Zoe
I couldn’t stand another minute in that woman’s presence. How could Ki just stand by and allow her to humiliate me like that? Ki’s kisses and pretty words must’ve muddled my brain. I wasn’t normally a violent person, but Vivienne deserved to be slapped. I was still shaking. Would she pursue criminal charges? I wouldn’t put it past her. As the elevator descended, it came to a sudden halt. Just great. I had to quell the panic that began to swell in my chest. I didn’t do well in enclosed spaces. Thank god the lights were still on. I was about to hit the alarm when the elevator started to ascend. Damn, it was going in the wrong direction. I just wanted to go home and forget this horrible night ever happened.
I realized I was headed back up to the penthouse. I clung to the rail to steady myself and face him. He probably wanted me to apologize to his witch of a mother. It would be a cold day in hell when that happened. Vivienne Connery should be begging for forgiveness and throwing herself on her son’s mercy. Too bad he didn’t extend me the same courtesy. The lift stopped and the doors opened. Ki was waiting for me. I planted my feet and stayed firmly put.
“Thank god you didn’t leave.”
“Would it matter if I did?” I snapped.
“You know damn well it would, Zo. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stood by like I did. But it all happened so fast. And, frankly, I was taken aback by your hostility toward my mother.”
“You can’t be serious right now?”
“Zo, she’s still my mother no matter how you spin it.”
Ki had chosen his mother over me. Enough said. My heart was breaking all over again. The woman could do no wrong. Even ruining our lives was within Ki’s perimeter of acceptable behavior.
“If that is how you feel, Ki, we have nothing further to discuss. I need to go.”
“You’re not running away, Zoe. I won’t let you.”
“Won’t allow me? Who the fuck do you think you are, Killian Connery? You don’t own me nor are we in a committed relationship as far as I’m concerned. Even Flynn put me before his family. But in your world, I don’t count. I’ll save you the trouble. I don’t ever want to see you again. Personally, or professionally. We’re done for good. I don’t want some meek mama’s boy. I want a man who will fight for me. I do want to thank for you for one thing though. I’m done playing the victim and I’m done with you. Good luck with your mother. You two deserve each other.”
I somehow made it home, but it all was a blur. Images of Ki filtered through my mind. The look of disbelief on his face when I said all those horrible things to him sickened me. The whole evening had just amped me so much I lost control. Plain and simple. As I lay in bed, I expected a text or a call, but I was met with nothing but silence. Did he really believe everything I said in the heat of the moment? I couldn’t believe he had taken his mother’s side. How could he after everything he said to me? Were those just empty promises to assuage his guilt? I was more confused than ever. Should I call him? Would he even answer? My temples throbbed. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and shun the world. Tears threatened to fall yet I willed them away. I didn’t want to cry over him or us any longer. None of it mattered anyway.
A pounding on my door interrupted my misery. I swiped my phone and pulled up the app that connected to the front door camera. Relief flooded me to see Ki standing on my porch. I pulled on my robe and padded downstairs. I unchained the door and swung it open.
“Angel, I’m sorry.”
I didn’t look directly at him because I knew I would fall apart all over again. My earlier bravado had left me and here I stood in front of the love of my life, exposed and vulnerable. Ki had come despite my harsh words. He looked at me with a frown, indecision legible on his face. I needed to meet him halfway if I wanted any chance with him despite my thoughtless actions.
“I’m sorry too. Come in.”
Ki entered, hands tucked in his pockets. I wondered if it was to conceal his nervousness. He didn’t try to kiss me or touch me in any way. My body screamed at me for my selfish deeds that caused the rift between us when everything had been perfect up until Vivienne made an appearance back in our lives.
“You were right about my mother. I should have put you first. You deserve that and more, Zo. My mother has this sick hold over me and always had. I can’t explain it. I guess old habits die hard.”
I felt sad he didn’t call me angel. “I understand. She is your mother. I get it.”
“No, angel, I was wrong. You matter. My mother has committed unspeakable acts against both of us. For that, I can never forgive her. I hope you believe me. You come first and always will. Please believe me.” His voice cracked.
When would all this pain end? I slipped into his arms and let him hold me. Enough words had been said tonight. I just wanted to love the man of my dreams without reservation. Everything between us seemed to be on shaky ground and this relationship could go either way. The unknown frightened me. I knew I wouldn’t survive another split from Ki, ever.
“I believe you,” I whispered against his chest.
I hoped when the news broke tomorrow, I still believed what I just told him.
Chapter 5
Ralston Security
“Yep. She picked it up. I understand. Yes, we’ll be in touch.” I killed the call.
“How long do we have to stay here?” Richard asked me with a furrowed brow.
He hated gigs that kept him cooped up all day. Our current stakeout vehicle was a repurposed plumbing van with a fake logo. While the outside looked unremarkable, the inside rivaled something out of MI6 British Intelligence. Our firm had spared no expense to equip the van with the latest high-tech surveillance gear including secure satellite, listening capabilities, and remote cameras within a five-mile radius of our location. If anyone called the number displayed the side of the van, the call was routed to our central line manned by Ralston Security’s teach team. We provided personal protection and investigation services for high profile celebrities, athletes, and politicians, and anyone else who could afford us. Our current target was Zoe Simmons, daughter of Jed Simmons, the Otters owner and latest scandal victim currently making headlines nationwide.
“So why are we watching this chick?” Richard took a huge bite of his sandwich and stuffed it in his mouth while talking. I frowned. My partner looked like he hadn’t showered in a week. His dark, curly hair was sticking out at all angles, the bushy beard he sported was filled with food crumbs, his jeans had suspicious stains along the thighs, and his faded green t-shirt with Vote for Pedro emblazoned on the front had day-old coffee stains all over it. And yet, this guy had somehow graduated from MIT with honors. Honestly, if he wasn’t such a brilliant hacker, I wouldn’t have wasted my breath on him.
“It might help if you swallowed before opening your yap,” I snapped.
“Ease up, Kyle. You’re going to have a heart attack before you’re forty. It’s not healthy to keep in all the pent-up hostility. I do yoga to channel my prana. It helps chill me out. You should try it. You’ll live longer.”
“What about that sandwich you’re eating? It’s full of nitrates, animal fat, and cholesterol. How does that factor into to your life force? That will kill you faster than my stress,” I snarked.
“It’s all vegan, man. Not a single byproduct.” Richard just smirked at me while he continued to stuff his face.
I felt nauseated just watching him eat. I ignored him and focused on finetuning the wireless device imbedded inside the figurine. It was motioned activated and had audiovisual capabilities with a direct feed to my laptop. Once her image popped onto my screen, my eyes widened. Damn, Zoe Simmons was one gorgeous creature. She was wearing a white tank top with matching shorts as she placed the figurine on the mantle. Her lush, auburn hair fell around her slender shoulders in soft waves. I felt like a creeper staring at her beautiful lavender eyes that gazed back at me unknowingly. God, sometimes this job sucked. However, for six figures I gladly put my ethics aside. I even put up with Richard.
The wide-angle lens gave me a perfect shot of the room. I had a clear view of the vaulted ceilings, kitchen, and living room. The television blared loudly in the background, drowning out the conversations the device was meant to record. Damn. I sat up straight when her cell rang. Ms. Simmons grabbed the remote and muted the tv.
“Start recording.” I turned to Richard who gave me the thumbs up and a crooked grin. I sighed. It was going to be a long gig.
Zoe
The news broke, and the vultures descended to pick away at our bones until there was nothing left. I switched off the television, too stunned to think clearly. The horrible things the press was reporting about my private life went beyond all decency. Our pictures had been splashed across every news outlet, internet site, and gossip show. Jesse Ward was striking us down in cold blood. All the sordid details were being broadcasted like we were the story of the year. It would be only a matter of time before my mental breakdown would be revealed. Thank god for the gated community, otherwise the press would be camped out on my front lawn. We’d been dubbed Ki-angle. A play on words I guess, alluding to a love triangle between Ki, Jesse, and myself. God, I didn’t know who I despised more—Jesse Ward or the press.
Ki had left early for practice and luckily avoided any media. From what I understood from Joe, the press was currently camped outside the arena with more media outlets showing up every hour. I decided to work from home for obvious reasons. The throbbing in my head returned with a vengeance. I closed my laptop since I knew I wouldn’t be getting much done today and answered my cell.
I read the incoming call display and sighed. “Zoe, it’s your father.”
I rolled my eyes. He always announced himself like I didn’t have clue who he was.
I had grown used to his abrupt manner since mom’s passing. A part of him had died along with her and he had pulled away from me physically and emotionally. Since I was only a teenager when she died, I thought it was just me going through a rebellious stage until my father told me pointblank, he couldn’t stand the sight of me. Every time he saw me, it reminded him of mom, and it was too painful for him to endure. Of course, he never asked how her death affected me. It was all about him. I’d learned to deal with his coldness, but it didn’t lessen the fond memories I had of us when I was younger. The times he used to carry me on his shoulders or taught me about hockey. Nowadays though, the only thing we had in common was our last name.
“What are you doing to kill this story?” I demanded.
“I have my lawyers working on it. The question is why you are hiding out instead of facing this head on?”
“I’m not. I’m working from home today.” I couldn’t hide the annoyance that crept into my voice.
“Where’s Ki?”
“He had an early scrimmage.”
My father knew exactly where Ki and every other member of the Otters team were at any given moment. Jed Simmons was nothing if not a control freak who governed his team with an iron fist. A silence stretched out between us.
“Is there anything else?” he grumbled.
Always direct and to the point. In many ways, he was like Ki’s mother. Unfeeling, icy, and calculating. It was a wonder Ki and I were seemingly normal human beings—apart from all our anxiety pills.
“No,” I told him, my tone curt as I killed the call.
My phone rang immediately after, an unknown number this time.
“Hello?”
“Zoe Simmons?”
“Yes?”
“Derek Ranger with UPI here. I wonder if I can get a statement about the fact that you had a nervous breakdown after your relationship with Killian Connery. And can you confirm he proposed to Jesse Ward? Did you know Ki was being treated by a shrink after your split? Also, what are your thoughts on the Ki-angle?”
“Sure. How about fuck off. How is that for a statement?” I snapped and hung up on the asshole.
The mention of Ki’s intended proposal to Jesse stung, though I never mentioned it or would admit it front of Vivienne. I knew she loved every minute of my misery. When the reported mentioned Ki seeing a therapist, it was like a bolt from the blue. My heart ached for us both.
My phone buzzed again. I picked it up and looked at the display. It was Ki. Thank goodness.
“Hello.”
“Angel, how are you doing?”
“As well as can be expected.” I sighed. I was too numb to feel anything. I had an emotional hangover.
“I know, baby. I’ll be there in a few hours. I promise.”
I heard a muffled voice in the background, warning Ki to get back to the scrimmage.
“Ki, thanks.” I looked at the beautiful angel gleaming on the mantle. It’d arrived earlier and when I opened it, I knew it was from Ki. It had come with an enclosed card that read “My angel.” My heart swelled, and tears formed in my eyes. Ki never ceased to amaze me. He was my calm in the storm. He may have wavered last night, but he kept his word. He wasn’t letting me go nor was he giving up on us. I owed him the same allegiance and would try to assemble the broken pieces of our life together.
“For what?” Someone distracted him. “Angel, I’ve got to go. I love you,” he said and hung up.
I stared at the angel sitting on the mantle. It symbolized hope for our future no matter the firestorm sweeping through the press. With Ki, I saw my world wrapped up in him forever.
Ki
The coach blew the whistle at center ice for our half ice scrimmage to begin. I skated in a circle with the forwards and defensive men along with the other blue shirts. The white shirts swarmed around the net as I retained the puck and faked a pass to avoid Jensen, then skated around him to set up my shot into the net and bypass Rutkowski guarding the crease on his knees. Guys were chirping to distract me as I broke away from the pack and slid the puck toward Bender for an assist. He headed around to the back of the net fighting off two white shirts who threw him against the boards. I went in as the puck skidded out of the pocket and quickly retrieved it with my stick. Rounding the net from the opposite side, I made eye contact with our goalie. I knew he was breathing fire through his ornate mask. In a split second, I slipped the puck into the net and scored a goal. Rutkowski’s curse drowned out the fans who were in attendance for our open ice practice. I grinned like an idiot. Our coach blew his whistle, ending the scrimmage.
I skated over to the bench, drenched in sweat. I flipped up my visor and grabbed a water bottle, downing its contents. Bender joined me.
“Nice assist, man. You pissed off Rutkowski big time.”
“He’s getting old and slow.” I smirked.
“Who’s getting old?” Rutkowski growled.
“You, old man,” Bender pipped up and a few other guys on the bench snickered.
“Fuck off, Bender. And you too, Connery.” Rutkowski glared at us then threw his mask down and stormed off.
“Someone’s in a bad mood,” I muttered under my breath as I mopped the sweat off my face. Even in the cold arena, I would sweat like a pig under my pads and jersey from all the morning drills and final scrimmage.
“Connery!”
My head snapped left when the coach called for me. His expression was stern. This didn’t bode well for me. I reluctantly got up and approached him.
“Yes?”
James Burrell glared at me with those dark eyes of his. He could intimidate the devil himself. He gripped the whistle hanging around his neck in death grip. His Otters hat was pulled low over his brow as long grey hair hung lose down to his shoulders. If I didn’t know better, he looked more a like a hippie than a head coach of an NHL hockey franchise. The bright team windbreaker and sweats pants he wore did nothing to diminish the perpetual scowl on his face. His brown weathered face was lined and heavily jowled from years in the sun.
“You’re wanted upstairs. Hit the showers and be quick about it,” Burrell growled.
“Yes, coach.” I nodded and headed for the locker room.
The shower was short business. I
wrapped the towel around my dripping waist and headed for my locker. A couple of the guys were milling around, talking in hushed tones. I caught my name once or twice, followed by questioning glances thrown my way. I quirked my eyebrow, until I realized who their ringleader was. Flynn Austin. He was stirring up trouble it seemed. I couldn’t believe I once considered him my best friend. Bastard.
“That would be Connery,” Flynn laughed out loud with a few other of our teammates, garnering my attention.
I tucked my shirt into my slacks and slid my belt into the loops. I cinched it up more tightly than normal. My jaw clenched as I heard more chirping from Austin. He had a bad habit of doing that on and off the ice. The asshole just loved being gossip central.
“He’s not satisfied with just one woman. He needs to poach mine too,” Flynn said loud enough for the entire locker room to hear.
“Flynn chill out man,” Brock, our secondary goalie, said.
“I’m just telling it like it is gentlemen.”
I could feel Flynn’s eyes boring through my back.
I closed my locker and grabbed my gym bag, my anger simmering just below the surface. It wasn’t enough I had to contend with the press today but also Flynn ‘the Asshole’ Austin. A moniker he earned through the press corps that he abused on a frequent basis. Coach Burrell had fined him a few times to teach him a lesson but when you made our kind of money, fines fell on deaf ears.
“Flynn, I suggest you shut your damn mouth if you know what’s good for you,” I said quietly.
“What are you gonna do? Sic Jed Simmons on me?” he sneered.
“You’re doing that all on your own.”
“You arrogant son of a bitch.” Flynn tried to charge me, but Brock was quick to hold him back.
Brock Sampson was the size of a redwood tree with a heart of gold and the team peacemaker.
“Break it up, gentlemen.” Coach Burrell stepped onto one of the benches running the length of the locker aisle. The guys looked up. “Austin, don’t you have somewhere to be? And Connery, get your ass up to the executive suite now.”
On Ice, A Hockey Romance Page 5