by V. L. Locey
I couldn’t say it. Suddenly, my high moral ground grew a little shaky. I let go of Dillon, my hands dropping to my sides, my sight flickering between the two of them. Christ alive, how had I not seen it? They looked so similar. The dark hair, the cobalt blue eyes, the same jaw and nose, the set of the eyebrows.
“What?” Dillon coughed. His ire overcome with confusion for the moment. “What? What did you just say? You’ve been fucking this guy? This guy?” He waved a hand at Layne. “Are you serious? Holy shit, you slept with my father?”
Chapter Five
And I’d thought the ride from Jersey to Chicago had been long and painful.
The past two hours had been like root canal while skipping Novocain. From the moment that I’d stepped into our room and found Dillon gone to right now things had been a swirling toilet ride into the sewers of human raw emotion. Or maybe that should be sewage. The unbridled hatred, accusations, and sheer gut-wrenching pain on both sides left me feeling like I’d been run through a thrashing machine. I could only imagine how Layne and Dillon were feeling. If I were a tabloid reporter, I’d have one hell of a by-line.
Famous hockey star gets body-checked by surprise son at charity event!
Blech. Tawdry journalism. I’d much rather just report the facts.
“Barkeep,” I called. The guy loped down to me and filled up my shot glass. “Thanks, Bill. Hey, Bill, you ever feel like life is just one big kick in the chops?”
“Every night, buddy,” Bill replied and went back to washing glasses. The hotel bar was pretty quiet, most everyone here was at the auction, out on the town, or enjoying the night in their luxury accommodations.
“If I didn’t know better I’d think I’d stumbled into an old Bogart movie.” Layne walked up behind me and dropped my hat on my head.
“Thanks.” I waved Bill back. “Give him a shot and keep them coming until we go belly up.”
“I was right. I have stumbled into an old Bogart movie.” Layne sighed, hefting himself up onto a stool, his sigh upon planting his ass enormous. I watched from the corner of my eye as he slugged back the shot. His face crinkled and he nearly gagged. “Ugh, my God, are you doing shots of wine?”
“Manischewitz. It’s the only thing I can drink that will get me buzzed and not make me vomit up my spleen. L’chaim.” I tossed back another shot and shivered.
“It’s like cough syrup, no offense.” I waved his comment off with my empty shot glass. “I’ll need something with a bit more bite and far less sugar. Lagavulin neat.” Bill, looking quite dapper in his blue vest and white shirt, poured Layne his drink then discreetly took the fifty Layne slid across the dark wood bar. The barkeep brought his change, filled my shot glass, and went back to playing in the suds. “I feel like processed shit.”
I looked him over. “You look like processed shit, no offense.” He arched an eyebrow before taking a sip of his whiskey. He never shuddered or coughed. Showoff.
“Thank you.”
“So this is incredibly awkward.” I knocked back my shot, licked my lips, and slammed the small glass to the bar. This time Bill brought the bottle. I thanked him with a flick of my finger to the brim of my hat.
“It’s beyond awkward.” I nodded then grabbed the bottle by the neck and raised it to my mouth. “Did you know what he was going to do?”
That question stalled me. My gaze flew to him as I placed the bottle back on the bar. Some lady over in the corner laughed at something her date said.
“Seriously? Did I look like I knew what he was doing? Did I not complain to you about him, this miserable mystery trip, and how I was worried about his behavior?”
He closed his eyes, took a sip, then exhaled. “Yes, I know, I know all that. I’m sorry. It’s just…for fuck’s sake this is not at all how I pictured this All-Star break going.”
“No, me either.” I placed the bottle to my lips and took a long pull. Swallowing made me shiver. “Ugh, it’s got a prune thing going.” I slogged back two more gulps anyway. “So.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Where do we go from here?”
He tossed back his whiskey then rapped on the bar for another. He honestly looked like he’d fallen into ten years’ worth of worry. The fine lines around his glorious eyes were deeper. His shoulders were slumped, his frown set.
“Dillon is going home. I’m going to my lawyer. And I assume you’re putting as much space between me and you that you can.” Bill filled his tumbler. Layne drank it down in one go, got another, and flung that one back as well.
“Wow, it’s impressively frightening how cleanly you can do shots.” I sipped on my bottle of fruity wine, with my hat seated on my head crookedly, just as he’d placed it, and my gaze resting solely on him. “It’s not like this little fling was going anywhere anyway, right? I mean, we had possibly one more night, and then we were done.”
“Right, yes, of course. I would have liked that last night though.” He glanced from the highly buffed bar top to me. “I like you. I was planning on asking if we could possibly go out again once we were both back home.”
I stared at him as if I had gnats for brains. “You were?” This called for more of the meh stuff. I took a large mouthful swished it around then swallowed loudly.
He inclined his head. “I was. I play in Trenton. I live in Morrisville, and you go to school in Trenton. It would have been easy to keep seeing each other.”
“It would have?” My nose was beginning to itch, not a good sign, but I drank more wine anyway. My brain needed to be dull. Good and dull. Dull as a doorknocker. Was that even a thing? Bill was in front of me, all gray-eyed and soft-spoken, pouring more whiskey for Layne while giving me amused looks. I’d slap him if my nose didn’t itch so badly.
“Yes, it would have. But…”
And there it was. The dreaded but. But Dillon was his son. Or so rumor had it. “You know something? You might not be his son! Wait…” I sneezed into my elbow, blinked a few dozen times, and then reformulated my thoughts. “Father. You might not be his father. You should have a paternally test done!”
“How have you gotten so sloppy in such a short time and on such sweet stuff?” He gently removed the bottle of wine from my hand and asked Bill for coffee instead. A short kerfuffle erupted, which Layne easily won because I was tipsy and my bottle of wine was forever gone. “And yes, I plan to get a paternity test done, but Dillon will have to agree to that, and right now I don’t think he’s in the mood to agree to anything that I may suggest.”
“Yeah, probably not.” I sighed, wishing I had my wine back. I stared at the wall of bottles, sadness settling on my shoulders like a twin pirate parrots. “You ever wish you were a pirate?”
“Several times in the last few hours,” he replied, draining his glass yet again. Bill appeared with a brown mug of steaming stuff and a whiskey bottle. I got the hot stuff while Layne got more booze, which hardly seemed fair. I picked up a sugar packet and tried to open it, but it was unopenable. “Sailing away from port and leaving all the troubles behind sounds damn good, but I’m not running from this. Dillon, and Katie, both seem to think I simply threw them away like old luggage, but I never knew she was pregnant.” He reached over to help me tear open the sugar packet. I was such a klutz. “I’m hoping to get in touch with my mother, and hopefully she’ll remember taking that call.”
“Dillon hates me now.” I dumped some sugar into the black coffee then saw I had no spoon. So I stole a swizzle stick from the napkin, stick, tiny plastic sword bar dispenser and stirred with that. “Did you hear him calling me a slut?”
“I think that was directed at both of us,” Layne mumbled into his whiskey. “Give him time to calm down. I’m sure once he does he’ll see that neither of us had any way of knowing.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” My coffee looked up at me, all hot and forlorn. “I’m going to have to call my mother to come get me. I can’t believe he left me here.”
“I’ll fly you home.”
“I’m not sure that’s a g
ood idea. Maybe we shouldn’t see each other again.”
I peeked over from my melancholy cup of coffee to Layne. His lips were papercut thin. “Is that what your heart says or is that what your guilt says? They’re two different things, Roman.”
Knowing he was right, I gazed into my coffee as if it were a crystal ball. “Facts,” I whispered then cleared my throat. “I deal in facts. I’m a journalist. Cold hard facts with no tempering from emotion or political aflacks.” My nose tingled again which made my eyes blurry. “No, that’s a duck in a commercial. Affil-i-ates.”
“Affiliations,” Layne kindly provided.
“Yes!” I thumped him on the bicep. “Political affiliations. I have none when it comes to reporting. So, the facts are that I would love to continue seeing you again because you’re just wow with a capital W.”
He smiled softly then took a small sip of his whiskey. “There’s a but coming. I can feel it.”
“No, nope, no buts.” I shook my head so strongly my hat slipped down over my eye. I rushed to shove it back where it belonged on top of my head. Gangsta. “Maybe a perhaps or something. I want to keep seeing you, and I’m not saying this because I’m slightly inebriated.”
“Only slightly, huh?”
“Yes, only slightly. There may be problems.” I let my body sort of slowly lean to the left so that my shoulder was resting on his.
“Roman, this whole thing is a problem.” He sighed over his whiskey. “I am glad to hear that you’re willing to try to make this work. What we have? It’s pretty powerful. It has potential.”
“Yeah, it is and yeah it does.” My phone vibrated, and I hurried to dig it out of my back pocket to check it. It might be Dillon deciding he had overreacted and was coming back to get me so we could talk this all out. Sadly, it was just someone posting on my campus newspaper chat thread about a possible story brewing about the decaf coffee in the science department’s staff lounge being laced with rum. Which, if I were a professor, I’d totally lace my coffee too. “I still kind of can’t believe he left me here in Chicago like an unwanted tube sock.”
“He knew I’d make sure you’d get home safely.” Layne finished his drink then placed the glass upside down on the bar. “Let’s go. I’m getting more depressed sitting here and hearing the hoots from the auction. I feel terrible pulling out at the last minute and letting everyone down.”
“Hey, you were in no place to be parading up and down a catwalk making with the fakey-fakey stud parade.” I slid from the stool and felt my knees buckle. “Whoa. Damn.” I grabbed Layne, getting a grip of a thick bicep. He slipped an arm around my back. “I’m sloshy.”
With his assistance, I found his bed. He removed my shoes, my hat, and my jeans. I giggled and made a come-hither kind of sound before passing out. Call me Mr. Smooth Moves. I slept like a rock, blinking to life when someone cruel opened the blinds. Sun flowed into the room. I hissed like a scorched vampire then burrowed into the blankets.
“Time to roll out. It’s close to eleven and check-out is noon.” I groaned at that news but slowly—ever-so-slowly—emerged from under the covers. Layne was seated in a soft gray wingback in the corner, sipping coffee, looking nicely put together and incredibly unhappy. The bright sparkle in his deep blue eyes had been extinguished. “Can I say I’m getting great pleasure seeing you wake up in my bed?” I ran my hands over my hair, pressed it down, and made a face. “And your hair is the crowning touch to your appeal. Let it be, Roman, it’s a glorious part of what makes you so uniquely you. That and your hats. And your fashion sense.”
“And my ability to hold my booze,” I grumbled while moving my hands. My hair sprang to life.
“Yes, your ability to hold your liquor is impressive.” That comment was followed by a wan smile. “Go shower. I’ll order up some food for you then we’re flying out of O’Hare at one.”
“Shit.” I untangled myself from the sheets and made my way into the bathroom, his gaze steady on me until I shut the door. My head was touchy. My mouth was with what could only be described as the sludge your garbage disposal harked up into the sink on occasion, and my hair was out of control. A quick shower, a ton of conditioner, and a brisk tooth brushing helped me feel more human. I skipped shaving. There wasn’t enough on my chin to worry about. When I padded out into the bedroom in only a towel, my fingers working the knots out of my frizz, Layne met me at the door, my breakfast on a tray in his hands.
“Hope you like eggs and bacon.” He stopped dead. “Shit, sorry. I’ll eat the bacon.”
My smile was genuine. “Thanks for this.” I waved at the tray before taking it. “And for everything, this has been one of the best getaways ever, even with the drama that came with it.”
He studied me intently, the sun streaming into the room gave his dark brown hair some lovely auburn glints.
“Are you saying that you’ve decided we shouldn’t continue seeing each other?”
I sat down on the bed. “Not at all. I did some thinking in the shower.” Layne dropped back into that gray chair in the corner as I uncovered my food. I passed the dish with the bacon to him then picked up a half slice of wheat bread with butter. “I know that Dillon is mad at us, unjustly, yes, because we had no way of knowing who the other was. If he had been open with me and told me his plans and who was involved, I would have probably battled back my attraction to you. I mean, I’ve been attracted to a lot of men, but I didn’t act on that attraction. I had a huge crush on my history teacher in tenth grade, but I never flirted with him.”
“Agreed.” He bit a crisp slice of bacon in half.
“Right, so…” I dipped my toast into a perfectly made over-easy egg. Yolk oozed out of the center of the egg. My stomach rumbled. “A large part of the blame falls on Dillon for being secretive when I asked, nay begged, him to tell me what was going on. Those are facts. Also, more facts.” I hurried to get my dripping toast to my mouth, took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and then dipped my toast again into the yolk. “Until you are legally proven to be his father, there is no claim to him calling you that on the shaky confession of a woman who might have had more than one sexual partner when you were dating her.” Layne started to argue, to defend Katie. I held up my toast to cut him off. Yolk dribbled to my thigh. I rushed to eat my toast then wiped my fingers on the cloth napkin beside my plate and dabbed up the yolk on my leg. “No, don’t say it’s not possible because it is. I like Mrs. North a lot. She’s been super kind to me, but when people are struggling financially sometimes they make false claims against those who are financially secure. Again, not to be mean but facts are facts.”
“But that’s what makes no sense. Dillon is a grown man. She’s not tracking me down for child support or asking me for any kind of monetary settlement at all.”
“That we know of. She might yet. Or she might just have been overcome with the guilt of keeping the identity of Dillon’s father from him for so long, and it came out unwittingly. We won’t know the real story until we talk to her.”
“We? Are you planning to sit her down in front of a tape recorder and pump her for information?” His tone told me that my plans to sit her down in front of a tape recorder and pump her for information would not be well received. So he was not only good looking, a talented athlete, giving, kind, amazing in bed, and funny he was also chivalrous. Damn the man and his scruples.
“Don’t be silly,” I countered. “I was going to go talk to her after I talk to her son. We need to get to the bones of this situation.”
Layne gave me a smile. “Roman, I have a lawyer who will handle all the poking, prodding, and investigating. No, don’t argue.” I shut my mouth. “We have to handle this tactfully. I’ve already been in touch with my attorney, the team, and my father. My mother is on a cruise to the Bahamas with her sisters, but I left her a message to call me when she gets back to her cabin. Dad says he never heard one thing about Katie or any woman I ever had a relationship with claiming I had gotten her pregnant then ran. I would not do that.”
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“I know. I can see the truth of your words in your eyes,” I said, wiggling back a bit more on the bed. I poked my other egg with more toast, gobbled it down, and then took a swig of coffee after I sweetened it. “Okay, so we’ll leave that to your lawyer. But I am going to have a talk with Dillon. He’s my roommate. I can’t avoid him, and I don’t want to. Right now, I’m not sure if I’m feeling more guilt, sadness, or anger.”
“Mm, yes, I’m riding in that same emotional rollercoaster car you’re in.” He snapped another bacon slice in half then sat there staring at it. “If he would have come to me without all the anger and loud accusations, we could have handled this situation with more delicacy. Now it’s going to be splashed all over the place because I can guarantee you that the guys who were there have told their friends, wives, and other teammates. When we land in Trenton be prepared for a media assault.”
He jammed some bacon in his mouth and chewed aggressively. Yes, the press was going to have a field day with this.
“Dillon tends to run hot,” I said as I cut my now flat egg with my fork. “Quick to anger, quick to forgive. Usually.”
“Mm, well, let’s hope so. If this turns out to be true I do not want to have the boy hate me for something that I wasn’t even aware of.”
“He’s the same age I am,” I pointed out.
He grimaced. “I don’t think of you as a boy.”
“I know that, but in reality, you are old enough to be my father. Which is why I think we should keep our friendship on the down-low until things settle down. You don’t need the stigma of being involved with your son’s—”
“Alleged son.” He was quick to point out as he wolfed down the last slice of bacon.
“Yes, factually, alleged is right but you two do look a lot alike,” I added, getting a slow bob of his head in agreement. “Anyway, you don’t need the stigma of being involved with a young man the same age as your alleged son. It’s a gross can of worms that the press doesn’t need to know about and oh my God what did I just say?” I could not fathom that I’d just suggested lying to the press. Me. Of all people. “I just said we should cover up our relationship. What would Carl Bernstein think of me? Oh, the shame.”
