Blaze player spends Christmas at hospital
For the third year in a row, Chicago Blaze winger Kit Carter spent both Christmas Eve and Christmas day at the pediatric wing of the Chicago Children’s Hospital. Hospital sources say he brought baked goods for all the staffers and handed out video game consoles, teddy bears and other gifts to patients and their families.
“We weren’t expecting any presents this year,” said Maria Landon, whose daughter Chloe is being treated for leukemia complications at the hospital.
Landon said money is tight since she had to quit her job to be with her daughter during treatment. She and her family were planning to spend a quiet Christmas together watching movies and playing games in her daughter’s room at the hospital.
“When Kit passed out those gifts to my kids, I was so happy I cried,” Landon said. “I couldn’t believe it when he gave my husband and I gifts, too. He really is our Christmas angel.”
Carter declined to comment about his visit to the hospital.
The story should give me warm fuzzies. Kit couldn’t be a better man unless he moonlighted as a doctor inoculating babies in third-world countries. He’s a good guy, from every single thing I’ve seen, read and heard about him.
But the reporter in me rarely takes things at face value. Why didn’t Kit spend Christmas with his family? The story is dated nearly a year ago, so if he didn’t go home for Christmas last month, that makes four years in a row.
It seems like he and Sara are very close, and I know he’s on good terms with his brother. So why wouldn’t he want to be with his family on the most family-oriented holiday of all?
Oh God. What if his brother married a woman Kit is secretly in love with and he can’t bear to see her with him? I read a book where that happened.
Maybe it was just because of his work schedule. Or maybe he has a huge extended family that visits and it gets stressful and miserable.
I probably shouldn’t let my imagination speculate on the reason Kit prefers to spend Christmas at the children’s hospital. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop wondering about it, though.
My inbox dings with the arrival of a new email, and I roll my eyes when I see it’s from Clara Romano, another reporter at the Gazette. I click to read it.
Hi Molly, hope the new year is off to a good start for you. We need to send someone to a briefing on the changes to the FOIA law, and Lou asked me to go, but I’m so swamped with work, my husband and kids. Since you don’t have as much to juggle, I told Lou I thought you should be the one to go instead. He said I just need to clear it with you. Okay?
C
* * *
I shake my head. Clara is a lifestyle writer. There’s no easier beat at the Gazette than hers. And I’m balancing two beats, one of which is the most demanding at the paper. I work more hours than anyone in the newsroom.
But Clara always makes remarks about me not having kids, commenting in a staff meeting once that I must sleep “like nine hours a day.” She once told Lou that parents should be paid more than non-parents, and his response could be heard from several offices away.
I’m not responding to her email, and I’m not going to the briefing. If she had asked nicely, I would have. She can peddle her passive aggressive bullshit elsewhere.
With a glance at my watch, I realize I have to leave for an interview in five minutes. I open the envelope the intern delivered to my desk, scanning the lines on the top paper.
Well, hello there, anonymous news tip.
I flip through the pages and see that it’s an accounting of credit card receipts for a city alderman, Ted Lamont. It looks like he took out a cash advance on his city credit card at a strip club, and also used his card to pay a substantial bar tab at the club.
This is golden. It’ll make a killer story, once I confirm it. Ted Lamont is the one who was pushing for the cuts the city is making in the treasurer’s office. I’m guessing it wouldn’t be too hard to track down the source of these documents, but I don’t need to. I’ll file a Freedom of Information request for them and get them directly from the city.
Finally, I’ll break a great story to show Lou I’m ready to take on the city hall beat. In a matter of a minute, I’m no longer wondering why Kit doesn’t spend Christmas with his family. I’ve only got one thing on my mind now—nailing down this story.
Chapter Twelve
Kit
* * *
“You brought a swimsuit, right?” I ask Molly, unable to tamp down my eagerness.
“No, I’m not planning to swim.”
I put my hands on my hips, breathing out through my nose. “You have to swim.”
“I don’t, actually.”
“Do you know how to swim?”
“Of course I do, but I’m working.”
I arch my brows but don’t say anything. Instead, I put my foot on the gas and head away from the front of her building before she changes her mind and decides not to go at all.
The only reason she let me pick her up is because we’re going to a place she can’t walk or ride the El Train to—Luca and Abby’s newly built home in Highland Park. And with their gate and security, an Uber wouldn’t be able to get within a mile of it.
Abby’s home furnishings business is flourishing. She invested in some startup companies that took off, too, and she and Luca are beyond wealthy. We make fun of him for being the broke one in their relationship. Their new home took more than a year to construct, and I’ve heard it’s incredible. This is going to be the first time they’re hosting the whole team over there.
“Hey,” I say to Molly. “Just leave the notebook in your bag and stick with me, okay?”
“I’m only going with you because I’m working on my story.”
There’s a nervous edge to her voice, and now that I know she has social anxiety, I get why. She’s got to be freaking out over going to Luca and Abby’s 25,000 square foot mansion with my whole team and each of their families.
“You’re coming as my plus one,” I tell her. “Is that still a thing people say?”
“I haven’t finished the story yet.”
“Well, this isn’t a date.”
Molly gives me a skeptical look. “But you wanted me to bring a swimsuit?”
I shrug. “There’s an indoor pool and hot tub.”
“I haven’t worn a swimsuit in forever. I don’t even own one.”
Deciding to drop the swimsuit thing, for now, I ask, “How’s Mr. Darcy?”
“He’s good. We had to coax him down the stairs with treats to get him to go potty the entire day after he got lost because he was afraid to go outside.”
“Poor guy.”
“Gram fed him almost half a meatloaf. He’s a happy boy.”
Molly just shines when she talks about her dog. I love seeing that side of her.
“Luca and Abby are stupid rich,” I tell her. “Just remember the rest of us don’t live like they do.”
“Oh, so you’re just a regular millionaire?” she teases.
“Touché.” I smile sheepishly.
“There’s no way I can remember everyone’s name,” she says.
“Don’t worry, no one cares about that.”
She looks at me, but then looks away.
“What?” I ask her.
“I was wondering if you went home for Christmas this past year.”
I furrow my brow, confused. “That’s random. It was a month ago.”
“I know. But did you?”
“No, I spent Christmas with some patients at the Chicago Children’s Hospital.”
“Oh.”
“There were two kids there who had no family, can you believe that? Foster kids. The little boy smoked me at every video game we played, and the girl talked nonstop about Taylor Swift.”
She smiles. “Did you miss your family?”
“Nah. My parents have a condo in Hilton Head, and Sara and Lance went there to see them.”
“And you said Lance is married, right?”
> “Yep, he and his wife Cara have three kids.”
Molly gives me a strange look. “Did you know Cara before she and Lance got together?”
“No, they met in college. Why?”
“No reason.”
She takes out her phone, her lips set in a tense line as she looks at it.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“Yeah, I’m just checking the Gazette website. I have a big story coming out and it should hit the web anytime now.”
“Oh yeah? What’s it about?”
“An alderman using his city credit card at a strip club.”
My eyes bulge. “Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“He must not be the sharpest knife in the drawer.”
She shrugs. “Apparently he was really, really drunk. He said he accidentally grabbed the wrong card.”
“I guess it could happen.”
“It could, but if it did, he should have reimbursed the city for what he spent. He never did.”
“Oh wow. And you’re the first one with the story?”
“Yeah. He’s gonna shit his pants when he reads it.” She gives me a panicked look. “Hey, don’t tell anyone about it yet, okay? I really shouldn’t have mentioned it until it hits the website.”
“I won’t say a word.”
I follow the directions my maps app gives me to Luca and Abby’s place, and it takes us down a long, private driveway lined with trees.
“Oh my God, that’s their house?” Molly says, eyeing the sprawling brick mansion.
“Pretty sweet,” I say, parking in the horseshoe-shaped driveway.
Their last house was enormous and beautiful, but their family is growing. They’re got five kids now, and they didn’t have room for a pool where they were. They had this house built to last them until their kids are all grown.
Molly and I are equally awestruck when Luca opens the front door. The open entryway is massive, with stone flooring and an open staircase with a hand-carved railing. We don’t get much time to admire the house, though, because Porter yells my name as soon as he hears my voice.
“What’s up?” I say, giving him a back-slapping hug as we walk into the huge family room.
“Hey, Molly,” Easy says. “Good to see you again.”
“Thanks, you too.”
Several kids fly through the room on roller skates, one of them holding onto a rope attached to a laundry basket that’s tied to the top of a skateboard, a dog riding in the laundry basket.
“Don’t run over any babies!” Abby admonishes as they pass.
People are introducing themselves to Molly and Victor’s trying to rope me into a conversation about which team was the best ever. To make sure I don’t get separated from Molly, I take her hand. She squeezes my hand and I feel her apprehension.
“We’re gonna go take a look at the pool,” I say to the women talking to Molly.
“Get in if you guys want,” Abby says. “There are towels in the big closet in the pool bathroom.”
“Molly didn’t bring a suit, so she may have to skinny-dip,” I say, winking at her.
“There’s a basket in the closet where the towels are with my suits in it,” Abby says to Molly. “Take whichever you want; we’re the same size.”
“Daddy, what’s skinny-dip?” I hear a little voice asking.
“Time to go,” I say, tugging on Molly’s hand.
“This place is magnificent,” she says, admiring the rooms we walk through the house towards the backyard.
The kitchen has a modern design, everything white or light gray. It’s filled with windows and has two large separate islands. Even though it was just recently built, the house feels like a home already, probably thanks to Abby’s decorating skills.
When we reach the indoor pool, Molly and I are both speechless. The enormous pool has an organic shape and on one side, large rocks make up a waterfall wall that stretches about two stories high. The glass ceiling and walls allow in lots of natural light for the tropical trees and plants in the room.
At one end of the room, there’s a large tiki bar with a dozen stools surrounding a stone bar top, which is covered with several large food trays. Two flat screen TVs display a news channel and ESPN.
“Well, they have a pool now,” I say softly.
“Wow.” It’s all Molly can manage to say.
Luca and Abby are two of the nicest people I know. They deserve all the happiness and success in the world. I just hope Molly can see behind their money to the people they are. No one on my team is pretentious, but we’re a tight-knit group, and we don’t worry too much about what everyone else thinks.
“Would you rather swim now, or with everyone else later?” I ask Molly.
She laughs. “You think you can put it that way and I’ll just choose one?”
“I’m hoping so.”
“Kit…”
“Molly.”
“This is way outside my comfort zone.”
“Just a few minutes,” I offer. “We swim by ourselves for a little bit and then when other people come in, we have some fruity drinks and snacks and then go play basketball.”
“Basketball?”
“Indoor basketball court.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh.”
“I think this could be valuable research for your story. No other reporter has ever gone swimming with me. You’d be the first.”
“Oh, really?”
“That’s right.”
I strip off my T-shirt, and she gasps. When I meet her gaze, she’s blushing.
“It’s…the tattoos, that’s all,” she says.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” I offer. “If the paper’s website is updated and your story’s on there, we swim. And if not, I’ll swim alone.” I kick off my shoes and unbutton my jeans, sliding them down so I’m only wearing my swim trunks.
A smile plays on her lips as she thinks about it. “I guess…I could agree to that.”
“Done.” I pull out my phone, willing the story to be uploaded already.
When I see the headline, I let out a whoop of excitement. “Taxpayers foot Lamont’s strip club bill,” I read aloud. “Time to suit up, Miss Lynch.”
Molly groans and walks into the pool bathroom, and I read her story on my phone while I wait.
Damn, she’s good at what she does. Molly pulls no punches, spelling out the charges the alderman made at the club, including a cash advance for $500. She even called him for a comment, but all he said was that she’d be hearing from his attorney.
I’m thinking about how tenacious and tough Molly is when she walks out of the bathroom and takes my attention away from my phone screen. In a black one-piece suit with a deep V down the front, she looks…sexy. Soft. Vulnerable.
“Wow,” I murmur. “Look at you.”
She runs a hand through her hair and smiles. “It’s been a long time since I went swimming.”
“Let’s not wait any longer, then.”
I walk down to the zero-depth end and she meets me there. We step into the water together.
“It’s so warm,” she says. “It feels amazing.”
I can’t take my eyes off her in that swimsuit. Beneath her conservative clothes, Molly is an absolute knockout. The dip in the front of the suit gives me a glimpse of the round curves of her breasts, and her hips are practically begging me to grab them and pull her toward me.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, the thought spilling out of my mouth.
Molly’s cheeks turn pink as she studies my face. “You think that?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not really an opinion thing. You just are.”
I step closer to her, both of us up to our knees in the water. Her chest rises and falls as she breathes, and it’s all I can do not to reach out and run a fingertip down her collarbone to the space between her breasts. If I did, I wouldn’t stop there.
“Don’t go any further,” I tell her. “I want to look at you.”
Molly lets me study
her, her gaze wandering over my chest as I do.
“I can’t fucking wait to kiss you.”
In response to my words, her fingertips fly up to her lips and her eyes widen.
“Not just there,” I say in a low tone.
Molly’s chin drops. I wish like hell her article about me was done and I could take her back to my place when we leave here, but we’re not there yet. And much as I’d love to show her what she’s missing, I won’t kiss her until she’s ready.
“Cannonball!” A boy I don’t recognize comes flying into the room, wearing swim trunks and goggles. He must be a friend of one of Luca’s kids.
He jumps into the deep end, grabbing his knees in the air and splashing into the water, the spray hitting me and Molly.
More kids follow, and soon after, my teammates and their wives come in to ooh and ahh over the pool and get the party started. Music starts up on the sound system and people wade into the water.
My time alone with Molly is over. For now. I keep her by my side for most of the day, talking to my teammates and their wives one or two at a time so she doesn’t feel overwhelmed.
By the time I’m driving us home many hours later, Molly looks content. I think she had a good time, and I know I did.
“How’s the story coming?” I ask her.
She smiles. “There’s only one more thing I need to do before I write it. Can I have your mom’s number? I know it sounds random, but I want to ask her what kind of baby you were, and see if it matches up with your personality now. I know it sounds weird, but it’s a fun little detail.”
I’m silent for a few seconds as I try to come up with an answer. I could make up an excuse—come up with a reason Molly can’t call her. But I can’t bring myself to lie to her.
“I don’t want you to call her,” I admit, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make my knuckles burn.
“Oh…okay.” She’s caught off guard. It’s obvious.
I sigh heavily. “I’ve got my reasons. And it’s nothing…I’m not even sure how to put it. I’d just appreciate it if you don’t.”
My heart pounds as I think about Molly talking to my mom. It’s a black cloud over a day that’s been incredible up until this moment.
Kit: A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance Page 8
