Kane

by Sawyer Bennett

  That had enraged her, that I would dare even suggest she’d used me. It’s not really what I meant, but, at that moment, it felt good to have gotten a jab in. I hoped it hurt her as badly as she had me.

  She ended up storming off to the guest room, Samson on her heels, while I went to my room. It was a lonely, cold bed that night. I’d barely slept.

  When I woke up yesterday, I found Mollie in the kitchen, finishing a cup of coffee. I couldn’t miss noticing her bags were packed and by the door, Samson waiting there with his tail wagging as if he knew they were getting ready to go on a trip. He had the travel bug in his system, too.

  It was almost poetic the way she put her cup in the sink, walked over to me, and raised to her tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek.

  “Goodbye, Kane,” was all she’d said.

  I didn’t say anything in return, only watched her walk out. Just like that… ten years of friendship and a relationship that had all the potential in the world was gone.

  The buzzer goes off, indicating the end of the first period. I had been so absorbed in my pathetic memories I hadn’t even realized that play had resumed. The team skated to the gate that would lead us to our locker room. We all trudged there, taking up spots around the open space the lockers bordered as we waited for Coach Perron to address us.

  It’s what he did at the end of every period. If we were playing poorly, he’d cuss us out. If we were doing great, he’d be effusive in his praise. Tonight, we’re playing well—not counting my horrific miss of a goal—and we’re up by two. The speech he gives is validating and short. He’d rather us rest until we have to go back out. Intermission is seventeen minutes long, but it goes by quickly.

  I sit on the bench in front of my cubby, back to the rest of the team, and re-check the tape on my sticks.

  “What in the fuck is going on with you?” I hear, immediately recognizing Jim’s voice. When he sits beside me, I give him a sidelong glance but don’t reply. “If you had taken that same shot a hundred times, you would have made that goal a hundred times.”

  I stay silent, not feeling the need to defend my crappy play. Shit happens sometimes.

  “Your head isn’t in the game, and since I’ve never seen your head not in the game, I’m going to assume something bad has happened in your life.”

  He’s astute, but I don’t acknowledge how close he is to figuring me out right now. I haven’t told a single member of the team what happened with Mollie. We had a light skate yesterday. I came to the arena, did my job—not all that well, I admit—then went straight back to my empty condo in the vain hope Mollie had decided to come back and tell me she was wrong.

  “Did something happen with Mollie?” Jim asks in a low voice.

  I flinch so visibly that Jim asks, “What happened?”

  Fuck it. I raise my head, look around to make sure no one else is listening, and admit, “We broke up.”

  “Jesus,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, man.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Mind me asking what happened?” he ventures. “Because if there were ever a couple destined to make it, given your history and long-standing friendship, it was you two.”

  I let out a sigh. With that, I release the burden of how things played out. I tell him about the proposal and her job offer. Our fight and the fact we both drew lines in the sand, neither willing to budge. And then I explained how Mollie had left without a backward glance and nothing more than a “goodbye.”

  Jim is my teammate.

  My linemate.

  He’s probably my closest friend on the team.

  I open myself up to the sage advice and comfort I know he’ll bestow upon me, hoping it will get my head back straight so I can go out and be an asset to this team.

  Instead, I feel his hand slap me upside the back of my head and him state, “You’re a goddamn idiot, Kane.”

  Whipping his way, I glare. “What the fuck?”

  “You’re a goddamn idiot,” he repeats. “You let your relationship go over something that inconsequential?”

  I blink, trying to process his words. “Inconsequential?” I growl. “A year apart is not inconsequential.”

  “You got poor grades in math in high school and college, didn’t you?” he asks.

  I frown. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

  “Because if you figure that you and Mollie could say… I don’t know… have a fantastic forty to fifty years together, my math skills tell me that’s far greater than one measly year apart.”

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  When he puts it like that, I look like an absolute idiot—feeling that way now, too.

  Which makes me feel like I need to defend myself. “I offered her a middle ground,” I protest. “Shorter trips during the season and said I would travel with her the entire summer.”

  Jim just shakes his head for a long moment. So long, I start to sweat a little. He finally asks, “Does that make you feel better about the situation? That you offered her a middle ground?”

  “No,” I grumble, head hanging low.

  Was I just so caught up in the need to be right, and so confident Mollie would bend to my wishes instead of chasing her dreams, that I missed something so simple?

  That in the long run, it doesn’t matter if we’re apart for the next year because what we have is strong enough to last through it? I know that with absolute certainty because I have ten years of best-friend history to back it up.

  “Christ, I’m an idiot,” I mutter.

  “Exactly what I said,” Jim retorts with a smirk. “But I’m confident with a fair amount of groveling, you can make things right.”

  I sure as fuck hope so. Because if Mollie doesn’t forgive me, then I’ve lost the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’m not sure if I could ever move on from that.

  CHAPTER 29

  Mollie

  “He’s playing like crap,” my father says, pointing out the obvious from his recliner.

  I’m sitting in front of the TV in the family room of my parents’ house, cross-legged with Samson’s head on my lap. My eyes have been glued to the screen every time Kane’s line takes the ice.

  “Clearly, his head isn’t in the game,” my mother adds. She’s knitting on the couch but watching the game, because she’s so good she doesn’t need to keep her eyes on what she’s doing.

  I don’t need their observations to make me feel any worse than I already do. My head hangs low as I pet Samson for comfort. I’m pretty sure the main reason for Kane’s horrible gameplay is our breakup. And this is an important game. The Flash were Cup contenders last year, and they are stronger than ever. While the rest of the team is making up for Kane’s slack, there’s still a lot of game left as it’s only the first period.

  “Oh, breakaway,” my dad yells as he wrestles his recliner back into a sitting position.

  My gaze snaps to the TV. Kane and Jim have managed to break away with nothing but clear ice between them and the Flash goal. They pass back and forth until the goalie focuses on Jim as the potential shooter. Jim fakes, the goalie starts to lean, and the puck goes to Kane for a wide-open net.

  I start to raise my hands in victory, knowing he’s going to score, but they fall limply as the sound of the puck clanging on the pipe hits my ears before my brain comprehends that he missed the shot.

  “My word, he’s playing terrible,” my mother comments with a tsking sound.

  “Ugh,” I groan as I flop back on the carpet, narrowly missing smacking my head on the coffee table. It dislodges Samson from my lap, but he merely rolls to his side and falls back asleep. “This is all my fault.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, honey,” my dad says reassuringly.

  “I’m glad you can see where the fault lies,” my mom says at the same time, causing me to shoot up to gape at her over the coffee table separating us.

  “She can’t be responsible for how he’s playing,” my dad chastises, staking his side with me.

/>   “But she is responsible for breaking his heart,” my mom retorts. “And that has direct consequences on his focus and concentration.”

  “Well, her heart’s broken, too,” my dad gripes.

  “But we’re talking about Kane’s play right now,” she replies ever so reasonably.

  I settle in to watch my parents go back and forth. I’m not in the least bit offended that my mom agrees Kane’s horrible play is my fault. That does not mean she thinks my decision to take the Australia job is wrong.

  My parents have bickered over the years. In their younger days, it sometimes got very heated, but it always ended with laughter and sexy kisses that made me want to hurl as I hurried to my room. Now they merely lounge in the recliner and on the couch while slinging mild arguments at each other.

  It’s kind of cute.

  I hear the end buzzer for the period, so I focus on the TV, getting a last glimpse of Kane as he skates off the ice. His head is hanging pretty damn low, and I know he’s going to be his own harshest critic. My heart hurts for him.

  And for me.

  Snagging the remote control from the coffee table, I mute the volume, which only makes my parents bickering louder.

  “Okay,” I shout, snapping my fingers to get their attention. “That’s enough, children.”

  They both glare, but amusement sparkles in their eyes. It’s time for some serious conversation, though.

  Since I arrived home a day and a half ago, after making the almost six-hour drive from Phoenix, my parents have not weighed in with any opinion regarding my split from Kane.

  Of course, I didn’t give them much opportunity to. I told them what happened, starting with the romantic proposal that had my mom swooning, to my all too logical response of wanting to go on this trip and expecting Kane to wait for me. They gave me no input because after I was done recounting what happened, I also told them I didn’t want to talk about it right then.

  Since then, we’ve carefully tiptoed around the subject, my parents doing nothing more than being happy to have me home while periodically inquiring if I was sure I was okay.

  But no… I was not okay.

  I am not okay.

  Nowhere close.

  I feel like my heart has been shattered into a million pieces. I’m also pretty damn sure I made a horrible, awful decision in choosing the Australia trip over Kane.

  Now, I’d like to hear what they say.

  “Okay,” I start after taking a deep breath. “I thought I knew what I wanted, but now I’m having second thoughts. Should I or shouldn’t I go on this trip to Australia?”

  My parents start a discussion between themselves, pointing out the pros and cons. I listen carefully, but they’re not saying much I haven’t already considered. My dad seems to focus on Kane’s inability to let me pursue this one last dream, while my mom feels like Kane is more important than any trip, and if it’s so important I stay, I should prioritize him above Australia.

  When they both run out of steam, looking eternally grateful I asked for their opinions, my mom asks, “What are your second thoughts?”

  “That nothing is as important as Kane,” I admit. “I was only thinking he was being selfish by asking me not to go. I was mad he was taking something away from me. But I was doing the same thing. I was taking something away from him, only that something was me. I just wanted a stupid trip to Australia. It seems petty in comparison. I should have given in.”

  “I think,” my dad says with a tone that means he’s pouring all of his wisdom into his words, “you two should have talked more about this rather than make rash decisions. You shouldn’t have left like you did because if you’d have stayed and had time to think about it, you would have come to the same conclusion.”

  I grimace, thinking about how right he is. Because of me, both Kane and I suffered two days of heartbreak that could have probably been rectified with some thought and care.

  He had been right, of course. There were options to keep me satisfied with travel, especially being able to travel with him in the summer. There was the rest of our lives, too, because while Kane is excellent at what he does, he’s in a career he’ll age out of, retiring probably in his mid-to-late thirties, assuming he stays healthy. We can travel the world together at that point.

  It’s time.

  I know it deep in my heart.

  It’s time for me to commit to the man who I love above all else—my best friend, my protector, and my confidant. I should have put him first, and I’m going to correct that mistake.

  “I’m heading back to Phoenix tomorrow,” I say with a resounding nod. “And I’m going to make this right.”

  “Which means you’ll be engaged,” my mom replies wistfully, setting her knitting aside. She leans forward. “Can we start talking about the wedding now?”

  Laughing, I shrug. “Sure, why not? I mean, assuming Kane accepts my apology and takes me back.”

  My father rolls his eyes. “Of course he will. He’s not a fool.”

  “We’ve got about ten more minutes until the next period starts,” I say to Mom. “So, what can we get decided about the wedding in that amount of time?”

  “Let’s talk location,” she suggests excitedly.

  “And I’m out of here,” my dad drawls dramatically as he pushes out of his recliner and heads to the kitchen.

  My mom and I laugh, then put our heads together to figure out the best place to get married. We watch the rest of the game, and the Vengeance wins by a goal. Fortunately, Kane came out in the second period and seemed to be steady on his skates once more. His speed was terrific, his passes sharp, and while he didn’t have another opportunity to score, he did get an assist.

  In between periods and on commercial breaks, I finish the laundry I’d ignored since returning home. My goal is to hit the road first thing in the morning to return to Phoenix.

  After the game—despite the late hour—I insist on getting my van packed so I can be ready to go early. My dad suggested I leave the van at their house and take Mom’s car, which doesn’t get used all that much since she works mostly from home. I like the idea because while I love my van, it’s big and unwieldy.

  Strong hugs are given to my parents before they retire to bed. I lay in my own, Samson curled at my feet, while hope blooms brightly in my chest at what tomorrow might bring.

  I have no clue where Kane is at this moment. He probably went out with teammates to The Sneaky Saguaro to celebrate their win, or perhaps he just went home.

  Nabbing my phone from the bedside table, I send Kane a text. I’m coming back to Phoenix, leaving first thing in the morning. Got time to talk?

  I stare at my phone, waiting for his reply. Kane isn’t one of those guys who jumps at his phone every time it rings or vibrates, so he might not see my text right away.

  Or he might see it and be mad enough not to respond for a while.

  Not once, though, do I think he would ignore me because he’s given up on us. I may have acted horribly by drawing my line in the sand, I may have broken his heart by ruining his proposal, and I may have left him without any attempts to work out a compromise, but I know in my heart of hearts that Kane loves me.

  That he wants a life with me.

  My actions in the last few days will not have killed ten years of friendship and love.

  That’s just how much confidence I have in him.

  In us.

  CHAPTER 30

  Kane

  I pace the length of my living room, repeatedly checking my watch. I’ve never had time move so slowly in my life.

  In fact, I’m pretty sure the clock stopped last night when I got the text from Mollie that said she was coming back to Phoenix.

  She had asked if we could talk, and there was never any other answer to give but yes. I’m so fucking grateful for the opportunity to do so—face to face—that I’d agree to anything.

  Jim put things into perspective for me last night when it came to compromise. I was seeking the immediate grat
ification of having Mollie by my side and not letting her go. By doing so, I was stifling her dreams. I forgot that when you love someone, it’s a marathon.

  A long haul.

  Every action should be taken with the idea in mind that no matter what comes in between, the goal is to be together until then end.

  I suspect if Jim uses half that much rational perspective on his marriage, Ella won’t stand a chance.

  There’s a knock at the door, and I freeze in mid-stride.

  Mollie.

  She’d left behind her key to my place—something that felt like an arrow piercing through my heart at the finality it represented—and it pains me now that she can’t just walk in. I had left the door unlocked, but I guess she doesn’t feel right coming in without an invitation.

  Foolish woman.

  I stride across the living room, yanking the door open so fast it sucks in a draft of air from the hallway.

  And there she stands, so fucking beautiful and with a smile I don’t need interpreted. She’s happy to see me, just as I am to see her.

  I know words need to be said. For the moment, though, it’s more important for me to pull her into my arms and hug the shit out of her. She doesn’t hesitate, wrapping her arms around me.

  Then I kiss the fuck out of her, and there’s no hesitation there either. She responds with an equal outpouring of emotion as our tongues dance.

  We break apart, knowing if we were to continue much longer, we’d probably just end up naked on the living room floor. Before we go there, we need to talk.

  So many things need to be said.

  Looking out in the hallway, I ask, “Where’s Samson?”

  “I left him with my parents for now,” she says, stepping across the threshold.

  That causes my stomach to tighten into a painful knot. Leaving Samson infers she’s not going to be staying here. She would never want to be parted from him.

  It didn’t occur to me that perhaps she came back so we could have some type of better closure than what we’d had. When she asked to talk, I’d assumed it was so we could agree on a plan to allow us to be together.