Kane

by Sawyer Bennett

  Currently, Mollie has been stolen away from me by a group of women headed up by Clarke. She’s taken it upon herself to introduce Mollie to some of the other wives and girlfriends who have become close not only during the season, but also over the summer with the bevy of weddings that happened.

  First, Erik and Blue got married.

  Then Dax and Regan had a church wedding since their first one was at the courthouse.

  Then came Bishop and Brooke’s destination wedding in St. John, only to be followed by Tacker and Nora’s surprise wedding on the same bluff overlooking the Caribbean waters.

  I glance across Coach Perron’s massive backyard, which is set up with tents and tables. Mollie is sitting at one of those tables with the newly married women—Blue, Regan, Nora, and Brooke—along with Legend’s wife, Pepper, and Dominik’s wife, Willow. Clarke is there, too—she recently got involved with Aaron Wylde. It’s the core group of women, and they’re very tight. I’m not surprised they’ve drawn Mollie into their circle. In fact, it makes me ridiculously happy. If she and I are going to make a go of this, being part of this hockey family is important. It will give her a base of friends she can spend time with and hang out with, especially since her own life has been so radically turned upside down.

  I’m currently hanging with a group of teammates near a fire pit that’s blazing a little too hot for the end-of-summer Phoenix weather, but it provides an ambient glow. Dax, Tacker, Aaron, Jim, and I are debating whether it’s a requirement to watch chick-flicks to keep a woman happy in a relationship. I don’t have any input, so I’ve been listening carefully. There are many things I know about Mollie—including the types of movies she loves—but I don’t know how she feels about romantic ones. I have never watched one, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t.

  The conversation stops mid-stream when our team’s owner, Dominik, joins us. He has a beer in hand, looking uncharacteristically casual in a pair of shorts and a golf shirt. The man is known for his impeccable and expensive designer suits.

  “Did I hear one of you ladies mention something about The Runaway Bride?” he asks, clapping Tacker on the shoulder.

  It had indeed been Tacker just now waxing poetic about how much he had enjoyed the movie.

  We all avert our eyes, mumbling he must be mistaken, but he just laughs. Glancing over at the group of women, his eyes light on his new bride, Willow, and a fond smile overtakes his face. “You do what you have to do to keep them happy. No judgment here.”

  Okay, enough about chick flicks. To change the subject, I ask Dominik, “How long are you going to be staying in Phoenix?”

  “Willow and I are flying back to L.A. tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll be back for the first pre-season game next week, though.”

  Dominik’s main domicile is in California, as he also owns a professional basketball team there. But he also bought a house—okay, a huge fucking mansion—here in Phoenix, so he and Willow split their time between the two.

  “How much time do you think you’ll be spending here during the season?” Dax asks. It’s a question he has a vested interest in, since Dominik’s wife is his sister. I’m sure he wants as much time with her as possible. They’re pretty tight, and Willow is just as close to Dax’s wife, Regan.

  Something plays over Dominik’s expression as he gazes over at Willow. When he turns his attention back to his brother-in-law, he says, “Actually… your sister and I are flying back to L.A. to meet with the county social services.”

  Dax frowns, as do the rest of us. We all know Dominik’s background—raised in foster homes, and that he currently champions one such place—The Miller Home.

  “Something wrong?” Dax asks.

  Dominik shakes his head. “On the contrary, hopefully something is very right. I doubt your sister will mind me telling you since we planned on announcing it soon, but we’re looking to foster a young boy.”

  My jaw drops—because that’s a fucking colossal life-changing event—but Dax merely grins so wide I think he might break his face. He launches himself at Dominik, giving him a huge hug. Slapping him hard on the back, he exclaims, “That’s fucking awesome, bro. I mean, really. And Willow… I know how much she’d love something like that.”

  “Wow,” Tacker says, reaching out to shake Dominik’s hand. We each do the same, offering our congratulations.

  “Thanks,” Dominik says with a silly grin. “It’s not a done deal, but we think it will go through. His name is Dillon, and he’s six. It’s doubtful he’ll be re-homed. No one knows who his dad is, and his mom has been in and out of jail for drug charges. She wants to sign a parental waiver for him to live with us, and she’s inclined to let us adopt him.”

  Questions are launched, and Dominik does his best to answer them. I listen with half an ear, my gaze moving over to the women to survey Mollie. I know so much about her, yet it hits me like a ton of bricks… I have no clue how she feels about children. Or marriage, for that matter.

  Not that I’m thinking about holy matrimony right now. This is all too new and tenuous, especially given the fact Mollie could very well choose to go back to life on the road.

  But I do wonder if she has ever thought about settling down, not just with a man, but to have a home and children one day.

  I’m not sure if my stare is so oppressive that she senses it, but she looks across the yard toward me. Our eyes lock, and she gives me a sweet smile.

  No matter all this heavy thought, it suddenly strikes me that I’ve spent enough time in the company of men. It’s Mollie I’d like to hang with now.

  I clap Dominik on the shoulder, congratulate him again, and say, “Can’t wait to meet the little dude soon.”

  “Thanks, Kane,” he replies, then returns to his conversations.

  I take my leave, weaving my way through other guests. Riggs sits off by himself, sipping at a beer and surfing on his phone. I should go talk to him, but truly… he’s given me no reason to want to. He’s been surly and standoffish this week in training camp. The guy will talk constantly about strategy when we’re out on the ice, but he’s been practically mute about himself personally.

  Still, I make a mental note to do as Mollie and I had discussed and invite him over to dinner one night.

  When I reach the women, whatever they were chattering about stops abruptly, and I’m given welcoming smiles.

  “We love her,” Pepper says to me, nodding at Mollie. “She’s now an official member of our lady Vengeance posse.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I reply, looping my arm around Mollie’s back. When she moves into me, I find I like that a lot.

  “Also, we’ve figured out your problem,” Regan says.

  “I have a problem?” I ask, confused.

  “Well, this issue with Matthew,” Regan clarifies.

  “Or douche,” Brooke says with a grin. “As we’ve taken to calling him.”

  I glance at Mollie, who shrugs. “I told them you were overbearing and wanted to lock me up, so they helped come up with a solution.”

  One of my eyebrows rises. “Which is?”

  “When she’s not with you and wants to get out of the apartment, she’ll be with one of us,” Clarke explains. “She’s going to help me out at the bookstore some.”

  “And she’s going to attend yoga classes with me,” Regan says.

  “And take horseback riding lessons from me,” Nora chimes in.

  Laughing, Mollie squeezes me. “They’ve each volunteered their time for me to hang with them on occasion, so I can get out of the apartment and be around people. Strength in numbers and all that.”

  “Plus,” Nora says. “I’m going to teach her how to shoot a gun.”

  “I already have a gun,” Mollie assures her. “Plus, I’ll have Samson with me most of the time. Clarke says he can stay at the bookstore when I go there.”

  “The point is,” Pepper says, bringing it around full circle. “She has a whole group of people to help look out for her.”

  While I appreciate
what they are doing by banding around my woman, I have to wonder what their men will think about it. They could be putting themselves in danger, and I realize I need to talk to the guys about it. I can’t put my approval on something that could be dangerous for all involved.

  “It’s a good solution,” Mollie says as if she can read the exact worries in my eyes. “We’ll all be in public places or the safety of someone’s home. Plus… I’ll carry mace. It will drop a man flat.”

  Leaning down, I press my lips to hers, offering a silent acceptance of the idea because I know I can’t tie her to my side or keep her locked in the apartment. It’s really the best we can do at this point.

  CHAPTER 13

  Kane

  I’d like to say I’m looking forward to visiting Baden at the rehab hospital. In the few months I had come to know him at the end of last season, we had become good friends. It wasn’t a chore, either. Baden was just one of those all-around good, fun-loving guys who always had a quick smile or dirty joke at the ready to make people laugh.

  As our backup goalie, it would have been easy for him to be taciturn over his position on the team. Not a lot of opportunity for ice time, and no matter how brightly he shone when he did step out there to help our team, he was always going to play second fiddle to the primary goalie, Legend Bay.

  But Baden wasn’t like that. He was like the spirit of the team. The rousing cheerleader who kept us all pumped up, no matter how dire the circumstances. He was simply one of those men who accepted his position. While he surely had loftier ambitions—like to be the number-one goalie someday—he never let it impair his loyalty to the team as a whole.

  But honestly, visiting Baden has almost become a chore lately. There’s no doubt he has sunk into a deep depression over his disabilities as a result of the attack. And not one person can hold it against him. Not one of us wouldn’t spiral downward if our hockey career was taken away from us in a flash.

  Knowing that and empathizing with it doesn’t make it any easier to see him. And yet, none of the Arizona Vengeance is going to give up on him. Whether he likes it or not, we’ve worked out a routine to ensure he gets a steady stream of visitors on an almost daily basis.

  I’m flying out to California tomorrow with Mollie to visit her parents. Although I saw Baden not long ago, I wanted to get another visit in before I left. I’m hoping there’s going to be one day I walk into his room and see his big goofy smile. Hopefully, because he’s happy to see me.

  He’s only been in this rehab hospital on the outskirts of Phoenix for a few weeks. As I traverse the halls toward his room, I nod at a few people I’ve met. Baden will be here for at least a month more, so I’m sure I’ll meet many of the other doctors, nurses, and therapists as time goes on. After all, Baden is the hospital’s most famous resident. Everyone has a vested interest in getting him back on his feet, all striving for that miracle of miracles that could possibly return him to the ice.

  Baden’s door is closed when I arrive, unlike many of the other residents who keep theirs open to wave and greet people who pass by. It’s a definite sign he has chosen to remove himself from the camaraderie within this rehab facility, and he prefers to be on his own. While at Coach’s party, I heard from Dominik that Baden has made the decision to stay in Phoenix throughout his rehabilitation. That had been sort of up in the air. He’d been considering returning home to Montréal to be near his parents. While we are all thrilled he has decided to stay here, there is a certain level of sadness, too, since he asked his parents to remain at home. I know he’s close to them, so I can’t quite figure out why he wouldn’t want them here unless he just doesn’t want them, or anyone, to push him toward something he may have decided deep in his heart he’ll never have.

  Bottom line… I don’t think Baden has much faith he’ll ever play hockey again. I’m not even sure he believes he has the ability to walk.

  Whatever is going on inside his head, he is clearly in a dark place. It makes it more imperative than ever that the team rally behind him to do whatever we can to push him back toward his normal self. The man who, only last season, believed more than any of us that we could win the Cup championship.

  I knock on the door, but I don’t wait for him to answer. Pushing it open, I find him sitting in a chair by the window. I can only imagine what it took to get him there. Probably two male aides to lift his considerable frame out of the bed and carry him. Knowing Baden, it was probably humiliating to him. Just as it would be to me.

  His head swings my way, his hair having grown a few inches over the past couple of months. He hasn’t shaved. His beard is thick and full, but in desperate need of trimming. He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt and a pair of navy sweatpants, but it doesn’t hide the fact he’s lost muscle in his lower extremities. They look thin under the plush cotton, his knees sticking out like knobs.

  “What’s up, man?” I ask.

  Baden lifts his chin in greeting. “Not much. Sick of watching TV. Sick of reading. Thought I’d watch the traffic down below for a change of pace.”

  I want to wince over those words, but I keep a pleasant smile plastered on my face. There’s a chair opposite him, sitting at an angle, and I move to take it. “Heard you decided to stay in Phoenix for the course of your rehab.”

  His gaze goes back out the window. “Yeah. Looks like I’m going to need one more surgery on my spine. Since the neurosurgeon is here, it just made sense.”

  I knew he was facing another surgery just as I know he’s facing months and months of brutal rehabilitation after. If he’s going to walk again, he’s going to have to start from scratch. The team’s doctor keeps us updated. Everyone is worried about Baden, and we’re all searching for glimmers of hope.

  I let the silence settle in, hoping he’ll take the initiative to start a conversation. But as with every one of my other visits, he remains mute, his gaze remaining focused out the window.

  No matter. I had long ago determined that even if Baden didn’t want to talk, his ears were working and he could listen.

  Over the summer, I kept him regaled with tales of my workout regimens, hanging out with some of my linemates, good meals I’d eaten, and some local travels.

  But now, I decide to tell him a different sort of story—perhaps to entertain him or maybe bait him into talking to me—and I start out with pure, old-fashioned flourish.

  “Once upon a time, there was a fair maiden named Mollie,” I say.

  Baden turns my way, which I consider a victory. Even though his eyes are blank and there doesn’t seem to be a scintilla of evidence he’s truly interested in what I just said, I take heart from the fact he’s at least giving me his attention.

  I continue my story. “Mollie was an adventurer. While she was beautiful enough to have a prince sweep her off her feet and keep her happy with riches and fineries inside his castle, she preferred to drive a converted van across the open road and see the world.”

  “Your best friend,” Baden mutters. “I’ve heard you talk about her before.”

  I nod enthusiastically. Leaning forward in my chair, I rest my elbows on my knees. “Yes, for years, we were simply best friends… as tight as two people could be. Or so I thought.”

  I’m encouraged when Baden raises one eyebrow, even though it is ever so slight.

  “But there came a day when the dangers of Mollie traveling alone caught up with her, and a crazy ex-boyfriend stalked her, tracked her down, and tried to kill her.”

  “What the fuck?” Baden growls as he shifts in his chair. His torso moves, but his legs don’t. It’s the absolute most emotion I’ve seen on his face since he was injured. I hate it’s such an awful story to produce a reaction from him, but I’m encouraged.

  I push back and settle into my chair, propping an ankle over my knee. Such a simple move that I can do, yet Baden can hardly even feel his legs.

  I explain what happened with Mollie, about Matthew attacking her, making sure to give proper credit to Samson for saving her. When I end
it, I bring him up to speed, explaining the man is currently on the run from the police with a warrant out for his arrest.

  I didn’t pick this story out of thin air. Instead, I picked it specifically because I knew it was something he could relate to. After all, Baden was injured trying to save a woman who was being attacked. While some might think this was a harsh reminder of the horrible events he suffered, I want him to remember he is still alive and very much a hero.

  “Where’s Mollie now?” Baden asks.

  “She came to stay with me right after it happened,” I say. “Obviously, her confidence is shaken. She’s not feeling the safest. Questioning if she wants to continue with her travel blog.”

  Baden studies me for a moment before asking, “And what’s changed between you and Mollie? You started this story off like it was a fairytale romance.”

  Chuckling, I give a slight shake of my head as if I can’t believe the turn of events myself. “Well, Jett met her and asked her out on a date. She accepted and went. I fumed. Got green with jealousy. When she came home from the date, I kissed the fuck out of her. I’m not going to spell out the details of what happened next, but let’s just say that our relationship has progressed to the next level. Right now, we’re more than best friends.”

  Then, the most miraculous thing happens. Not on the level of a paralyzed man walking, but something I think everyone on the Vengeance had despaired of ever seeing again.

  Baden’s lips curve upward into a smile. It’s kind of hard to see it under that shaggy beard, but his eyes also crinkle at the corners. “I’m happy for you, man.”

  Over the next fifteen minutes, I prattle on about Mollie, our tentative and very temporary plans for the future, and even how the women of the Vengeance have rallied around her so she has someone with her at all times. I also tell him about our upcoming trip to California, where we will spring the news on her parents that we are no longer just best friends. And that we have to tell them about Matthew, so we’re expecting an emotionally charged backlash.