Kit: A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance

by Brenda Rothert

  “I don’t think we’ll make the El on time,” I tell her. “And if we do, if we run into rowdy fans partying after the game…we’re gonna get mobbed. Just let me call an Uber. Please.”

  I’m surprised when she relents. I pull up the Uber app and she gives me her address. It only takes a couple minutes for one to arrive.

  “What’d you think of the game?” I ask her once we’re in the car.

  She smiles. “It was more fun than I thought it would be. I didn’t understand everything and it was hard to find the puck sometimes, though.”

  “What questions do you have about the game?”

  “Why did you get put in the penalty box?”

  “Hooking. I used my stick to stop McGill from skating. But he did it to me first.”

  She furrows her brow. “Why didn’t he get a penalty?”

  “The ref didn’t see it.”

  “Ah.” She pushes her hood back and asks, “What were you saying when you were yelling in the penalty box? And who were you talking to?”

  I grin. “An obnoxious Nashville fan who deserved it.”

  “And what were you saying?”

  “You really want to know?”

  She nods.

  “He was talking shit about my hair and I told him to go fuck himself.”

  “Oh. And what about when you were talking to your opponents? Was that…trash talk?”

  “Yep. Just chirping at each other. That’s what we call it.”

  “Are you good at it?”

  I laugh. “I’m not the best or the worst. Somewhere in the middle.”

  “Who’s the best at it on your team?”

  I answer immediately. “Anton.”

  “And who’s the worst?”

  “Easy. His mother raised him to not swear, and English isn’t his first language. We’re working on it.”

  Molly laughs, and our eyes stay locked in the back of the car, a moment silently passing between us.

  “You forgive me?” I ask her. “For earlier?”

  “Yes. And thank you for the ride home.”

  She asks me a few more questions about hockey, but we reach her apartment building too soon. I slide out of the car and call for another Uber to take me back to the bar.

  “I’ll wait with you,” Molly offers.

  “No, go inside. It’s too cold to wait out here.”

  “I’m used to it. I walk everywhere, remember.” She puts her bag over her shoulder, things suddenly turning a little awkward between us. “So are you traveling tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, just to St. Louis.”

  “I’m interviewing your sister tomorrow.”

  I widen my eyes in surprise. “Sara?”

  “Yeah, we’re meeting up at a coffee shop.”

  After a second of silence, I say, “Tell her I said hi.”

  Molly looks at the ground. “Hey, sorry for saying you could go take any other woman in the bar home. I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know you didn’t. We’re good.”

  She meets my eyes and smiles, and I once again fight my urge to wrap my arms around her and kiss her like she’s never been kissed before. The buzz of the alcohol has almost worn off—what I’m feeling now is straight-up desire.

  The Uber pulls up and saves me from doing something stupid. Molly says a quick goodnight and runs up the stairs of her building, not looking back.

  I get into the car and spend the entire ride back to the bar thinking about her. She’s quirky and smart and pretty. Stubborn as hell. I like her. A lot.

  But she caught me off guard when she told me she’s interviewing my sister. I didn’t let on, but I wish Molly wouldn’t talk to my family. Just like some things are better left unsaid, some questions are better left unanswered.

  Chapter Seven

  Molly

  * * *

  “So you want me to spill the tea on my brother.”

  Sara Carter smiles as she sits down across from me at a downtown coffee shop. I could tell from the moment she walked up to the table for our interview that she and Kit are family. They have the same warm brown eyes and bright smiles. Like her brother, Sara is naturally attractive.

  “Please do,” I say as I pick up my pen. “I need clarification about whether he started his drug ring or the illegal stock trading first.”

  She laughs. “I like you already. And I can tell from your tone that you’ve figured out my brother is one of the rare good guys left in this world.”

  “He definitely seems to be.” There’s a flutter in my chest as I remember our conversation the other night. And also the way he looked with his suit jacket off, his tie loosened and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, revealing both muscles and ink.

  The server approaches to take our orders. I ask for an iced tea, and Sara orders a frappuccino and a bagel. A woman who’s not afraid of carbs—I like her already, too.

  “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me,” I say.

  “No problem. I’m in the middle of studying for a big contract law exam, and I needed a break.”

  “What kind of law are you planning to practice?”

  She sighs heavily. “Assuming I survive law school and pass the bar, I’m planning to do entertainment law.”

  “That sounds like more fun than bankruptcy or tax law,” I offer.

  “Yeah, definitely. I’m hoping once I get going, I can represent my brother. He’ll pay double, of course.” She smirks.

  Our orders arrive, and I add sugar to my tea while Sara spreads cream cheese on her bagel.

  “So what can I tell you about Kit Maxwell Carter?” she asks right before taking a bite of her food.

  I pick up my pen, trying to force the image of him at the bar last night out of my mind. His gaze wasn’t locked onto the women in tight clothes, his tongue rolling out like a cartoon character. Instead, the gentleman Viking was looking at me.

  “Has he always been so…” I frown, unable to come up with the right word.

  “Obnoxious?” Sara quips. “Insufferable? Smelly? Yes, he has.”

  I smile, immediately at ease with her. She’s very approachable.

  “I’ve noticed anytime Kit’s around women, they fall at his feet,” I explain. “Has he always been so…you know, naturally charming?”

  Sara laughs heartily at my question, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

  “Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s just my natural reaction to laugh at anyone describing my brother as charming. Kit was always shy around girls when we were growing up. He gave a girl a note to invite her to prom in high school because he was too shy to ask her in person.”

  “Really?” I forget to even take notes because I’m so surprised by this information.

  “Yeah. He wasn’t exactly a chick magnet back then. He was kind of…gangly. You know how some men are described as tall, dark and handsome? Kit was more like tall, skinny and angular.”

  “I feel a kinship with anyone who uses the word angular in a conversation,” I say, resuming my notes.

  Sara smiles. “It’s second only to titular, don’t you think?”

  “I do.”

  “Anyway, Kit was a late bloomer. In college, he put on a lot of muscle, his face filled out and he grew out his hair. He didn’t really have girlfriends, though, because he was so busy between hockey, school and friends. Now women flock to him because he’s a pro athlete and he’s…” Sara smiles and shakes her head. “…handsome, I guess, but don’t tell him I said that.”

  “Do you think he has more confidence now?”

  She shrugs. “I’m sure he knows women find him attractive, but my brother’s a quick study. He’s not into puck bunnies. Women are drawn to him because he’s rich and famous, not because of who he is. Not very many people truly know Kit.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  Sara takes her time thinking about her answer. “I think it’s because he’s shy, and also because he has a few people who really know him and that’s enou
gh for him. He’s got me and Lance, a good friend from college and some of his teammates.”

  “Are the two of you close?”

  “We are. If I ever end up in jail, which I’m obviously not planning on,” she laughs, “I’d call Kit. Lance and I are close, too, but Kit…”

  “Do you think Lance’s illness brought the two of you closer?”

  Sara’s bright expression darkens with sadness. “Yeah, I do. I don’t know how much Kit has told you, but it was hard. Lance was really sick and the doctors weren’t sure he would make it. I felt guilty going to school and playing with my friends when my brother was fighting for his life.”

  I pause, not sure if it’s fair of me to keep trying to dive so deep into Kit’s inner workings. This is, after all, supposed to be a profile story. It might just be my own curiosity that makes me ask my next question.

  “Do you think Lance’s illness changed Kit?”

  Sara looks down at the table for a few seconds before lifting her face back up to meet my gaze.

  “I do,” she says softly. “It changed every member of our family. We all appreciated the small stuff a lot more after Lance went into remission. Like spending Christmas together.” She clears her throat, and I remember what Kit told me about the Christmas his mom and Lance weren’t home for. “But it also made all of us a little more…somber, I guess. You don’t realize something like childhood cancer can come crash landing into your family until it does. And then, once you know, you can’t un-know it. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes.”

  She nods. “I don’t think my parents fully exhaled until Lance got to the five-year mark with his remission. And Kit, before Lance was diagnosed, Kit was very carefree. Really happy all the time. He was never like that again. There was always this shadow, I guess, but we’ve all put it behind us now, as adults.”

  “I really appreciate you sharing that with me,” I say, setting my pen down.

  “I don’t think Kit would mind. Sometimes the Chicago Children’s Hospital calls him when a family gets a childhood cancer diagnosis and he goes in to talk to the siblings of the patients.”

  The image of Kit doing his best to comfort and reassure kids who need it hits me straight in the chest. I can picture him giving them his easy smile, his warm eyes radiating sincerity.

  “What do you think of my brother?” Sara asks me.

  “What do I think?” My cheeks warm. “Well, from an independent standpoint, he seems like a nice person.”

  Sara laughs, and I see a trace of Kit in her amused expression. “You like him.”

  The warmth in my face intensifies as I say, “I don’t think anyone dislikes your brother.”

  “You know what I mean, Molly. You like him.”

  I take a breath, composing myself. “It’s important that I stay neutral so I can write a fair story.”

  “I get that, and I think it’s admirable. But what about after the story is done? Couldn’t you guys see each other after that?”

  My laugh is nervous and awkward. “I’m not…I mean, of course not. I’m really busy with work and I’m sure he is, too.”

  Sara shrugs. “When someone’s important enough, we make time.”

  “I’m divorced,” I blurt out.

  “Good. Better than married, if you want to date my brother.”

  Kit is attractive and intriguing, there’s no denying it. But date him? Me? I can’t even imagine. I decide to change the subject.

  “I saw his fan club in the stands last night,” I tell Sara. “I wasn’t close or I would’ve tried to interview one of them. They all had these pink T-shirts on that said ‘The Kittens’ and they had whiskers painted on their faces. Another reporter in the press box told me they’re Kit’s hardcore fan club.”

  “And you find that intimidating?” Sara asks me.

  “No, not at all. I guess I find it a little ridiculous. I’m the opposite of Kit. Low profile. I keep my head down and do my work, which is never about me. And that’s how I like it.”

  Sara nods. “Well, then you don’t want to date my brother. Attention comes with the territory.”

  “What are you most proud of about Kit?” I ask her, returning my attention to my notes.

  “Who he is,” she answers immediately. “Kit is generous and thoughtful. Please don’t put this in your story, but he paid my law school tuition. Since I didn’t have to take out loans, I don’t have to go into corporate law and grind out eighty-hour weeks to pay them back. He’s one of those people who always, every single time I see him, leaves me feeling happy.”

  What a rare and beautiful thing that is. I want to say it, but I keep that thought to myself. I’ve already left Sara thinking I want to date her brother, which isn’t the tone any good reporter is supposed to set in an interview.

  After a little more back and forth, I pay the check and file away the receipt, then tell Sara I have to leave for my next appointment.

  “You’ve got my number,” she says. “Call me if you ever want to hang out. I’m looking forward to reading the story.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate you taking the time for this interview. It was helpful.”

  She gives me a sly grin. “Helpful for your story or helpful for you realizing you want to date my brother?”

  I try not to smile, but it’s impossible.

  “Good luck with that exam,” I say, putting on my hat before I have to battle the winter weather outside.

  “Thanks. I feel like we’ll be seeing each other again soon,” Sara says, getting up and putting her coat on, too.

  “I’d love to hang out sometime.”

  “Yeah, or we could just see each other when Kit brings you over to meet Mom and Dad? Not that he comes home much. Maybe you and I could just set up dinner for the three of us now?”

  “I’m leaving now,” I say, laughing. “Bye, Sara.”

  “Bye.”

  On my walk from the coffee shop back to the newsroom, I think about how I’m going to approach this story when it’s time to start writing. Do I have enough material?

  Maybe. But it won’t hurt to keep gathering more. I still haven’t found a fresh angle for the story, and that’s what I need for it to stand out.

  I also won’t mind spending a little more time with Kit. Even though I’ll never be one of his Kittens, I can admit to myself that Sara is right—I like him.

  Chapter Eight

  Kit

  * * *

  I glare at Easy, who just poked me in the shoulder.

  “Buckle up,” he says shortly, pointing at the flight attendant looking down at us from the aisle. “She’s been trying to tell you.”

  “Oh.” I fasten my seatbelt and apologize to the flight attendant, then look down at my phone screen again.

  I’m reading Molly’s stories through the Chicago Gazette online app. I googled her when I took my seat on the plane, and somehow the flight’s ending and I’m still reading about her.

  Her stories may not be about her, but they give me some insight into how she works. I already mined all the information available about her on the web.

  So far, I’ve figured out she’s twenty-nine and got divorced a year and a half ago after a short marriage to a guy named Zach Parr, who looks like an absolute douchebag based on his Facebook profile. That must mean she took her maiden name back after the divorce.

  There were a few paragraphs about her in a blog post when she was hired at the Gazette. She listed her interests as reading, reading and reading—everything from biographies to romance novels. I pictured her in bed, her hair pulled up and her lower lip trapped between her teeth as she read a sexy scene in a book.

  It was hot. Really hot. And I also find it hot how smart she is. Molly breaks down everything from tax laws to city contracts in her stories, and she does it fluidly. It’s intriguing that the woman who says she’s not good in social situations is so eloquent at explaining things in writing.

  I texted Sara about their interview, and her response hits
my phone as the plane begins its descent.

  Sara: It was good. Just standard questions. I told her your inspiring story of overcoming micropeen.

  Me: Not funny, I’m serious. Were any of the questions weird? Probing?

  Sara: Relax. It was fine. Nothing weird. Except she definitely likes you.

  Me: You think so?

  Sara: Yeah. And I hope you like her, too, because she’s great. We’re going to hang out sometime.

  Me: You and Molly?

  Sara: No, me and the Pope, dumbass. Yes, me and Molly.

  Me: How did you get her to agree to that?

  Sara: We just clicked. I can see us being friends. Are you going to ask her out?

  Me: She won’t go out with me until after she finishes the story.

  Sara: That should be soon, right?

  Me: You’d think, but she’s researching me like an FBI agent doing a criminal investigation.

  Sara: Did you ask her if she’ll go out with you when she’s done?

  Me: Not yet.

  Sara: Ask her.

  Me: Just landed, gtg.

  * * *

  I turn my phone off and close my eyes as the plane touches down. Should I ask Molly to go out after she finishes the story? I’m obviously very attracted to her, and I want more than the reporter-subject relationship we have now.

  But can I be a traditional boyfriend to her? Can I be everything she needs in a man? She may not even want me to, but if she does, I’d never want to let her down. I can tell by her defensiveness that she’s been let down before.

  I only tried to be a boyfriend to a woman once, and it was an epic failure. But Molly already told me that she’s not a one-night stand woman. It makes me like her and want her even more, but the thought of disappointing her makes me wonder if I should risk it.

  “What’s up, man?” Easy asks me. “You look like shit.”

  “You’re the only guy on the entire team who just asks me what’s up without commenting on my hair.”

  “Well, I thought about asking you if the store ran out of your favorite scrunchies or something.”