Kane

by Sawyer Bennett

  “Okay, I understand the plan,” I say on a long, drawn-out exhale. Mollie’s hand moves to rest on my thigh—a gesture of encouragement and strength. She’s handling this far better than I am. “So, where will I be?”

  Silence reigns around the table, but Kynan, Cruce, and Saint wordlessly indicate that Mollie should provide the answer.

  I slowly turn to the woman I love, already feeling a scowl forming.

  With a hard glint in her eye and a stubborn tilt to her chin, she states, “You won’t be there. You have a game.”

  I jerk in surprise. It’s true I have a game tonight, but I already talked to Coach Perron—told him I wouldn’t be able to play and the reason why. I can’t say as he was happy with it, but he wasn’t about to fire me from the team.

  Besides… we’re playing the Winnipeg Rebels. They were at the bottom of the league last season, and they don’t pose a threat.

  “I’m not playing tonight,” I push out between clenched teeth, offended she wouldn’t assume I’d be there for her.

  “Oh yes, Kane, you are,” she snaps. “There is no reason for you to be there.”

  “The woman I love is putting herself in danger, and you don’t think there’s a reason I should be there?” I snarl incredulously.

  She waves me off with an eye roll that only infuriates me. “I’m going to be perfectly safe. Besides, what about all that talk in New York on Sunday about how hockey is your job, and how important it is. You hockey players leave your women and babies to do your job without thinking twice about it. And you know why… because the women are as much a part of the team as the men, and we support your duties. We’re team players, just as much as you are. So I’m telling you now—you are going to that game and you will play your ass off.”

  I’m stunned that she called me out on the carpet like that. I’m also strangely proud of her. My heart swells with more love for her knowing she considers herself a part of this team, too.

  I glance across the table at the men. They’re all smirking over Mollie dressing me down.

  “Let’s reschedule the meeting for a day I don’t have a game,” I throw out, knowing it’s a lame shot.

  Kynan shakes his head. “We have to do this while he’s amenable, and he doesn’t suspect a setup. If we cancel, he’ll get skittish.”

  Mollie leans over, places a hand on my cheek, and looks me dead in the eye. “We’re doing this today, Kane, and I’ll be perfectly safe and well protected. But more than that, if you’re there, you’ll only make me even more nervous because I’ll be worrying about you worrying about me.”

  Fuck, I hate that she put this on me.

  “Listen, Kane,” Kynan interjects in a tone firmly projecting that he’s the final voice of reason. “Your game isn’t until seven. I understand you’ll be warming up about the time this goes down. It’s all going to be over before the game even starts. The second we have handcuffs on him, I will personally call you.”

  “And I’ll catch an Uber to the arena,” Mollie says. “Hopefully, I’ll be there before the puck drops.”

  “Actually,” Kynan apologetically breaks in. “You’ll more than likely have to go to the police station to give a statement. But you should be there before the end of the game.”

  I scan the men around the table. Kynan, Cruce, Saint—they all have confident, determined expressions. I trust them.

  When I scrutinize Mollie, she appears just as determined.

  God, I fucking love her. If anything happened to her, I’d be destroyed.

  But I have to do the one thing that will utterly and unequivocally prove my love and devotion. I have to move past my fear… and simply trust her.

  “Okay,” I say, leaning over to kiss her. “We’ll do it your way.”

  ♦

  A lot of planning and activity goes into game day. We don’t just show up, get dressed, and hop onto the ice.

  Often, we’ll have a light skate practice followed by a healthy, but energy-carb loaded, team meal. After, some players will meditate while others do an activity like a stationary bike to stay loose and warm.

  Others still will hang out in the family lounge, doing something mindless like playing Xbox, to avoid game jitters.

  Whatever the ritual, we’ll all congregate back in the locker room right around the time this shit with Matthew starts to go down. I’m about to go crazy, out of my mind, and there’s no way I can focus on anything else.

  I’m usually the guy who likes to keep on the move, stay loose, so I can often be found on a stationary bike before a game. Today, though, it’s 4:45, and I’m sitting on the bench in front of my cubby, blankly staring at my jersey.

  Mollie should be on her way to the restaurant. Cruce, Saint, and Kynan will already be there and set up. I talked to her about ten minutes ago, and it had felt like the last conversation we’d ever have. Most of it was her reassuring me that everything would be okay.

  She didn’t say “I love you” before hanging up, and I’m glad. It would have come off as her being worried rather than feeling the confidence she wore like a badge of honor all day.

  Instead, she merely said, “See you soon,” in such a light tone that it almost seemed like she was just off to take a walk in the park.

  She’d given me a lesson in tenacity and persistence, so I’m going to do as she asked and prepare for the game.

  A hand comes down on my shoulder. Startled, I jerk away, having been too lost in my thoughts to notice anyone.

  It’s Bain with Jett and Jim behind him. Most surprising is Riggs, standing shoulder to shoulder with them. He regards me without an ounce of his usual standoffishness, but rather with something that feels distinctly like a brotherhood.

  My second linemates.

  “We wanted to take a moment with you,” Bain begins by way of explanation. They know what’s going on—the entire team does. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to say a prayer.”

  I’m not religious by any means—never attended church, not even while growing up—but I have a spiritual side. I will never turn down a prayer, nor will I ever push these guys aside to try to handle this on my own.

  With a dip of my head, I indicate it’s fine as I rise from the bench. My teammates and I gather in a loose circle, standing side by side with our shoulders barely touching.

  We don’t hold hands or loop our arms around each other; we merely bow our heads as Bain begins his prayer.

  Dear Lord,

  We ask you today for your heavenly grace. Please protect Mollie as she faces great adversity in the coming hours, and instill in our brother, Kane, the virtues we already know he possesses, but that probably could use a little boost.

  Jett snickers, and I smile.

  These virtues are found in you, Lord—strength, hope, and resolve, and an expectation that very soon, everything will be alright.

  In our Lord’s name, we pray…

  We all resoundingly respond, “Amen.”

  Raising my head, I slowly scan the circle, taking in my linemates. Each one meets my eyes with confidence the day will be won on all counts. Mollie will help take down that son of a bitch, and we’ll step out on that ice tonight and whip some Rebels’ ass.

  “Thanks, guys,” I say.

  I get shoulder slaps of camaraderie as they break apart to move to their cubbies. Jett slaps me on the ass, and I roll my eyes at the sting.

  Chatter instantly fills the locker room as the other players start arriving to get dressed.

  I glance at my watch.

  4:56.

  I should hear something soon.

  Determined not to stall but to push forward with the same bravery Mollie’s been showing, I turn to my cubby and start to get prepared for the game.

  CHAPTER 23

  Mollie

  I follow a waitress to the table in the outdoor seating area, which had been designated for Matthew and me to sit at. It’s impressive how Jameson has coordinated everything between the restaurant and the local police in such a short
time.

  I wipe my hands, which feel like they are dripping with sweat, on my jeans. I’m scared the tape holding the wire to the skin on my back will peel off, because yes… I’m wired so our entire conversation will be recorded.

  Frantically, I run through the last-minute pieces of advice Kynan gave before I got in the Uber slotted to drive me to the restaurant. Jameson Security decided I would go alone in case Matthew became suspicious that I would bring someone—probably Kane. Cruce and Saint were in place and set up before I even left the condo.

  What had Kynan said again?

  Oh, yeah.

  Speak calmly.

  Ask him why he did what he did, but do so in a curious way without any visible anger. That should get him to open up about the attack.

  Ask him if he still intends to harm you. Appear frightened of him.

  Ask what his intentions are. Again, do so curiously. Let him do the talking.

  Kynan said the more I could get him to talk—keeping the focus on him and not what I’d done to piss him off in the first place—would go a long way to preventing an escalation.

  I spot Saint at a table, blissfully ignoring me while reading a newspaper of all things. As he was at the condo earlier, he’s wearing his snazzy business suit and appearing every bit the dapper businessman. As we were hanging around, killing time before I left, Cruce told me that Saint was once a world-class thief. I found the idea fascinating. God, I’d love to bend his ear about his travels and adventures someday.

  Saint has a full water glass and a half-empty wineglass before him, as well as an appetizer he’s clearly been munching on. I’m sure the items are mostly for show, meant to mark him as a diner who has been here for a bit.

  Cruce is somewhere on the streets, but within close enough distance to put a bullet in Matthew should he make a violent move toward me.

  The waitress leads me to the table beside Saint’s. I dare not look at him, though, taking the chair opposite of him as we planned. While I’d have thought they’d want him a bit closer to me, the truth is they want him able and ready to spring on Matthew if necessary.

  The waitress offers me a menu. She knows there is some sort of police sting going down—though not the particulars—but she appears relaxed and calm. She even makes a show of asking if I’m dining alone, but I shake my head and say, “I’m meeting a friend.”

  She nods. “I’ll check back once he’s been seated.”

  Placing my phone on the table beside the menu, I realize the clock says it’s 5:01. I hadn’t expected Matthew to be here first. I’d fully expected him to be suspicious of my motives. I’d bet he’s probably been hanging out down the block, watching while my Uber deposited me in front of the restaurant.

  A server appears with a pitcher of water, then fills my glass. After he melts way, I take a nervous sip, thankful for its soothing relief on my throat, which is parched with fear and doubt.

  Why had I told Kane to go to the game?

  I’m terrified, and I wish he were here.

  But no, I’d done the right thing.

  Just like he’s doing the right thing.

  I have to deal with this myself.

  Movement from my right catches my attention, and I slowly turn to see Matthew following behind the same waitress who seated me. Her gaze meets mine before darting nervously over to Saint, then returning to me.

  My eyes lock on Matthew. Immediately, I want to look away because seeing him is more horrible than I could have ever imagined. It makes me sick to think I was ever intimate with this man, but no matter how handsome he is, all I can recall is the memory of how crazed he appeared when he’d been on top of me—attacking me—in my van.

  He’s casually dressed in cargo shorts and a button-down shirt with long sleeves. He seems thinner than I remember, at least in the face, which looks gaunt. It means he’s probably not been eating well. This seems to bode ill for me, because he’s obviously not taking care of himself. Someone who was in their right mind would be.

  The waitress is overly cheery as she points to a chair, handing Matthew a menu after he takes a seat. He spares a glance at Saint, and I wonder if Matthew thinks it’s odd that we’re the only diners out here. It’s one of the ways meant to keep patrons safe, but I’m hoping Matthew thinks it’s simply too early for the dinner rush.

  Matthew scrutinizes Saint again before scanning the street that runs parallel to the restaurant. When he once again looks left, then right, it hits me what he’s doing.

  “I came alone,” I state, knowing he’s on the lookout for Kane.

  “Just making sure,” Matthew replies. When he settles his gaze on me, he twists his lips into a smirk.

  Instantly, anger replaces my fear as I realize this fucker believes he has already won the game because I’d done as he’d ordered and come alone.

  Except… I’m far from on my own, which he’ll learn very soon.

  Before I can open a conversation, a server arrives and pours Matthew a glass of water. He ignores the waiter and the drink.

  Once we’re alone again, I ask, “Why are you in Phoenix?”

  Matthew leans back in his chair, draping one arm over the back. “I’m here for you, of course.”

  A shiver runs up my spine, but I work to keep my expression bland. “We’re only here to talk,” I remind him.

  “Of course,” he replies, inclining his head.

  God, how does he do it? Sit there so casually, with such a smug expression, while knowing he’d attacked me the last time we’d been this close. The only thing I can think is that maybe he doesn’t have a clue about me going to the police. That he doesn’t know there’s a warrant out for his arrest. If he did, it seems like he’d have taken more precautions and wouldn’t appear to be so comfortable.

  As it stands, though, he sits there preening smugly—like the cat that ate the canary—because he believes he has power over me.

  “Why did you do it?” I ask softly, tilting my head in an effort to appear humbly curious.

  “Why did you cut me out of your life?” he retorts.

  When I don’t reply, Matthew shrugs. “I let my anger get the better of me.”

  “I don’t buy that,” I reply, going a bit off-script. I’d been told not to be argumentative, but I can’t let him get away with a falsity like that. “You didn’t even try to talk to me. Your sole purpose was to attack me.”

  Leaning forward, he lowers his voice, sneering. “I came to punish you. You hurt me, so I hurt you back.”

  “You would have killed me, Matthew,” I murmur. “That was your intent, wasn’t it?”

  “Your fucking dog made sure that didn’t happen, now didn’t he?” he growls, rubbing at his arm. I wonder if he still has bandages under his sleeve. I hope he has extremely visible, disfiguring scars.

  He still hasn’t admitted what his exact intentions were, seeming too squirrely to come right out and say it. Maybe he suspects that I’m wired.

  I try another tact Kynan suggested. “What are your intentions, now that you’re in Phoenix?”

  Matthew doesn’t answer, but I can tell he enjoys my question by his unsettling smile. He takes a sip of water, then swallows slowly. When he sets the glass down, he replies, “Well now… that depends on you, doesn’t it?”

  “Me?” I ask.

  “You’re going to give me another chance,” Matthew states confidently. “We’ll hit the road together again, but we’re not taking that crazy dog of yours this time. We can just forget that unpleasant business back in North Carolina.”

  My ears start buzzing. It takes me long seconds to realize they’re doing it because I’m so infuriated that he would even think I’d consider such a thing. Had the man not learned a damn thing about me in the few months we’d been together?

  Kynan had told me to talk calmly. Insisted I had to keep my cool. Advised me to gently prod Matthew into admitting what he’d done, so we’d have an ironclad case against him.

  Every bit of that advice dissolves into not
hing but white noise as I plant my forearms on the table, leaning in toward the center. “You expect me to go out on the road with you again?”

  My voice quakes with anger, and Matthew blinks in surprise. Apparently, he had taken my slightly subservient attitude as a given.

  Not giving him a chance to answer, I bare my teeth and hiss, “You jumped me in my van. Pinned me to the floor. Held me down. You were so furious, and your eyes were crazy. You expect me to just forget all that and go on as if nothing happened? Well, let me tell you something, Matthew. You’re insane. Pathetic.”

  Matthew’s face contorts with rage, but I don’t stop talking. “You’re a tiny excuse of a human who has no idea what it means to be a real man.”

  Face flushing red, he grits his teeth. He holds up a hand, points a finger, and opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.

  “You have low self-esteem and an even tinier dick. Christ… I’m not even sure if you were there to kill me or rape me, but you couldn’t have done much damage with that little bitty pecker—”

  “I was there to kill you, bitch,” he screams, pushing up to rise from his chair.

  There’s not even a tremor of fear within me. I merely tip my head up, my smile brimming with confidence over the fact I’d just rattled the shit out of him.

  Enough to get him to admit his intention to murder me.

  And before I can even register that he moved, Saint is out of his chair, holding Matthew in a headlock. Matthew’s eyes bulge out as he gapes at me in stunned surprise.

  Matthew hasn’t yet figured out this is a sting. He probably thinks Saint is merely a diner who overheard him call me a bitch and decided to be gallant.

  Matthew tries to buck Saint off, calling him all kinds of vile names, but Saint’s immovable.

  Pedestrians passing by the outdoor area stop to gawk at the commotion. Within moments, two plainclothes police officers are winding through the tables, guns drawn.

  “Arrest this man,” Matthew rasps furiously, but then he gags as Saint tightens his arm around the asshole’s throat.