Second Shot: A Men With Wood Novel

by C. M. Seabrook

  Maybe you’re wrong about a lot of things.

  I shake the thought away.

  Just because Kane didn’t flip out over finding out about Noah, doesn’t make him one of the good guys.

  I wrap my fingers around my cell phone as I pace my small apartment. I’ve debated calling him all day. The team will be leaving tomorrow for an away game. I shouldn’t care. I went a whole year without seeing him; a few days won’t make a difference. I should just let him come to me. I told him my address, so it wouldn’t take much investigative work for him to find out what apartment I’m in.

  Maybe he won’t come. The whole possessive thing at the cemetery was probably because he was drunk. When he finally sobered up, I’m sure he realized the truth of my words. Noah and I are better off without him.

  The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

  I walk over to where Noah is sleeping, in the hand-me-down crib I bought from a thrift store, and the bleached-out sheets that once had clowns on it.

  It’s not the life I want to give him, but I’ll make it work. On my own. Because despite what my father thinks of me, I’m not some weak, spoiled little girl who needs her daddy’s money to survive.

  I’m strong. Stronger than he ever gave me credit for. And I don’t need him or Kane interfering in my life. Or my son’s. Their world is toxic.

  Money. Fame. Those are just the things people see. But what’s underneath, hidden from the cameras, is something far less glamorous.

  Broken families. Broken promises. Men who think they are gods, who think their actions don’t have consequences.

  My dad. Kane. They’re the same. They’re not meant to be fathers. Maybe Kane was smart enough to realize it.

  A hard rap on my door makes me jump. I stare at it like it’s just sprouted two heads, ready to devour my whole little world.

  “Brynne,” comes the deep, muffled voice.

  It’s him. I know it. I can practically feel the heat, the tension vibrating from behind the worn out wooden door.

  With a shiver, I walk across the room and glance through the peep hole.

  Kane stands there, his image distorted by the small piece of glass, but I can still see the strained lines of his face, and the look of determination in his eyes.

  I let out a long sigh and place my forehead and palms on the door.

  “I know you’re there, Brynne. Heard your damn footsteps. Let me in.”

  Slowly, I undo the chain and the deadbolt, then open the door, just enough that we’re standing face to face.

  He’s leaning with one palm on the door frame, causing his t-shirt to ride up slightly, exposing an inch of skin above his belt, and the line of dark hair that disappears under the waistline of his jeans.

  Shamelessly, my eyes roam down his body.

  My heart races, and I feel my ears get hot under his own appreciative gaze. His eyes don’t waver. Not for a second.

  I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and look away, but I can already feel the heat warming my cheeks, the tingling in my core, the way my thighs clench when his musky scent, a scent that is all Kane, fills my nostrils.

  Stupid chemical reaction.

  His breath is heavy, harsh, just like his gaze, and I can tell he’s trying with great difficulty to hold back his anger.

  It’s a weird feeling, him being upset with me. Like our roles are reversed.

  It’s unsettling. Especially since I know I deserve every dagger he’s shooting at me now.

  “Your boyfriend here?” He glances over my shoulder as if expecting to find someone.

  “Felix? I told you he’s just-”

  “The guy who’s been helping you raise my kid,” he growls out. “Yeah, I did a little research.”

  I suck in a breath, more from the hurt I hear in his voice than the anger.

  Kane closes his eyes and scrubs his hands over his face, then through his hair, making the short, dark waves stand on end.

  “You’re spying on me?”

  “Wouldn’t have to if you’d be honest for once in your life.”

  I start to argue, but his look stops me.

  “I didn’t come here to fight.” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Can I come in?” His jaw is tense, face strained, but he adds, “Please.”

  I nod and open the door wider, moving back so that we don’t touch when he comes into the room.

  That’s pretty much what the apartment is – one small room that consists of a kitchenette, futon, my art supplies, and Noah’s crib. There’s a small bathroom with a standup shower, and a single closet for storage. It’s smaller than the apartment over my father’s garage, but at least it’s mine.

  If I can find a way to keep paying the rent.

  Kane’s brows turn down and he frowns as he looks around.

  Before he can make some judgmental comment, I snap, “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t say it. There’s nothing wrong with the place. It’s clean and safe. Just because it isn’t-”

  “I’m not here to judge you.” His gaze hardens on me. “There’s been enough of that.”

  I open my mouth to answer him with a harsh retort, but clamp it shut when he takes a step towards me, with an expression so feral I swallow back the whimper that forms in my throat.

  “For one goddamn second, can you let go of whatever vile, made-up image you’ve created of me in your head?”

  I wish I could conjure that image right now, because as he hovers above me, all six-foot-two of bulging muscles, the only thing I can think about is running my fingers across that broad chest, down his defined abs and narrow hips.

  He leans closer, so close I can see the faint scar above his top lip. A scar he got a few years back from a stick to the face.

  There’d been so much blood. I shouldn’t have cared the way I did. But even from my living room, miles away from him, I’d felt the shot like I’d taken it.

  I’d called him that night, admitting that I watched the game. The truth is that I never missed one.

  “Careful, Baby Jacobs,” he’d slurred, already halfway to intoxicated when he’d answered my call. “You sound like you actually care.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Madden.” I’d hung up when I’d heard a shrill feminine laugh in the background.

  That was the last time I’d ever allowed myself to care.

  He’s watching me now, the blue of his eyes barely visible past the black of his pupils.

  I take a step backwards, and cross my arms over my chest protectively.

  “Why are you here, Kane? What do you want? I gave you an out. You can walk away.”

  He snorts and says sarcastically, “A way out? You really don’t know me, do you?”

  “Trust me, Kane. I know you better than you think.”

  “You hate me,” he sneers. “And I’ve let you.”

  “Let me?”

  He gives a harsh shake of his head. “But no more.”

  “You think you can just snap your fingers and make everything you’ve done disappear?”

  The look he gives me makes me wonder if he thinks he can.

  “You’re going to have to forgive me for whatever you think I’ve done.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we have a kid together, Brynne. And I’m not walking away from him.” He points his finger at me. “I’ll fight you every damn step of the way if you try and keep him from me. This isn’t just about you and me, this is about-”

  “Okay.”

  “-him. He deserves a father-”

  “I agree.”

  Kane straightens, looking at me like I’m trying to trick him somehow. “You do?”

  I nod. “But there are-”

  Noah lets out a quivering cry from his crib.

  Crossing the room, I pick him up, shushing and rocking him until he settles. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately, which means I haven’t been sleeping. My body is tired, my brain is foggy, and some days I’d do anything for a real bath, with bubbles and essential oils, rather t
han a lukewarm shower.

  Kane is behind me, the heat of his body warm against my back. Part of me wants to lean back into him, to feel the strength of his arms around me, even just for a moment.

  “Can I…hold him?” Kane asks, his voice cracking with emotion.

  I turn and my throat tightens when I see the look in his eyes as he looks at Noah.

  “Yeah.”

  Swallowing hard, I lift him, transitioning Noah into Kane’s arms.

  Noah’s head rests in the crook of his arm, and his eyes widen when he glances up at Kane, one little fist reaching out to touch his face.

  “Hey, buddy.”

  Noah gurgles in response.

  Something inside me breaks. Some essential part that’s kept me strong over the past months, and I feel a flood of feelings bursting in my chest. The damn bricks I’d built around my heart start to crack.

  Danger, my head warns. It’s all a façade.

  This is the same man who spends his money on overpriced booze and cheap women. He’s not a good man. Not a man I want my son to grow up idolizing. Which he will. Because if Kane is good at one thing, it’s putting on a show.

  But the way he stares at Noah with pride and affection, the smile that tugs at the dimples in his cheek, it seems genuine. Real. And in a way, that scares me more than the half-assed, I’ll-do-my-part response I’d expected from him.

  “He looks like me.”

  I nod, because there’s no denying it.

  “I won’t hurt him.” The words sound forced, and when he meets my gaze I can see the resolve in his eyes. “I won’t hurt either of you.”

  I don’t want to believe him.

  It’s so much easier to hold on to anger and blame.

  But deep down, I’ve always known the truth about Kane. He’d never willingly hurt anyone. The problem is people like him can’t help but destroy the people who care about them.

  My father is the same.

  Bright, blazing stars that can’t help but extinguish everyone else’s light.

  “Did you tell my father?”

  Kane’s never experienced my father’s wrath. Not really. But I know the monster that lives inside the man.

  He never raised a fist to me or Sam, but he didn’t have to. My father knew how to wield words like a weapon. Words that could destroy and kill.

  And in the end, they did.

  Kane studies me for a long moment. When he shakes his head, I let go of the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding in.

  “But you can’t keep this from him. We can’t keep it from him.”

  I know.

  “He’ll probably have you traded within the week.”

  Kane laughs. “Maybe.”

  His laughter is infectious. It always has been. And I can’t help the tug at my lips.

  “But honestly, Brynne, I think he’ll just be glad to know you’re okay.”

  I don’t know how, after all these years, Kane still doesn’t see my father for who he really is. Cold. Cruel. With no love for his children.

  “If he really wanted to find me, he would have.”

  Carefully, Kane places Noah back in his crib. “Maybe.”

  He takes a step towards me, and I take one back, making him shake his head. “Do I really scare you that much?”

  “You don’t scare me.” Lie.

  He raises an eyebrow. “You’re terrified of how I make you feel.”

  “This isn’t about us.” I take another step back, even though he hasn’t moved an inch. But I don’t trust myself if he touches me again. “If you really want to be a part of Noah’s life-”

  “I do. And I will be. That’s not up for debate.”

  My fingers itch at my sides. I ball them into fists, shifting under Kane’s gaze, not knowing what to say or do next.

  I can practically see the plan formulating in Kane’s brain. How he’ll get what he wants. What he’ll need to do to get it.

  “Then I guess we should talk details.” I walk over to the miniature fridge and pull out two beers, handing one to Kane when he approaches.

  He stares down at it with a frown.

  “You can come see him. We’ll figure out a schedule-”

  “Is my name on his birth certificate?”

  Shit. “No.”

  The muscle in his jaw bunches and flexes, and his lips tighten in a thin line, before he says, “We’ll need to fix that.”

  Which means everyone will know.

  “If the media finds out…”

  “When the media finds out, we’ll deal with it.”

  This is exactly what I didn’t want.

  “No, I’ll have to deal with it. You’re used to being in the spotlight. That’s not my life. I don’t want paparazzi waiting outside my apartment to get a shot of The Golden Boy’s bastard kid.”

  “Don’t use that word.” Anger flashes in his face and he points his finger at me.

  I swat it away, then push on his chest, one hand still clutching my beer. “You better get used to it, because if you make your big announcement, they’ll be calling him, and me, a lot worse.”

  He grips my wrists, and leans down so our noses are almost touching. “Not if we’re married.”

  Married. The word hangs in the air between us.

  A thrill of excitement mixes with shock. I blink up at him, hating that for even a second I think about the possibility. It’s absurd.

  “You’re kidding?” The words come out shaky and strained.

  “No.” He wraps his fingers around my beer, and we do a little tug-of-war with it before I finally let go with an exaggerated sigh. He takes a deep swig, then places it on the counter behind me, his body brushing against mine as he leans over.

  “I’m not marrying you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am serious.” His hands rest on the counter beside me, trapping me. “Very serious.”

  Once again, my body responds to his nearness. Warmth starts in my core and spreads, and my heart speeds up.

  “This is ridiculous. It’s not the freaking middle ages. We had a kid together. It doesn’t mean we have to be together. God, we don’t even like each other.”

  He smirks. “You may hate me, but you still like me.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.” But it’s the truth.

  “Admit it. You care about me. You always have.”

  “No. I. Don’t.” I shove his chest, trying to ignore the ache in my core when my palms press against the hard muscles that ripple under my touch.

  “Yes.” He rests his forehead against mine. “You.” His breath warm against my lips “Do.”

  “Lust isn’t like.” My voice is strained, my breathing speeding up, and once again I’m unable to control my body’s response to him.

  “So, you admit you want me?” He grins again.

  The man is infuriating.

  “Admitting I find you attractive doesn’t help our situation. And it definitely isn’t grounds to get married.”

  “Then move in with me.” He holds up his hand when I start to protest. “And before you say anything, I’m not offering because I don’t think you can take care of yourself. I want to be close to him. Involved. Not some absentee dad who only gets to see his kid every other weekend.”

  I sigh. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’ll just complicate things.”

  “Things are already complicated.”

  I shake my head. “You know what I mean.”

  “You’re worried about us having sex.”

  “No.” Again, I push against his chest. He doesn’t budge. “Maybe. Yes. I don’t know. Would you just stop touching me for one second so I can think?”

  “I’m not touching you.” He smirks down at me. “You’re the one that keeps hitting me.”

  “Because you’ve got me trapped.”

&
nbsp; “You sure that’s the only reason?” One dark eyebrow raises and his lips twitch.

  “God, you’re so damn arrogant.”

  He lets out a small chuckle as he pushes off the counter, then raises his hands as if in surrender. “Okay, I’ll behave.”

  “You’ve never behaved a day in your life,” I mutter, feeling the loss of his heat the moment he steps away.

  He chuckles. “I’ll make you a promise. If you agree to move in with me, I’ll keep my hands to myself.” His head tilts to the side, a wicked, dark promise dancing in his eyes. “Until…”

  “Until what?”

  “Until you beg me not to.”

  I snort. “Not going to happen.”

  He shrugs. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

  I have everything to worry about.

  “Move in with me. Let me take care of you and Noah.”

  “If you’re trying to pull some hero crap, I don’t need your help.”

  “Didn’t say you did. But it’s still my responsibility.”

  Since when does Kane Madden care about responsibility?

  My head is pounding. I rub my temples and let out a breathy sigh.

  I hate him.

  The thought doesn’t hold the same potency it used to. And no matter how hard I try to stir up that familiar feeling, it’s muted by the fact that the man standing in front of me is the father of my child.

  How the hell am I supposed to hate him now?

  “I can’t,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. “It’s a terrible idea.”

  “Give me one good reason why.”

  “I can give you a hundred. For starters, we can’t even be in the same room without arguing. And how weird is it going to get when you start bringing women home, or when I-”

  A low growl vibrates in his throat. “I think we have enough to deal with without bringing other people into it.” Something dark crosses his expression when he says, “Unless you’re already involved with someone. You seemed pretty friendly with that guy yesterday.”

  Again, with Felix. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was jealous.

  “He’s just a friend. He was there for me when I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.”

  “You could have turned to me.” There’s a fierceness in his words, the first real hint of anger he’s shown. “You should have turned to me.”