Kingston stays silent as he makes a right into the arena parking lot, and as usual, he takes a spot near the back. I hit the release on my seat belt, wanting to escape him and this conversation.
“Hey.” His warm, calloused fingers wrap around my wrist, and he lifts it to his lips, kissing each of my knuckles. “You’re anything but mediocre, Queenie. You’re magnificent, and whoever told you that you’re not talented is malicious and jealous.”
He’s not wrong. “My mother is the one who told me that.” And she is most definitely both of those things.
His eyes fall closed, and his cheek tics with his slow exhale. When his lids flip open, his gaze holds sadness and anger. “I want you to listen to me, Queenie. You are not mediocre. You are amazing and the world is at your fingertips. The sooner you realize that, the easier it will be for you to shine like you’re supposed to.”
“Please don’t say things like that to me,” I whisper.
“Why not? Especially when it’s the truth.” He unbuckles his seat belt. “You should be proud of yourself, Queenie. I know I am. You were amazing with Lavender today. You make me want things I’ve only thought about in the abstract until now.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know that you’re ready for what that means yet.” He drags his fingers down my cheek. “But you should seriously reconsider finishing that art degree. Success and worth don’t need to be based on something as arbitrary as whether or not you have pieces in a gallery. It can definitely be part of your dream and your journey, but I’d hate for you to walk away from something you’re so obviously passionate about because you’ve allowed one person’s misguided jealousy to form your entire opinion of yourself.”
“Where did you even come from?”
“Tennessee.”
“Ha ha, that’s not what I—”
He presses his lips to mine. “I see you, Queenie. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not worthy.”
I slide my hand around the back of his neck and deepen the kiss instead of responding with words. Because as much as I want to believe him, there’s a heaviness that weighs on me. One I thought I’d buried six years ago when I walked away from Corey and ran where it was safest: home. And the only person who’s never turned his back on me: my dad. Even he doesn’t know how very bad some of my mistakes have been. If he did, he might turn his back too. So why wouldn’t Kingston?
CHAPTER 20
THE FALL OF HAPPINESS
Queenie
The thing about happiness is that it isn’t meant to last. Life is a roller coaster: slow climbs to the top, a brief balance in euphoria, and then a steep drop that leaves you screaming and gasping for breath.
This isn’t a metaphor for an orgasm, either, although it could be, because they fall under the same principle.
Over the next few days I skip blindly through that state of suspended euphoria, ignoring the niggling worries and doubts that nip at my heels and threaten my bubble of bliss. I wear Kingston’s words like battle armor, protecting me from the fears and self-doubts that no amount of therapy—another thing my dad has footed the bill for—could ever seem to cure.
I should know better than to rely on any one single thing to make me happy. Especially not a single person. But I feel like I’ve finally found my person. The one who won’t try to tame my chaos but will let me live in it and help me balance my impulsiveness with stability. He’s yin and I’m yang. He’s sugar and I’m salt.
It’s a game day, so the team will be at the arena soon to get ready. I have a few more emails and memos to tackle, and then I can enjoy the game from the comfort of the box with Lainey, Stevie, Violet, and some of the other girls. I love watching Kingston tend goal. He’s so focused and intense. Just like he is in bed.
Once I’m done with the emails, I switch to my personal account and click on the new email from the University of Seattle. After the conversation with Kingston in his car the other day, I pulled out my college transcripts and reviewed all the courses and programs I’d taken over the years. I dropped out with one semester left to go for my art and psych degree. Then I tried a couple of other programs, but neither of them was a good fit.
So maybe it’s time to go back and finish what I started and see if maybe my mother is wrong—that even if my art isn’t gallery worthy, it’s still worth something. That I can do something that will give my dad, and me, a reason to be proud of myself for once.
I respond to the email from the local college confirming the appointment for next week with their admissions team, then head down the hall to the copy room to make duplicates of a few important documents. I kick the stopper in front of the jamb so the door doesn’t close on me. It’s wonky and doesn’t like to stay open without some help.
I’m waiting on the last document when the door behind me closes with a soft click. I assume it’s Kingston, because he always finds me before he suits up. “Looking to add the copy room to your pregame make-out session list?” My smile dissolves when I turn around and find not Kingston but Corey. “What the hell do you want?”
He leans against the closed door, blocking the only way out of the room, which now feels infinitely smaller with his huge body taking up space in here. He’s dressed in a suit, reminding me of the first time we met, back when he was playing varsity-level hockey. How stupid I’d been to fall for his charming smile and smooth lines back then.
He crosses his arms. “We need to talk.”
“No. We don’t.” I grab the last of the copies and slip them into the file folder. Tipping my chin up, I face him with confidence I don’t feel, and that niggling feeling starts to spread, churning in my stomach and seeping into my limbs. “Move, please. You have a game to get ready for, and my dad needs to see me.” I try to push past him, but he’s like a brick wall.
“No, he doesn’t. He’s already in the arena, and we have shit to discuss.” He eyes me with contempt.
“You can’t lock me in here with you and force me to listen to whatever bullshit you feel like slinging in my direction, Corey.”
“Looks like I’ve already done that, so your best bet is to shut your fucking mouth and listen for once. You’ve caused me more than enough headaches, and I’m sick and tired of your ‘I’m so entitled because my daddy is a big shot’ whiny bitch attitude.”
My stomach twists uncomfortably with anxiety, and my cheeks heat with anger and embarrassment. “What the hell are you even talking about?”
“My girlfriend tried to apply for a marriage license this morning, and you know what happened?”
“She saw something shiny in a window and it distracted her?” His girlfriend, Sissy, comes to all the home games, and she’s forever dressed in sequins. It makes her baby belly look like a disco ball. Which is probably the point.
Corey’s lip twitches. “Always such a fucking smart-ass, aren’t you? She couldn’t get one.”
“Because she’s not capable of filling out the required paperwork?”
“Do you think you’re funny, Queenie? You think it’s some kind of joke that you’re forever fucking up my life?”
“I’ve had nothing to do with you for six damn years, and I would be more than happy to never have anything to do with you again. You know what? I’m done with this conversation. It’s not my fault your girlfriend doesn’t know how to fill out applications.” I try to elbow him out of the way, but he won’t move. “Let me out.”
“We’re not done here.” He holds up a hand to keep me at bay. “My girlfriend can fill out applications just fine. You are the reason she couldn’t apply for the license.”
“What? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does, though. Because we’re still fucking married.” He motions between us aggressively.
That horrible churning in my stomach ramps up. “That’s impossible. There must be some mistake. I filed the papers.”
“Well, you fucked up somewhere along the way, like you always do. They never went through, and now she�
��s losing her goddamn mind, and it’s your fucking fault.”
“How the hell is this my fault? I did my part. In fact I did everything! I got the paperwork; I tabbed every page you damn well needed to sign. I stood there while some bunny hoovered your damn neck and flipped the pages for you so you wouldn’t fuck it up. I even handed you half the damn money in person. All you had to do was pay the fucking fee!”
Corey’s brow furrows and then he sneers, leaning in so his face is close to mine. “If you hadn’t gone running home to Daddy when shit didn’t work out the way you wanted, we could’ve gone right to the courthouse and taken care of things, so don’t try to turn this around and make it my fault.”
“Is that supposed to make any damn sense? Did you or didn’t you pay the filing fee?”
“It was a long time ago. How the hell am I supposed to remember?”
“Jesus Christ, Corey. Do you take responsibility for anything in your asshole privileged life?”
“My life is privileged? Fuck you, little Miss ‘I’m the Queen of My Fucking Castle.’ It wasn’t like you couldn’t afford to pay the entire thing, with your dad sitting all high up in the NHL administration ranks.”
“It wasn’t like I could ask him for money to pay for a divorce! I was eighteen!” I don’t know why I’m engaging in this argument with him. It’s pointless. Corey is the master at deflecting blame.
He rolls his eyes. “God, you’re still so fucking pathetic. You want to know the real reason I married you in the first place? Other than the fact that I wanted to pop that precious fucking cherry you were so intent on holding on to. You weren’t even that great in bed. Pretty fucking boring, actually.”
“I’m done listening to this! Let me out of here.” I try to get around him to open the door, but it’s useless. Corey is bigger and stronger than I am by a lot. He’s not going to let me go until he’s finished tearing me down.
“You’re done when I tell you you’re done. Your dad had connections, and he could get me what I wanted a lot easier than waiting for the scouts to pick me up. That’s the only reason I kept you around as long as I did. It’s the only reason I let you talk me into marrying you. And then I realized what a clingy, needy nightmare you were. I mean, is it really a surprise that I went looking elsewhere to get what I needed? Plus, I was twenty. Like I was going to spend my best years on one lame pussy.”
“You’re a pig.”
“I’m honest. It’s not my problem you never liked to hear the truth. I wonder how your Boy Scout is going to feel when he finds out he’s been fucking my wife all this time.”
“I wouldn’t be your anything if you’d paid the filing fee!” Panic makes it feel like I’m being choked. “You can’t tell Kingston.”
“I guess you better fix it if you don’t want him to find out, then. Don’t you think he deserves to know what kind of flake you really are, hiding behind your daddy and his success, leeching off his fucking players like you’re special, when you’re not? Even your name is a goddamn joke. The only thing royal about you is how much of a pain you are in everyone’s ass.” He opens the door, finally. I don’t try to push past him, though, aware he’s not quite done taunting me by the way his smile curves even higher. “It must suck to be surrounded by awesomeness all the time and be so damn average. Fix the problem, Queenie, unless you want everyone to know what a fuckup you really are.”
He steps out into the hall and pauses, looking over his shoulder, that same awful sneer in place. “And you were never anything to me, Queenie. You were a means to an end. And a mistake, since I got where I wanted to be without you to drag me down. Seems to be the story of your useless life, doesn’t it? You’re everyone’s mistake.”
CHAPTER 21
CRASH AND BURN
Kingston
My phone buzzes with messages from my family, wishing me good luck tonight, and my buoyant mood only increases the closer I get to Queenie’s office. I need to suit up for the game, but first I want to stop and tell my girlfriend the good news and steal a few kisses.
Corey comes around the corner as I reach Queenie’s office. He’s dressed in his suit—he’s always name and brand dropping, like people are actually impressed by what he wears. We all know what his salary is. He’s a big earner, but he’s no Rook Bowman. He smirks and starts whistling a funeral march as he heads in the opposite direction I am, toward the locker room.
I don’t like that he was down here, where he could potentially run into Queenie without me around to make sure he keeps his distance. I stop by her office, but she’s not there, which amps up the anxious feeling that’s making my shoulders tight.
Jake’s office door is open, so I pop my head in there, too, but it’s empty. I decide to check the copy room, on alert because Corey came from that direction. I round the corner just as Queenie does, scaring the crap out of her and causing her stack of papers to flutter across the floor.
“Shit!” She presses one hand against her chest and the other against mine. “You scared the hell out of me.”
I run my palms down her arms. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see you before the game, and I passed Slater in the hall. He was coming from this direction, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. Did you run into him too?”
“What?” Her eyes lift to mine briefly and then dart down as she crouches to pick up the scattered papers. “Oh, no. I didn’t run into Corey.”
I help her gather up the pages and notice the tremble in her hands. “Are you sure you’re okay? Your hands are shaking.”
She exhales an unsteady breath. “I’m fine. You just scared me, that’s all. I was in a bit of a rush, wanting to get to the arena so I can meet up with the girls.”
“Why don’t we walk down together?”
“Okay. Sure. That would be great.” Her smile is still tremulous, but I did scare the heck out of her, so it’s understandable.
We drop off the stack of papers on her desk, which is always a disorganized mess, but she seems to know where things are. She shuts down her computer and grabs her purse, rummaging around in it for her jersey—the one I bought for her a few days ago—with my name and number on the back.
She pulls it over her head, and I take it upon myself to smooth out her hair. Of course, the innocuous contact always makes me want to touch more of her. I follow her into the hall. She fumbles with her keys, so I take them from her and help lock up. We speed walk through the building to where it connects to the arena, fingers threaded together.
“Hey, I have some news.”
“I need to talk to you about something,” she says at the same time. Her cheeks are flushed, no longer pale, but something still seems to be off.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Everything is fine. Good. It can wait until later, after the game. What’s your news?”
“You’re sure you don’t want to talk about it now?”
She bumps her shoulder against my bicep. “I’m sure. Tell me what’s going on. You seem excited.”
“My family usually makes a trip out here to see me play at least once a season, and Hanna’s birthday is coming up so I thought it would be great for them to visit around then. You know, since this one will be kind of different now that my relationship with her has changed some.” I tap my access card on the sensor and open the door for Queenie. Silence gives way to the sound of hockey fans in the distance, and my excitement ramps up.
She squeezes my hand. “I think that’s a great idea. When’s her birthday again? I know you told me, but I’m terrible with dates.”
“In a couple of weeks. My family usually stays at my place, so it can be hectic, and often it’s for, like, a week or more, but it’ll be a great time for you to meet everyone.”
“Meet everyone? Like your entire family? All at once?” Queenie’s voice is pitchy again.
“Don’t worry.” I squeeze her hand this time. “They’re going to love you, Queenie, just like I do.”
She comes to an abrupt halt about ten feet
from the locker room. “What did you say?”
“They’re going to love you.” At first I don’t understand why her eyes are so wide, until it dawns on me what I’ve inadvertently said. I take her free hand in mine and give her a chagrined smile. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t how I meant to tell you that.”
“Or maybe you’re trying to distract me by throwing me a curveball.” She smiles uncertainly.
“No curveballs or distractions. I love you, Queenie. I want you to meet my family so they can fall in love with you too.”
She blinks a few times, and her eyes go glassy. “King, I—” She shakes her head and has to clear her throat.
I duck down, getting in close, because security is only a few feet away and I don’t want them listening in on our private conversation. I also don’t want to put her on the spot, even though I’d like to hear those words from her too. “It’s okay if you’re not ready to say it back.”
“It’s not . . . that’s not it.” She strokes my cheek with her knuckles. “I just haven’t heard those words in a long time . . . from anyone other than my dad, I mean.” She shakes her head. “I love you too.”
“King! Man, you’re gonna see Queenie in like four hours. Get your fucking ass in the locker room and get your gear on unless you wanna watch the game from the bench and give Van Horten a shot to hone his skills in net. He’s been dying to show your ass up all season,” Bishop yells from all of five feet away.
I shoot him a glare. “Are you serious right now?”
“Well, it’s true. You’ll see Queenie after the game, and Van wants to hump your net more than you want to hump your girl. No disrespect meant, Queenie.” Bishop gives me a knowing smile.
Queenie ducks her head and chuckles. “Go do your job. We can talk about . . . everything else later.” She pushes up on her toes and tips her head back.
A Secret for a Secret Page 17
