The Season: Rush (Austin Arrows #1) (9 page)

Ellie

“Can I use your phone?” Bianca mutters aloud, her attention more riveted on the players out on the ice than on me.

“Where’s yours?” I ask. I reach for my phone in my back pocket, but it’s not there. I probably left it in the car. I don’t feel the need to be tethered to it when my daughter’s with me.

“Battery’s dead.”

“She can use mine,” Kingston offers, clearly realizing I’m phoneless.

I watch as he hobbles awkwardly on his skates over to the bench and grabs his phone, bringing it back to Bianca. “Just leave it on the bench when you’re done.”

“Cool. Thanks!”

“Sure, kiddo.”

“I could’ve let her borrow mine. It’s in the car,” I tell him, leaning on the rail and looking down at this ginormous mountain of a man. I mean, the guy’s big without all the goalie gear, but with it…

It isn’t often that I find myself not looking up at him. Sure, I’m in the stands and he’s down on the floor, but still, I like the view from up here. Then again, I like the view of Kingston any way I can get it.

Kingston takes a step back, his dark eyes never leaving my face.

It dawns on me that I’m still sucking on the cherry Blow Pop. I try to read Kingston’s expression, wondering if he even noticed.

Crap.
I see the way his Adam’s apple does a slow bob in his throat.

Yep. He noticed.

“So, about that pretend relationship,” I say at the same time Kingston says, “The goalie god, huh?”

I immediately feel my face flame, but I try to hide it.

“I blame it on the wine,” I tell him.

“Wine?” Kingston moves toward me, but I shift back, away from the rail.

“Yep. Lots and lots of wine.”
No more wine.
“Now, about this relationship thing...”

“Keep it up, little girl,” he says, his voice low, eyes dark.

Note to self, no more teasing the beast.

Thankfully, Kingston opts to change the subject. “Why’d you come down to talk to Optimus?”

“He wanted me to meet Amber and discuss a couple of upcoming events. Apparently, they’ve got some concerns about my wardrobe.”

I feel the heated caress of Kingston’s gaze as his eyes slide down my body, then back up, stopping on my breasts as usual.

“And he has a problem with what you’ve got on?”

I can tell by the gruff rasp in his voice that Kingston doesn’t have a problem with my outfit. Still, I cross my arms over my chest, blocking his view. “He also wanted to go over the plan.”

That seems to break the spell, and Kingston looks me in the eye, sighing as though he’s disappointed. “Plan? As in scaling Mount Rushmore?”

Based on his tone, he doesn’t find that nearly as amusing as I did when I came up with it. I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut when my daughter is with me. I sometimes forget that Bianca doesn’t understand exactly what is and isn’t appropriate to repeat.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“I was thinking it sounded hot,” he says, more heat glimmering in his dark gaze.

Clearly he has taken my attempt at a joke the wrong way. Desperate to redeem myself, I explain. “I told Spencer and Amber that I’d definitely be able to attend all home games. I can even bring Bianca to practice from time to time. Amber said I’d need to be more visible than that. Something about attending charity events with you. And she agreed with Spencer that I would probably need to beef up my wardrobe. Said if I’m supposed to be a woman trying to impress a man, I need to wear a dress.” I’m not entirely against wearing a dress, but I wasn’t all that happy that my own brother was giving me fashion advice.

“Visible how?”

I shrug. The last thing I want to go into is how Amber told me that it would be good if I could be seen out in public with Kingston. I told Amber I see Kingston all the time at the Penalty Box. Amber reiterated by telling me it needs to be in a setting that isn’t related to hockey. All good and fine, until Spencer spoke up. He had the balls to tell me it wouldn’t hurt if someone would catch me leaving Kingston’s house. I’m pretty sure he even used the term
walk of shame
.

The asshat.

“Like out on a date?” Kingston asks, frowning.

Exactly like that.
“I guess.”

Kingston’s smile is slow and sexy and I have to look away.

“So, I get to take you out in public and flaunt you around? Prove that I’m into you?”

I’m totally confused. “You make it sound like you don’t know what’s going on.”

“I don’t,” he mutters.

That takes me by surprise. “I thought…”

“You thought what?” Kingston stares up at me, pinning me in place with his intense gaze. His smile has disappeared completely.

“I thought this was your idea.”

He laughs, but there isn’t an ounce of humor in it. “Not by a long shot.”

“Hey, Mount Rushmore! You sleeping or what? Get your ass back out here, man!”

I recognize the voice of the goalie coach, Russ Putnam. I glance out at the ice, realizing there are more players out there now. Then again, this is practice.

“I…uh…” I meet Kingston’s gaze again. “I’ll let you get back to it then.”

“We need to talk,” Kingston says, his voice low, tone serious. “You and me. If this is going to happen, it’ll be on my terms. Not Amber’s. And not your brother’s.”

I nod. “Understood.” I really had thought that Kingston was the one to suggest this. I’d even been a little flattered. Now that I know my brother is behind it all, I’m not sure how I feel.

“Holler when you’re ready for me.”

Aww, crap. Even I notice how suggestive that sounds.

Kingston nods, then that wicked smirk returns. He leans closer to the rail. “Little girl, I’ve been ready for you for a long damn time.”

The ruthless flirt is out and about. Only there is something different between us this time. There’s a weird electrical charge in the air. It’s raking over my skin, and I have a feeling it’s coming directly from those piercing dark eyes currently devouring me. A flash fire ignites in my veins, and I briefly consider running out and lying on the ice just to cool off.

“Okay then.” I push away from the rail. “I’ll wait for your call.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“And I’ll try to find something more appealing to wear.”

“I’d say that’s pretty damn appealing,” he replies, nodding to my chest.

“Incorrigible,” I mutter as I turn away, searching the seats for my daughter. “I’ll make sure Bianca returns your phone.”

Without waiting for a reply, I make my way to the stairs and head up, pretending I don’t notice the way Kingston’s eyes are locked on my ass as I’m walking away.

Or how much I like that he’s looking.

Bianca

I can’t believe I did it.

While I was sitting at the rink, watching Josh Locke, it suddenly came to me. I borrowed Kingston’s phone and used his Facebook account to pull up my mom’s so I could scroll through her pictures. That was when I found a picture of her when she was twenty-one. She had posted it for Throwback Thursday at some point, so I got lucky.

I saved the photo to Kingston’s phone, then pulled up his Internet browser so I could log into my fake account. I didn’t want to tip him off by logging out of his Facebook app. He would’ve probably noticed the next time he opened it. I’m trying to be overly cautious because I don’t want him to know. If he finds out, he might tell my mom. If not her, he will definitely tell Uncle Optimus.

After I added the picture to my post, I made sure to delete the image from his phone so Kingston wouldn’t ask questions. And then, I did it, I typed up my post on my fake profile. It wasn’t hard to come up with something to say, but now that I’ve posted it, I’ve been stalking my own post. I can’t log in from my regular account since I blocked myself, so I have to keep the fake one open.

M
y name’s Bianca and I’m looking for my biological father, whom I’ve never met. My mom doesn’t know him other than his name is James and she met him when she was in Las Vegas when she was twenty-one. That was almost fourteen years ago. I’m not looking for money or anything, I just want to know who he is and I know she would be happy to hear from him. She told me she tried to find him when she found out she was pregnant, but never could. Here is a picture of her. Her name is Ellie. Hopefully he’ll see this and remember her. And if he does see this, he can contact her at 512-555-7874.

Every time I read the post, I remind myself that I have to be sure to log out in case my mom takes my phone or my laptop. This is making me a little edgy, even now.

I know that staring at the post seems kind of lame, but I can’t help it. When I got home and plugged in my phone, I immediately texted Gabby to let her know. She said she’s excited for me and can’t wait for when my dad actually messages me. That freaked me out a little. I didn’t think that he might message me directly. That was why I put the phone number to the Penalty Box on the post. So he could call that. What would I even say to him?

I’ve thought about this for so long I don’t even know what happens next. I’m just excited and anxious. I wish I could make this a surprise for my mom. I think it will make her happy. Then again, she looked happy today when she was talking to Kingston. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her with a smile that big. The way they were looking at each other… I’ve never seen that, either.

Okay, maybe that isn’t totally true. I’ve seen Kingston look at my mom like that. Like he likes her but doesn’t know how to talk to her. It’s the same way Gabby looks at Bobby Anderson. I know she hasn’t talked to him yet, even though she has liked him since the fourth grade.

Setting my laptop on my bed beside me, I lean back and stare up at the stars on the ceiling. I wonder if my mom likes Kingston like that. They’ve never said they do, but today seemed different. I think they were flirting, which would be really cool. I like Kingston. He’s great. Ever since I was little, he’s been taking me to do things. Most of the time we go with Uncle Optimus; sometimes Mom goes, too. When he goes to the children’s hospital, he lets me come with him, and I love playing with those kids, especially the little ones.

I glance over at my computer screen, a million new questions flooding through my head.

What if I don’t hear from my dad?

What if he never sees my Facebook post?

What if he doesn’t remember my mom?

If my dad does show up, will I not be allowed to hang out with Kingston anymore?

And what if my mom does like Kingston? Will she not let my dad be my dad?

My phone vibrates, and I lean over to read the screen because it’s still charging.

Gabby:
I saw your post! I created a fake account, too. It’s got ninety-seven comments already. That’s so cool. I can’t wait for your dad to message you.

Bianca:
Did you see it has sixteen shares?

For some reason, I didn’t think people would share it. I only have a few friends on there, people I don’t even know but requested to be friends with. That way, if my mom or Uncle Optimus do run across the account, they won’t immediately think it’s me.

Then again, with my post, they’ll know.

Gabby:
Twenty now. B, this is gonna go viral. That’s gonna be so freaking great.

Viral?

Oh, crap. I didn’t think about that.

I don’t text back immediately, because for the first time since I came up with this plan, I have a strange feeling in my tummy. I’m no longer as excited as I was and I don’t know why that is.

10

Kingston

Wednesday, October 12
th

I spent the rest of Tuesday afternoon focused on getting in some practice time. Then today was all about weights, more drills, and another scrimmage. Thanks to all the ice time, the day flew by in a blur, but that isn’t unusual for me. After I finished practice, I talked to a few of the guys, made tentative plans to meet up at the Penalty Box tonight, then showered and got dressed.

Now, I’m headed over to the children’s hospital as I do every Wednesday when I’m in town. I actually look forward to it. Not only does it allow me to take a break from normal life but I get to hang with the little ones, and though it isn’t easy to see some of those faces week after week, some of them in visible pain, others simply not getting better, I make a point to show up. When I started doing this years ago, it was for them, but over time it has started being for me, as well.

Every now and then, I get Bianca to go with me. I think she enjoys it as much as I do, which is something I admire in that kid. She’s got such a big heart.

“Hey, Kingston,” one of the nurses greets with a smile on her face.

“Nat,” I acknowledge, nodding toward the common room where the kids gather when the players stop by. “They in there?”

“Most of them.” Her smile dims a little. “Terrence is in his room. Not a good day for him.”

I hate hearing that. “Mind if I stop by when I’m done here?”

Nat’s smile returns. “I’m sure he’d be thrilled to see you.”

On my way in, I remembered to grab one of my spare jerseys, knowing the kids prefer to see me looking like a hockey player—or so they so kindly informed me once when I hadn’t worn my jersey. According to one little girl who I met years ago, the jersey is sort of like a cape is to a superhero. Makes sense. Not that I think of myself as a superhero.

The thought makes me smile as I step into the open room. There are a few kids scattered about—a couple are playing video games on a couch in the corner, two at a small table coloring, and another little boy—William—pushing cars on a huge mat on the floor. There are twice as many adults sitting with the kids, smiling and chatting with them.

Although it could easily be a day care center where these children come to play, the fact that there are IV poles and a few other medical devices proves that it is, in fact, very different. These kids are here because they are sick—some of them terminally ill, and others have hope of getting better one day. I try my best not to see the illness, because it hits me in the heart every time.

“What’s up, Willy?” I say as I near the little boy closest to me.

His eyes lift to mine and a smile instantly forms on his face. That right there is the reason I come. To see those smiles.

“Kingston! You’re here! Wanna play cars?”

“Well, of course I do.” Without hesitating, I drop down to the floor and lie on my side, reaching for one of the extra cars.

And it is these moments, the welcoming smiles and the excitement in these kids’ eyes, that makes these visits the highlight of my week.

Two hours later, I make it home.

I’m mentally exhausted and a little down because I spent half an hour with Terrence, only to learn that he has taken a turn for the worse. The kid looked so frail lying in that bed. Although his eyes widened and a smile tugged at his lips when I walked into the room, the pain was still visible in the lines of his face. No kid that young should have to deal with that sort of pain.

We played cards while his mother sat in the corner watching us with a sad smile on her face. Terrence didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood, so I kept the chatter to a minimum. When it was clear the little boy needed to sleep, I said my good-byes and slipped out of his room. For the entire drive home, I pleaded with God to make the boy better.

The moment I walked into my house, I pushed it all out. The team, practice, the upcoming game, the hospital, all of it. If I let myself dwell on it all, I’d never get any rest, and based on the aches in my joints, I definitely need some downtime.

After grabbing a bottle of water, I drop onto the couch, sitting down for what feels like the first time all day. My legs are sore, and my right knee throbs, but I ignore the pain. It’ll get better as the days go by and I get more time on the ice. It’s only the beginning of the season, but I know for the next six months—hopefully more if we make the play-offs—this will be the norm.

For a few seconds, I allow the quiet of my house to settle around me. Although I don’t spend a lot of time at home, especially during the season, I did put a tremendous amount of effort in making it my space. From time to time, my brothers will come to visit, and it helps that the place I live in doesn’t feel like a museum. They like to give me enough shit as it is.

I grab my phone, skim my emails, but I don’t feel like answering them. I’m too tired, both mentally and physically.

During the off-season, I keep a fairly rigorous routine, but nothing compared to during the season, so it isn’t unexpected that the first few weeks—during and after training camp—are the most brutal. Things are underway, we’ve traveled for a few preseason games and are gearing up for the first game of the season on Friday. My body needs to acclimate and it needs to do so quickly.

On top of that, I am now expected to manage a pretend relationship with a woman I don’t want to pretend with. Ever since Ellie agreed, I’ve been having second thoughts. Not because I don’t want to get my hands on her, that’s for damn sure. But as much as I want that, I don’t want to damage the friendship we do have in the process. Ten years ago, I would’ve been gung-ho, probably already trying to get into her panties, but at this point in my life, I’ve mellowed some.

I still want to get into her panties, mind you, but I’m more than willing to work for the reward.

“We’ll figure it out,” Spencer told me when I admitted I was worried about this being hard on me and Ellie. “You settling down in a relationship will be big news, man. The media’s gonna go fucking nuts.”

Pretend
relationship, I reminded him. And that is the key. Since my brain doesn’t see anything pretend about it, I’m having to spend too much time worrying about it. And to think, we haven’t even set the plan in motion yet.

But Spencer and Amber are right about one thing. Once word gets out, the media will definitely be interested in the news, but that means I have to break it to them. At the moment, I’m not sure how to do that and not screw it all up.

I recall my conversation with Ellie yesterday at the rink. Admittedly, I don’t mind the whole pretend-girlfriend thing, but truthfully, I’m hoping it’ll turn into something more. Some might accuse me of manipulating the situation; I consider it grabbing an opportunity. If Phoenix and Coach think it’ll be good for my image, and potentially appease the nosy fucking reporters and, most importantly, the fans, I’m game.

Spending time with Ellie Kaufman damn sure won’t be a hardship. I’ve been wanting this day to come for too long. Granted, I’ve envisioned it a little differently. Pretend wasn’t used to describe it, that’s for sure.

Regardless of how it has come about, it’s going to be on my terms, just as I told her. I don’t like the fact that Spencer has taken to dictating how this will work. He isn’t a damn saint, so it feels hypocritical that he’s focusing all of his energy on me. Then again, I can tell Spencer is worried about me. I lost my shit at the end of the season and it didn’t help anyone.

I pull up my Internet app and notice there’s a browser open and it’s on Facebook.

Strange.

I have an app for that, so I’m not sure why…

I glance at the name on the screen:
Belle K
.

Huh?

I glance at the profile picture. That’s … Bianca. So, who the hell is Belle K? For some reason, it sounds familiar. Her full name’s Bianca Noelle Kaufman. Ahh. It’s a combination of her first and middle names. Maybe that’s the thing these days, to not use a real name. Regardless, that is definitely her picture, and it makes sense because I loaned my phone to Bianca yesterday.

Looks as though Ellie’s daughter forgot to close it when she was finished, which is how I find myself looking at Bianca’s Facebook profile. Trying my best not to be nosy, I move my finger toward the little X at the top of the screen, but before I can get there, something catches my attention.

The fuck?

Bianca’s last post was at four thirty yesterday, which would’ve been right before they left the rink.
My name’s Bianca and I’m looking for my biological father, whom I’ve never met. My mom doesn’t know him other than his name is James and she met him when she was in Las Vegas when she was twenty-one.

I continue to read, my jaw damn near hitting the floor.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

I exhale and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, staring at the picture of Ellie on the post. It had to have been taken fourteen years ago or so. Probably close to the time when Ellie went to Las Vegas to celebrate her twenty-first birthday—the year she insisted that she was grown up, capable of doing things her way. I remember because Spencer had insisted that he go with her, just to keep an eye on things, and she’d adamantly refused him. Her brother hadn’t been happy.

Of course, Spencer had damn near gone postal when she announced that she was pregnant. I specifically recall her brother threatening to castrate the son of a bitch who had taken advantage of his sister. It hadn’t been a completely irrational reaction, although it had pissed Ellie off. She’d handled it well, right up until Spencer practically demanded she get tested for sexually transmitted diseases. Ellie had informed him, not so sweetly, that she’d already done that and for him to stay out of her business.

It’d been a rough couple of weeks until Spencer finally calmed down. I had done my absolute best to stay out of it.

I glance at the message notification icon on the screen. It isn’t showing any unread messages, which is a good thing. I don’t want to completely invade Bianca’s privacy, but I would’ve been compelled to look.

I wonder if Ellie or Spencer know about this. Surely Spencer would’ve said something if Ellie was actively looking for Bianca’s father. Then again, it isn’t like Spencer has to tell me everything, but we are like brothers, so I can’t see him
not
saying something.

Fuck.

Should I ask Ellie?

What if she doesn’t know?

Should I tell her?

“Fuck.” I brush my hand down my face, over my beard, then reach for my water.

It really is none of my business. If Bianca is looking for her father, that’s a good thing, right? I know that Ellie has been open and honest about the pregnancy. She never tried to hide anything about the man. And yes, I know the guy’s name is James. As the story goes, Ellie met him in a casino, invited him to a club, and then later that night, they went back to her room and things happened. According to her, they used a condom but something obviously went wrong. Ellie has also admitted that she was the one to sneak out, leaving the guy asleep when she headed to the airport for home the next morning.

I take another drink as I continue to stare at the picture. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Is it my place to tell Ellie? Obviously Bianca wouldn’t want me seeing this, so I know she accidentally left it open. Should I pretend I don’t know?

And what if Bianca does find her father? What if he shows up in Ellie’s life unexpectedly? What if…?

I set my water down with a thud.

What if Ellie sees him again and falls in love with him?

Okay, now that is an incredibly selfish thought. It shouldn’t bother me whether or not Bianca’s father shows up out of the blue and Ellie falls head-over-heels in love with him and they have a perfect little family.

But it does.

Bother me.

A lot.

A hell of a lot more than it should.

Absently, I rub my chest, right over my heart, as another selfish thought takes root.

What if I never get a chance with Ellie because I’ve been too loyal to take a chance in the first place?

Then it dawns on me. I do have a chance. And it has been dropped at my feet.

Ellie is going to be my pretend girlfriend for the foreseeable future. Which means she will be in my life. She’ll get a chance to see the real me, not the one the rest of the world sees.

Shit.

Now I have to figure out a way not to fuck this up, too.

With that thought, I grab my phone and shoot a text to Ellie.