Felix held the positive pregnancy test, brows raised. “Looks like once was enough.”
It was just my luck. Like the universe was laughing at me. Or punishing me for that one night.
“I had a baby, Sam.” It’s weird to say it out loud, even if it’s only to the wind. “He’s beautiful.” So damn beautiful. “He’s completely bald, but his eyelashes are light, almost translucent. I think he’s going to be blonde like…you.”
I’m rambling, talking like Sam can hear me, even though I know he can’t. But I need this. The connection. Even if it’s just in my head.
“He started smiling last week, and when he does, he has dimples in both cheeks. He looks so much like…” I whisper the next two words. “…like Kane.”
A crow squawks above me as if in protest to my admission.
“It shouldn’t have happened. I never meant…” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I hate him for what he did to you. For what he made you become. For taking you from me. But I hate myself even more for betraying you.”
Because that’s what that night was. A betrayal. After everything Kane did, what he didn’t do. I should never have talked to him again, let alone let him touch me. Kiss me. Consume me.
And he did. I’d held my heart back for years. Or, at least, I thought I had. But with one taste of his lips, every frozen, broken piece of my soul had sparked. And I’d felt something. Something I had no right feeling. Something that I knew would destroy me if I’d stayed.
“I haven’t told him,” I whisper the confession.
The crow squawks again, louder this time, perching on one of the nearby headstones, watching me with beady black eyes, head twisting from side to side.
“Felix has been helping me.” I inhale through my nose, then let out a slow, uneven breath. “He’s been a good friend. Helped me find an apartment, and set up a corner for a studio, so I can still paint when Noah is sleeping. Which isn’t often. But I’ve started to sell some of my paintings…”
God, now I’m lying to a ghost.
I pinch my eyes shut, tilting my head to the sky, letting the first few drops of rain mingle with my tears.
“I miss you so much, Sam.” My throat burns. “I wish you were here. I know you’d want to kick my ass if you were. But…” I crouch and place my palm on the stone over Sam’s name and close my eyes. “If you can hear me, give me a sign. Tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do.”
The crow squawks one last time before flying off. The flap of wings and the whistling of the wind is the only response.
“Brynne?” My name is a shocked slur behind me, followed by the squish of footsteps on wet grass.
My chest tightens.
I don’t need to turn to know who the voice belongs to. Deep and scratchy, that one word burns like fire through my body, while at the same time sending a chill down my spine.
Kane.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Not today. I can’t do this. Not now.
Slowly, painfully, I stand and turn, inhaling sharply at the man who stands in front of me.
Dark scruff shadows the angles of his jaw, and his hair sticks up in different directions like he’s run his fingers through it in frustration. But it’s his eyes, a piercing blue rimmed with red, that has my chest squeezing.
Kane Madden is not a small man, but as he takes a step towards me, he looks – broken.
Emotions coil and curl inside me.
Anger.
Desire.
Bitterness.
Longing.
It doesn’t seem possible to feel so many contrary emotions for one person.
He stands there, watching me with what looks like affection and relief, and a stupid thought pops into my head. Maybe everything will be okay. Maybe he’s not the demon I’ve made him out to be. Maybe we can make things work.
Reckless thoughts.
But I allow them a moment of freedom.
That is, until my gaze drops to the half-empty bottle of scotch in his hand.
He’s drunk. Defiling Sam’s grave just with his presence.
Damn him.
He takes a step towards me, staggering. “Jesus, Brynne. It’s good to see you.”
I snort out a vicious laugh, because some things never change, and Kane Madden is one of them. “I wish I could say the same.”
Chapter 3
Kane
After Coach’s office, I’d left the arena and walked. I had no idea where I was going, other than a liquor store. Vison hazy, brain dimmed by alcohol and grief, I’d let my feet guide me. It wasn’t until I was threading my way through trees and headstones that I knew where I was.
The fucking cemetery. Walking through the stone labyrinth, I’d slammed back half a bottle of scotch, trying to find Sam’s gravestone.
I’d been ready to give up, when I saw her.
Brynne.
Crouched over Sam’s grave, her guard down, I saw the vulnerability that she always tried so hard to hide from the world. And in that moment, it took every last ounce of self-preservation not to scoop her up, wrap my arms around her, and not let go.
She hates you, jackass, my brain warned. She doesn’t want you here. She doesn’t want you anywhere near her.
When her gaze met mine, her emotions unguarded for a split second, I swear I saw straight into her soul. And in it, the reflected loss, the need to connect, the longing for more.
But just as quickly, her expression changed when her gaze landed on the bottle in my hand.
Eyes hardened, and the connection I’d felt seconds before was gone.
The way she looks at me now, disgust turning up her lips, makes my stomach twist.
“Brynne.” Her name on my lips is a tortured cry, and I hate myself for how fucking pathetic I must seem to her.
With a sharp shake of her head, she turns on her heels and moves quickly through the gravestones towards the parking lot.
“Brynne, stop.” I toss the bottle away and catch up to her in three long strides, seizing her forearm and pulling her towards me.
“Let me go.” I feel the tremble that races through her small body, and greedily I take it, take anything other than the hate I see in her eyes.
“We need to talk.” My words are slurred; even I can hear it.
“You’re right, we do. But not like this. Not here. Not when you’re drunk…” Her gaze hardens. “Or high.”
I drop her arm and drag my fingers over my face roughly. “I don’t do that shit. Never fucking have.”
She makes a sound at the back of her throat, one filled with disbelief and contempt. And I know in that second that even if I told her the full truth, she’d never believe me.
“You shouldn’t be here, Kane.”
“He was my friend. Whatever you believe about me, you can’t deny that.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I stop her.
“I know you blame me for what happened. I get it.” Emotions I haven’t let myself feel burn in my chest and squeeze my throat, making it difficult to breath. “But I’m hurting, same as you.”
Silence.
I expect her to turn and walk away, or yell at me. What I don’t expect is the small amount of sympathy I see in her eyes.
“I know.” The words are still full of the anger she tries so desperately to hold on to. But there’s something else. A tiredness. Like she doesn’t have the strength to argue with me.
And that worries me more than the constant battle she fights against me. Because the one thing Brynne isn’t, is weak.
Part of me wonders if I should have told her the truth straight from the start. Maybe it would have shifted some of the blame away from me. She wouldn’t hate me as much as she does. But I swore to Sam I’d protect her. And the only way I know how to do that is keeping her brother up on the fucking pedestal where she placed him.
A tear slides down her cheek, and I reach out, catching it with the back of my hand, grazing my knuckles across the soft skin. Her eyes close, and she lets out a smal
l sound that’s a mix between a whimper and a sob.
I hate that she’s hurting. Hate that I’m partially responsible for it. And I fucking hate that I can’t do anything to fix it.
We stand there in silence. My hand resting on her cheek. Her eyes closed. Our bodies close. The cold wind that whips around us is a stark contrast to the heat that burns between us.
Her lashes flutter open, gaze holding mine, and I get a glimpse of what we could have. Walls down. Heart exposed. I see her. Every beautiful, broken piece.
“I haven’t been able to think about anything but you.”
“Kane, don’t-”
“Your touch.” I trace her mouth with the pad of my thumb, and she whimpers. “Your lips. The way your body fit perfectly against mine.”
Even though I realize that if I let anything happen between us again, it’ll probably destroy us both, I can’t stop myself from slipping my other hand behind her neck, cupping the back of her head and leaning down so that our lips are only a breath apart.
She releases a shuddering breath and closes her eyes. “Kane…please…don’t do this.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Wanting you.” Walk away, asshole.
“Don’t,” she whimpers again.
“That night. I should have taken my time. Should have…protected you.”
She shakes her head, but doesn’t move away. “It was wrong.”
“Maybe, but it felt right. You can’t deny that.”
“Kane. I-”
I’m about to press my mouth against hers, show her how right it feels, when a baby’s cry echoes behind us, followed by a man’s deep voice. “Everything okay here?”
Brynne’s face drains of color before she pulls away from me, taking a stumbling step backwards.
She glances over at the guy and stutters, “Fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Sorry.” The man shifts the baby in his arms, but it continues to squawk. “I couldn’t get him to settle down.”
A coldness settles in my chest. Who the hell is this guy and why is he staring at Brynne like he expects her to take the kid from him?
Brynne looks between him and me, fear flashing in her eyes, before her shoulders drop in resignation, and she walks towards the asshole who’s staring daggers at me now.
When she takes the baby from his arms, it stops crying immediately.
My stomach twists, all sorts of scenarios racing through my head. And despite finishing off three-quarters of a bottle of scotch, I suddenly feel stone-cold sober.
She places her hand on the guy’s arm, and I feel the touch like a blow to the gut.
With deep olive skin and dark eyes with slicked back hair like one of those douchebags on the cover of a fucking magazine, the guy is too good looking for his own good. Gray slacks and alligator-skin shoes. White button-down shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow and the first few buttons undone, exposing dark chest hair. He’s got the whole pretty-boy look that makes me want to punch him in his perfect, bleached teeth.
I hate him immediately. Especially when he looks at Brynne with a possessiveness that only I have the right to, making the caveman inside of me stand up and bang his fists against his chest.
Brynne says something to him in a hushed tone that has him turning his gaze back on me. His jaw begins to tick, and his eyes roam up and down my body, sizing me up.
That’s right, fucker. Take a good look. He’s tall, but I’m taller, and outweigh him by a good thirty pounds of muscle.
Brynne says something else that has his nostrils flaring, but he gives a small nod, placing his hand on her shoulder, before turning and heading back towards the parking lot.
A million questions itch on my tongue, but I keep my mouth clamped shut, and I realize that it’s fear of knowing the truth that stops me.
She adjusts the baby on her shoulder. I can’t see its face, only the dark blue jumper with the hood covering the kid’s head.
Blue. Which I assume means it’s a boy.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I finally ask, “He’s yours?”
She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and gives a small nod.
Fuck.
More silence. She keeps looking at me like she’s expecting some type of reaction.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to be feeling, but I know what I shouldn’t be – jealousy. What started out as a small flicker when I saw her touch the guy has become a burning inferno.
“You two married?” I nod towards the parking lot, where I can see the guy watching us from the driver’s seat of a Mercedes Benz.
Pompous ass.
“Who?” She glances over her shoulder, following my gaze. “Me and Felix?” When she looks back at me. her brows are drawn down like she’s the one confused. “He’s just a friend.”
I want to call bullshit. Friends don’t look at friends the way he’d been looking at her.
“He’s not the...” I swallow hard, struggling with the word. “Father?”
“No.” She shifts the baby in her arms and I get the first glimpse of him.
Blue eyes blink up at her, and a small smile exposes deep dimples in both cheeks.
I take a step closer, my breathing speeding up. “How old is he?”
Brynne hesitates before answering. “Three months.”
I can practically feel the adrenaline releasing into my blood as I do the calculation in my head.
There’s no fucking way the kid is mine. Even as I think it, I know the truth.
“Kane, I…” She looks terrified. “I’m sorry. I…was going to tell you-”
“Tell me?” The words come out louder and with more anger than I intended, and I see her flinch. Grinding my back teeth, I breathe in through my nose and try to gather some semblance of patience. But I’m holding onto threads. Because I’m more than angry. I’m fucking pissed. “All right. Then tell me.”
She opens and closes her mouth, tears gathering in her eyes. But I’m all out of compassion. I just want to know the truth. To hear it from her lips.
“I…”
“Brynne.” Her name is a low growl that comes from somewhere deep in my throat. “Is. He. Mine?”
Her only response is a small nod. It’s enough. I have my answer.
“Jesus Christ, Brynne.” I drag both hands through my hair. I have a kid. But as much as a mentalfuck as that is, what’s even more disturbing is that she kept it from me. “You weren’t going to tell me?”
“I was. I just…”
It’s a lie. I can hear the truth in her voice. She’s always been a shitty liar.
I cup the back of my head, pulling at my hair, needing something to do with my hands so I don’t throttle her.
“Does your dad know?”
“No.”
Fuck. When Coach finds out, he’s going to have a goddamn aneurysm. Then he’s going to kill me. Or her. Maybe both of us.
“God, Brynne. What were you thinking?”
“Don’t put all the blame on me.”
“That’s not what I meant. You had my kid and you didn’t tell me. I don’t care how much you hate me. That’s pretty messed up.”
My anger seems to have sparked her own. I can see it in her eyes even before she opens her mouth to speak.
“Maybe I should have told you-”
“There’s no maybe. He’s my kid. I deserved to know.”
The baby lets out a rattling cry.
Brynne rocks him, and I can see the tears gathering in her eyes. “Stop yelling.”
“I’m not yelling,” I say loudly, before taking a deep breath, and lowering my voice. “But I have every right to.”
“Why? Because you want this? You want to be a father? God, Kane, look at your life.” She juts her chin out, still glaring at me despite the tears that now stream freely down her cheeks. “You know we’re better off without you.”
Her words are worse than any physical blow. I’ve taken a lot of shit from her over the years, but this tops it all.
“I’m so fucking tired of being the villain in your head. I’m not the monster you think I am, Brynne.”
She presses her lips to the baby’s forehead and clenches her eyes shut. I know what she’s doing, what she’s always done around me. She’s closing her eyes to who I am so that she doesn’t have to see the truth.
The baby keeps crying, and something in my chest tightens. I want to hold him. To protect him. To be the father he deserves.
And I will be. Whether she likes it or not.
“He’s my son, Brynne. I will be in his life.” It’s not just a promise, it’s a demand.
Her eyes open, and for a long tense moment she holds my gaze as if searching for something. Whatever it is, I don’t think she finds it, because she shakes her head.
“He’s hungry. I have to go.” She starts to turn.
“Wait,” I growl out, before she has the chance to dart away. I don’t want to let her – them – go, because I’m afraid if I do, I’ll never see them again. “You didn’t tell me his name.”
“Noah.” She exhales shakily before adding, “Noah Samuel.”
My chest squeezes. “It’s a good name.”
She nods, glancing over at the car where her friend is still glaring at me with as much jealousy as I feel.
“Where are you living?”
“I’ll text you-”
“Brynne.”
She hesitates before answering. “Inverness and Pine.”
I frown because I know exactly what type of housing is there, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to allow her to raise my kid in that neighborhood. But I’m sober enough to know that this isn’t the time to argue about it.
When she turns to walk away again, I let her.
I watch until the car pulls away, down the long road, disappearing behind the stone wall.
My knees buckle and I sit down heavily on the wet grass, leaning against one of the cold stones, my new reality pressing down on my shoulders like a heavy boulder.
I’m a father.
It changes everything.
Brynne was right when she’d said I hadn’t wanted it. I’d never thought about being a parent. I’m a selfish son-of-a bitch. And the world I live in isn’t exactly family-oriented. Coach was proof of that.
Second Shot: A Men With Wood Novel Page 3
