in the garage all the time. He loves handing me my tools and helping me cleanup after I’m doing working on the old girl.”

  He talks about his late sixties Mustang he stores in the garage and never drives with such reverence, but it’s the way he speaks of Blake that catches my attention most. Setting my feelings aside, Steve is a good father to Blake. I just wish I had the chance to make the proper choice before it was too late. I’m lucky that the Hudsons were so relaxed about open adoption and that after eight years they have still held up their end of the bargain.

  I wouldn’t sign the adoption papers knowing I would never see my son again. Now, I torture myself with these visits. E
ven though my parents pushed hard for me to go along with Payton and give Blake to the Hudsons, they took one look at him in the hospital and had a hard time saying goodbye. What surprised me most was how easy it was for Payton, which also caused the rift in our relationship.

  She signed on the dotted line faster than she could get the paper in her hands, yet she has dragged not only herself but her family into this fucked up extended family thing we have going on, both of us punishing ourselves by coming here. But I still need to see Blake. Because even though I know Blake is better off without me, living his life with parents who love him and have the time to care for him, I still feel connected to him. He is still a part of me.

  Ignoring everyone in the room—because I don’t give a shit about Payton’s husband or what they did last weekend with Noah—I zone out and play with my cellphone. I should go into the basement and see how Blake is doing, but I also don’t want to be an ass and disrupt his playtime with Noah just so I can spend some time with him.

  After checking the first round playoff scores and highlights in the NHL app, a text message pops up on my screen. I’m surprised to see Kennedy’s name after the way I treated her the other day. I never meant to act like a piece of shit, but my first instinct was to be mean enough that she would want to leave without me picking her up and removing her from the house. She struck a nerve when she asked about Blake.

  We made promises beforehand that in my mind she broke. I was starting to like her feistiness, able to look past her bizarre clothing and see her in a different light. My God, she’s sexy as fuck when she comes. And the things she does with her mouth…

  Peeking at the message, I get a little excited at the prospect of another chance with Kennedy until I process her words.

  Kennedy: I know your secret.

  Anxious and freaking out on the inside, I grip the phone so hard my bones hurt, doing my best to maintain my composure. Before I can type out an angry reply, another message flashes on my screen.

  Kennedy: I won’t tell anyone.

  Me: Can I see you?

  Kennedy: After what you did last time, I think I’ll pass.

  Me: I’m sorry. I was a jerk. Now you know why.

  Kennedy: That doesn’t change your behavior. You embarrassed me to try to protect your secret when all it did was make me want to find out what you were hiding.

  Me: Please. Let me make it up to you. I was an asshole. You deserve an apology in person. Let’s do coffee, breakfast, lunch, dinner, jewelry, a massage…whatever you want.

  Everything about what I am doing right now is so damn pathetic. Waiting for the typing bubble to pop up again drives me crazy. When Kennedy responds a few minutes later, her answer gives me hope and something to look forward to tomorrow.

  Kennedy: I still hate you, just so you know, but I will meet you at Broad Street Beans tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late.

  Me: It’s a date.

  Kennedy: No, it’s not a date. You will grovel and buy me coffee and pie, but we are not going on a date together. And if you want my forgiveness, you had better start talking to me.

  Me: Fine. See you there.

  She knows the truth about Blake, which scares the hell out of me. I was always afraid this would happen one day, after all these years of being in the league. Ever since I kicked Kennedy out of my house, the guilt has been eating me alive. I cannot screw this up again.

  Chapter Eleven

  KENNEDY

  When I walk through the front door of Broad Street Beans ten minutes early for our coffee date, Tyler is already waiting at the table by the window where we sat last time. The usual crowds of fans that follow him everywhere hover around him as he signs their coffee cups and pieces of paper. I bet that part of being famous gets old after a while, but he seems to love every second of the attention.

  I clear my throat when I reach his table, drawing angry looks from two blondes who are hovering over him and shoving their tits in his face.

  Tyler slides his chair out from the table and stands, his gaze fixed on no one else but me. There’s a seriousness to his eyes, his expression and tone matching when he says, “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” Then, he does something I do not expect and brushes off the bimbos and comes around to the other side of the table to pull out my chair.

  “Have a seat.” He holds out his arm, waiting for me to sit down before he pushes in my chair. “What do you want? I’ll have them make it for you?”

  The girl behind him flashes daggers in my direction and tugs on the edge of his fitted tee, her friend touching his biceps. He shakes them off, and before I can respond to his question, he turns to them, irritated.

  “I’m sorry, ladies, but I have a date. It was nice meeting you.”

  “She’s not even pretty,” one girl mutters under her breath.

  The other girl speaks so low I cannot make out what she says to her friend, but I could care less what either of them thinks about me.

  Tyler ignores their snarky remarks and locks onto me, sucking me in with one look. I wish he hadn’t been such an ass the other day because there is something so beautiful but sad behind his eyes, and when he stares at me, he looks at me as if he were looking right through me and into my soul.

  “I’ll have a nonfat caramel macchiato and the brownie cheesecake,” I tell him as I slide my winter jacket off my shoulders and slip it over the back of my chair along with my messenger bag.

  The corners of his mouth turn up into a devilish grin as he scans my body, assaulting me with one glance. “Coming right up.” He winks at me before making his way to the coffee counter to give our orders.

  Retrieving a paper, pen, and tape recorder from my bag, I try to quell the nerves bubbling up inside my chest. Even though I have sat down with professional athletes a thousand times, I have never interviewed them about tough personal subjects.

  Tyler returns a few minutes later, balancing a plate of cheesecake in his hand, the fork close to sliding off the edge. He sets the cake in front of me, followed by my espresso drink and gives me a napkin from his pocket. He’s so damn cute right now I want to get up and kiss the shit out of him. But, instead, I try to keep it professional as if that is even possible after the things we have done to each other.

  He’s so big and muscular that he dwarfs the wooden chair, causing me to lose my focus because all I can pay attention to is how his muscles flex beneath the dark shirt that hugs his broad shoulders. I lick my lips without realizing I am doing it until Tyler laughs and snaps me out of my daze.

  “You know,” he leans forward and places his elbows on the table, his voice low and sensual, “we can always take this back to my place if you want.”

  “Not a chance,” I lie, wishing he’d finish what we started the other day.

  I was so upset after I left his house, not only because he was a jerk but also because I had misread him, left myself too vulnerable and open to the idea of something more between us.

  “You promised me you would talk.” My tone is firm and steady. ‘So, I expect you will hold up your end of the agreement.”

  He nods, maintaining eye contact. “As long as you promise to keep what I tell you to yourself. This part of my life is not anyone’s business, and I don’t want to expose my family to a media nightmare over something that happened a long time ago.”

  Taking a sip from the mug, I peek at the notes I had written down last night. What questions should I ask? Where do I even begin? After learning the dark truth about Tyler and his ex-girlfriend, I knew I couldn’t publicize his personal life.

  “I thought you could give me more of an exclusive insight into the team and the organization as a whole. I want to know what it’s like to play for the team you grew up idolizing. I want to know why you started playing hockey and why you refuse to play for another team. I—”

  Tyler stops me before I can continue. “That’s the story you want from me? And you will keep it professional? You won’t mention my family?”

  “Yes, of course.
You have my word.” I mean it.

  “I was a little worried that you would write about Blake and Payton, and I just…” His voice trails off, as he looks away from me, ashamed. I can tell he didn’t want to give up his son in the way his body language shifts, but I also figured as much when I saw the adoption was open, allowing him to visit with his son every month.

  “Can I ask you one thing that I swear will never go viral?”

  He holds his breath far too long before letting it out. “I can’t guarantee I will answer, but what do you want to know?”

  “Why did you give Blake up for adoption if you wanted to be part of his life?” Afraid my words came off too harsh, I stop myself for a second to rethink my next statement. “I know you go to the Hudsons house every month to visit him. That must be hard on you.”

  He clenches his jaw, the tension in his body evident from his face down, making me nervous in response. “Look, I’m not angry with you or your questions. I want to tell you everything. I wish I could. But I am not used to sharing this part of my life with anyone. I don’t know you, even though I would like to get to know you better. Opening up to you, or anyone for that matter, is not something that comes easily to me.”

  I reach across the table to touch him, provide him with some form of comfort, and he takes my hand in his and squeezes hard. “You can trust me, Tyler. I have known about Blake for days and haven’t said a word to anyone. Whatever tough guy front you put on with me at your house cannot happen again if you want me to give you another shot. Understand?”

  “Yes, but you also have to realize that this is a big step for me and that no amount of pushing and prodding will get you the answers you are looking for.”

  “Okay, then start talking. I want to know what happened and why you have kept Blake a secret.”