Kane, Page 3

  “What happened?” Kane asks. If the tone of his voice matches his insides, I’m almost afraid he wants to vomit.

  “I was in North Carolina last week.” I reach for my wineglass, then take another sip. “On Topsail Island. There’s a great campground that sits on the intercoastal waterway. I got up, took Samson for a walk, had breakfast, and was back in the van getting it ready to depart.”

  It was a simple matter of cleaning up my dishes and utensils and folding the bed into a chest along one side of the van that, when closed, becomes a bench I can sit on. On the opposite wall of the van is a pullout table, and it’s where I sit to do my blogging.

  “Samson let out a bark.” I get lost in the memories. “Most of the other campers had already pulled out, so I was surprised. The bark wasn’t a warning type… it was friendly, and that in itself was unusual because Samson trusts very few people. You’re one, obviously.”

  Kane doesn’t even smile at the pointed reminder Samson loves him.

  “I was on my hands and knees in the van, folding up the mattress to stow, and I glanced over my shoulder to see who Samson was welcoming toward us. It was Matthew.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Kane mutters, his voice anguished.

  “He came at me so fast I couldn’t even react,” I say, amazed at how steady my voice is. I’m safe right now. No reason to fall back into the fear. “He came right in through the back doors. Before Samson could figure out anything was wrong, he’d closed them. I could hear Samson barking and snarling, lunging at the doors, but by then Matthew was on top of me, pinning me to the floor.”

  Kane lunges up from his seat so violently he knocks over his glass of wine. It shatters against the tiled top of the table. Red liquid starts running my way, and I push my chair back and rise as I watch it begin to pour over onto the patio. Kane moves to the railing, gripping onto it hard as he stares out over Phoenix.

  I give him a moment to process, watching him take a deep breath.

  Then another,

  And another.

  Finally, he turns to me, sorrow etched on every line and angle of his beautiful face. He silently waits for me to tell him the worst of it.

  “I don’t think he was there to rape me,” I say quietly. It’s obvious that’s where Kane’s thoughts had gone as his shoulders visibly sag. “I think he was there to kill me.”

  “Fuck,” he yells out into the night, then he’s lunging at me. It doesn’t scare me, though… that sudden move. Because I know Kane and I trust him. In seconds, I’m in his arms, and he’s holding me tight. I can feel the fury vibrating off his body, straight into mine, but I can also feel the relief. Because right now, at this moment, he knows I was neither raped nor murdered.

  I tip my head back to look up at him. “I fought hard, Kane. My gun was under my front seat so I couldn’t get to it, but I punched, kicked, and scratched. I landed a lucky knee right to his groin, pushed him off me, and scrambled for the door. Somehow, he got a hand on my ankle and started pulling me back, but I was able to turn the latch and give it just enough of a push to open it up.”

  Kane’s head turns. He looks down at Samson, who is gazing right back at Kane as if to say, “Yeah, man… I did my job.”

  I smile at my best furry friend in the world. “Samson came flying in like an avenging angel. I didn’t stick around to watch, but I saw him latch onto Matthew’s arm, which caused him to release my ankle. I just heard a lot of snarling from Samson and screaming from Matthew as I scrambled out and went running for help.”

  “Excuse me,” Kane says, releasing his hold on me. Dropping down to his knees beside Samson, he starts to give him vigorous head scratches. “But your dog needs more attention from me now than you do.”

  It was the right words at the right time. Busting out laughing, I watch my best friend love on my other best friend for saving me.

  “And tomorrow,” Kane promises him. “I’m going out to buy ten pounds of the choicest filet mignon for you, buddy.”

  Samson chuffs in delight.

  But then Kane’s attention comes back to me, and he rises with a somber expression. “What happened to Matthew?”

  “Gone like the wind,” I say thickly, and thus the source of my continued fear.

  I explain I had found some campers, who came running back with me. We found Samson guarding the van, blood around his mouth and fur, but no Matthew. The police were called, and a warrant was issued for his arrest for assault. But no one could find him. We weren’t sure what damage Samson had done, but Matthew didn’t seek medical help that the police could determine.

  What they were able to find out by doing a forensics examination of my phone was Matthew had installed something that allowed him to ping my location. No telling how long he had been quietly stalking me, but I was never out of his sights.

  “When I left North Carolina, I drove around aimlessly for a bit, but I realized I was heading west. I didn’t think I knew where to go, but I did. It’s why I’m here. I just need… to be safe for a bit.”

  “For God’s sake, Mollie,” Kane says, grabbing me into a tight hug again. “You are safe here with me. You can stay as long as you want, and that bastard will never find you here.”

  While I had considered going to my parents’ home, Matthew knew where I was from. If he’s as crazy as I think he is, that would just be too easy.

  Not that he doesn’t know who Kane is to me. He knows all about my best friend the star hockey player, and there’s a chance he could figure out I’ve come here.

  But he doesn’t know where Kane lives, and that’s an added measure of security.

  However, when it boils down to it, I came to Kane because it’s simply where I wanted to be.

  Needed, really.

  I just need him right now.

  CHAPTER 4

  Kane

  Today’s workout was a beast. Because I’m not in a rush to get back to the apartment—to Mollie—I had suggested to a few of the guys that we hit an early lunch at one of my favorite delicatessens near the arena. Mollie decided to rent a car while she’s here in Phoenix, despite my offer for her to use my truck whenever she wanted. But she wanted her own transportation, her van not the easiest to maneuver around. As it was, we’ve got it parked in one of my two slots afforded to me in the underground garage under my building, and I’ll gladly let her use the other spot. I don’t mind the hunt to find street parking.

  Jim Steele and Jett Olsson took me up on my offer for lunch, so we are tucking into thick deli sandwiches and pasta salads. Jett went with three cookies on the side.

  “You’re going to get fat and slow if you keep eating like that,” Jim tells him, nodding at his plate.

  The three of us make up the core of the second line for the Arizona Vengeance. I’m the center, Jim is my left-winger, and Jett is my right-winger. Even though I just came to the team at the end of last season, we managed to click very well during the playoffs. I do believe the fact we won the Cup, defeating the defending Cold Fury champions, is a testament to that.

  “I can beat you down the ice any day, old man,” Jett quips in his Swedish accent, giving him an evil smirk.

  Jim’s not sensitive about his age. He’s one of the oldest on our team at thirty-three, but it’s just a number. He’s still quick and agile enough to beat young rookies down the ice, so he just rolls his eyes at Jett.

  “I don’t know about you two,” Jett continues while chewing through a mouthful of pastrami on rye, “but I’m pumped about training camp starting next week.”

  Jim and I nod our heads, choosing not to talk with our mouths full. It’s been a long summer. While not one of us bemoan the time off, we’re all eager to get back to work and see if we can win a repeat championship.

  After training camp, the pre-season games start, and it’s on. Not many things in my life compare to the rush of what I do for a living, so to say I’m looking forward to getting back on the ice is an understatement.

  “Which means,” Jett says, waving a
cookie in our direction, “we’ve got minimal opportunity to misbehave. Thus, I’m eating cookies. Also, we should go out tonight and party it up. What do you say?”

  “I’m out,” I reply without thought, wanting to do nothing more than hang with Mollie. I have no clue how long she’s going to stay with me, but if it’s only going to be a few days, I want to spend all the time I can with her.

  And sure, I could bring her out with us tonight, but I don’t know where her head is right now. After our talk last night—when she told me what Matthew had done—I realized even more how precious she was to me.

  “Got better plans?” Jim teases.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” I say. “I have a friend in town who I’m hanging with.”

  “So, bring him,” Jim says.

  “It’s a her,” I reply.

  Jim and Jett exchange a transparent look, telling me their minds are in the gutter.

  “She’s my best friend,” I explain. “It’s not like that.”

  I get nothing but blank looks back, which is typical when I try to explain Mollie to people. I just don’t understand why it’s so hard for others to realize that men and women can be best friends without anything sexual.

  As we eat, I take a moment to explain. I tell them about college, summers hanging out, and the bond we’ve formed, ending with her travel blogging—which impressed them mightily, as it should—and that she’s here for an impromptu visit.

  “So, bring her out with us tonight?” Jett suggests, then gives a waggle of his eyes. “Is she hot?”

  I glare across the table. “She’s gorgeous. If you even look at her sideways, I’ll stomp you to the ground.”

  Jim gets a knowing look in his eyes, smirks over at Jett. “I see… they’re just friends, but he doesn’t want her to be anything more with anyone else.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I growl, but he’s not wrong. While I’ve managed to keep a good face on over the years as Mollie’s dated various men—even most recently this dipshit Matthew—it would be more than I could handle watching her with one of my teammates while visiting.

  A change of topic is in order before I lose my cool with my mates. “Have y’all seen Baden lately?”

  “I went up to visit him yesterday,” Jim says, his voice lowering an octave to denote the sadness this topic brings about. “He’s not doing well.”

  I nod. I had gone to visit him earlier in the week. He’s a shell of the man I once knew.

  Baden Oullet was our backup goalie, an integral part of our team. Always one with a quick smile, sharp wit, and a propensity for pulling pranks. While we’re all friendly with each other, Baden was also revered because his position was one of little glory since he rode pine most of the time to our primary goalie, Legend Bay. But the reason he had so much respect was when Legend needed a break, Baden was the one teammate we could always count on to step onto the ice and give as good an effort as Legend would have. He was that good, yet he never bemoaned his number-two spot.

  Tragically, he was seriously injured two months ago in a heroic act of bravery. He was attempting to stop a gang of thugs from attacking a woman, and barely came out of the encounter with his life. He had been stabbed multiple times, then beaten with a tire iron. He lost a spleen and had a severe brain bleed, but the most damaging injury was a spinal contusion. While he’s recovered from most of the wounds, he, unfortunately, has severe paralysis in his legs. He was just moved to a rehab hospital a few weeks ago, where he’s undergoing intensive physical therapy and has another surgery on his spine scheduled. While no doctor will come out and say one way or the other, the consensus is his career is over. At this point, we don’t even know if he’ll walk again.

  What the team found out through numerous visits is Baden seems to have lost his spirit to fight. He’ll smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He won’t actively engage in conversation, but he will answer direct questions.

  He’s fucking depressed, but who wouldn’t be? Frankly, none of us know how to help him.

  “He told me he wants to get moved to a hospital closer to home,” Jim says dejectedly.

  Baden’s parents still live back in Montréal, and it would make sense for him to go back there. But he also has the best medical staff a man could want here, especially one hoping to make a full recovery. Our team’s owner, Dominik Carlson, has seen to that. I expect he’ll stay here at least for the second surgery, but then, after that, I have a horrible feeling he’ll leave and no longer be a part of our lives.

  “Hey,” Jett says, waving his second cookie. “Miracles happen all the time. He needs to look on the bright side. He’s starting to get some feeling back in his legs, so he could continue to get better.”

  “But he’ll most likely never play professional hockey again,” I point out.

  “I never say never,” Jett replies with a firm nod. For a moment, I want to have that type of optimistic hope for my friend.

  I smile back. “You know what… you’re right. Miracles happen all the time.”

  “Fucking right,” Jim adds, his expression turning into one of confidence. And then just as quickly, it slides right off his face to be replaced by one of stunned disbelief. “What in the ever-loving fuck?” he growls as his gaze pins on something across the restaurant.

  Jett turns slightly. I have to twist in my seat, but my gaze lands on exactly what’s causing Jim’s distress.

  His wife, Ella, walking in with another man. He has his hand pressed to her lower back while her head is tipped back, laughing at something he’s saying. They weave their way through the tables on their way out.

  I grimace when the man’s palm drops from Ella’s back to take her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. She smiles, all doe-eyed, and they make their way out of the restaurant.

  “She’s dating, huh?” I ask my friend, feeling sick to my stomach for him.

  Jim and Ella separated about five months ago, and they’re sharing custody of their thirteen-year-old daughter, Lucy.

  “Christ,” Jim mutters, dropping his sandwich onto his plate. I can tell he’s lost his appetite. He shakes his head. “She said she was thinking about it, but that looks like she’s done a lot more than think.”

  I don’t know the details of what happened, but Jim hasn’t been happy about the separation. He’s been under a lot of stress, mainly because Lucy hasn’t been making things easy on him. She’s put herself in her mom’s corner, and she seems to butt heads with him at every turn.

  “Maybe you need to get back in the dating game,” Jett suggests. “Help distract you.”

  “I don’t want to fucking date anyone else,” Jim growls, and that’s the most I’ve heard him take a stand on his marital issues.

  “It’s hard to get back in the saddle,” I offer, keeping my tone neutral. Now I’m just being fucking nosy.

  “I don’t want to get out of my current saddle,” he grumbles. “I want to keep my current saddle with my wife in it.”

  I blink in surprise because I just assumed their marriage was over. I mean, I figured there were hard feelings to resolve and shit, but to hear Jim doesn’t want to be separated is a damn revelation.

  “Have you told her this?” I ask curiously.

  Jim shakes his head. “We don’t seem to be able to have a civil conversation these days.”

  Jett and I exchange glances. He gives a slight shrug, meaning he doesn’t have a lick of good advice.

  Not sure I do, either, but I know not talking about it is guaranteed failure. “Then I suggest you put on your big-girl panties and resolve to have a civil conversation.”

  Jim’s eyes flash hot, but he doesn’t argue. His shoulders immediately sag in defeat. “I know. I need to sit down with her to tell her how I feel.”

  “Which is?” I press.

  “That I want her back,” he mutters.

  “You’ve got to have a better plan than that,” I point out. “I mean… I’m not a marriage therapist, but I’m going to suggest there were reasons you
rs fell apart. You better be prepared to want to fix that shit first.”

  Jim throws his thumb over his shoulder where Ella had just walked out the door. “She’s moved on. She looks happy. Tell me how to compete with that.”

  “Make her happier,” Jett says simply.

  I nod. That’s good advice.

  “I wouldn’t even know how to go about doing that these days,” Jim says on a sigh. He pushes his plate away. “Either of you want this? My appetite is gone.”

  “I’ll take it,” Jett says, pulling the Reuben onto his plate.

  “You’re going to get fat,” I remind him.

  It gives Jett a moment’s pause, but then he shrugs and lifts the sandwich. It gets a chuckle out of Jim, which I’m glad to see. I don’t know how he’s going to go about fixing his problems, but speaking from a teammate’s point of view, he’s going to need to get his head straightened out with the start of the season, so he better figure out something soon.

  CHAPTER 5

  Mollie

  Kane keeps glancing over the console as we drive. We’re going to The Sneaky Saguaro to meet up with some of his teammates for some food and drinks. We’ve got the radio cranked to some Fitz and the Tantrums, and the sunroof is open to let the warm Arizona night breeze in.

  After about the fourth crane of his neck my way, I reach over and turn the volume down. “What?” I demand.

  “Are you sure you’re up for going out tonight?” he asks.

  No surprise in that question.

  Since I told him about Matthew’s attack yesterday, Kane tends to look at me like I’m a piece of fragile glass getting ready to shatter. He didn’t even want to go out tonight with his friends, and I only found out about it by eavesdropping on a phone call a few hours ago when one called to see if he was coming out to join them.

  The tone of his voice had been slightly apologetic but firm when he’d said, “No. I think Mollie and I are just going to hang at my place tonight. Have a quiet evening.”