Smokeshow: A Hockey Love story

by Miller, Raine

  I shared those feelings with no one.

  James came to my birthday that year. To the gathering at Blackwater on the island where my family summered and vacationed as often as my father could convince my mother to spend time at the old estate perched on its coast. We were in the pool playing chicken fights when it happened. Wyatt was carrying me on his shoulders while Lucas carried Janice Thorndike, and the two of us squared off. Janice was one of those people we were forced to tolerate because our parents were close. She was a manipulative attention whore most of the time, and it being my birthday didn't change that one iota. Why she would go out of her way to humiliate someone who was much younger than her, and during their birthday celebration no less, was beyond me.

  But she did.

  Janice yanked on the tie at my neck that held up my bikini top and announced to all within shouting distance to have a look at my tits when it fell down. I was mortified to the depths of my soul as I frantically tried to cover back up after jumping from Wyatt's shoulders into the water. Awkwardly struggling with my chest submerged, I turned away from everyone and pulled myself together as best I could through hot tears. I think my brothers were either too freaked out or oblivious to what had happened, because neither said anything to me as I made for the edge of the pool to leave. Maybe they figured I didn't want any more attention drawn to myself—which I most certainly didn't—but a little compassion would have been nice too. Brothers can be stupidly dense.

  It was James who met me at the steps with a towel and told me Janice was a jealous bitch who wished she looked as good as I did without her bikini top.

  "You saw?" I asked him on a sob.

  His striking greeny-brown eyes burned right into me before he answered. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Winter, and you didn't do anything wrong. You can't help that you're beautiful and sweet." The way he looked at me told me we'd moved beyond our big brother/little sister relationship in that moment. It wasn't him being pervy with me either. It was simply James being my champion when I desperately needed one.

  "Thank you," I mumbled, still mortified that he'd seen my boobs, but strangely aware the incident had given me the gift of James Blakney's attention at the same time.

  "Don't let this ruin your special day, Win. You are perfectly lovely in every way," he said before grinning at me in a way that could only be described as a tiny bit wicked. My skin pebbled along with my nipples, as I stood there like a mute. James winked as he took a swig of his Sam Adams before going back to his group of friends on the grass as if nothing had ever happened.

  And just like that I fell in love with him.

  Not even my twin sister, Willow, was privy to the innermost secrets of my heart concerning James Blakney. Within the safety of my dreams he was mine alone, and I didn't have to share him with anyone else. Or be humiliated because I'd set my sights far too high on a man who could never possibly be interested in a young girl like me. And that right there was the division between us. James was a man at twenty-three, and I was merely a girl at fifteen. Those eight years spanning between us was gargantuan—far too great of a distance to cross over.

  Then.

  But I'd always known him. James had been around and in my life for as long as I could remember. He met my oldest brother, Caleb, at St. Damien's when they were ten years old, and they'd been friends ever since. I was two. Willow and I went to St. Damien's eight years later when it was our turn to be shipped off to boarding school—our twin brothers, Wyatt and Lucas, five years before us. In the Blackstone family, children were schooled away from home because it built character and toughened them up for the real world. Even though the "real world" was so far removed from our lifestyle it was laughable. Things like: twenty-year-old mothers who worked the streets so her children could have food and a place to sleep; or homeless vets struggling with wartime PTSD manifested in drug abuse and suicide were the real world.

  Those things just weren't the "real world" examples my parents referred to.

  Boarding school was only one of the many requirements that came with the territory of growing up rich. James understood completely because he'd been raised in much the same way. The Blakneys owned a beach retreat on Blackstone Island not far from my family's ancestral estate, Blackwater, and so our time had been spent at the same gatherings and social functions for as long as we both could remember.

  As the years went along, I loved James from afar, watching him grow more serious…and more cynical. I think his fiancée dumping him at the altar five years ago to run away with a senior partner in his father's law firm had a lot to do with the change in his personality. Leah Rawlings turned out to be a money-hungry bitch who'd left a trail of destruction in her wake. She broke my James's heart. And she did it publicly in a way that was cruel and unnecessary, and on the day they were to be married. With the guests already arriving at the church. I'll never forget the look on James's face when Caleb led him out of there.

  Crushed.

  I didn't know all the reasons for his devastation at the time. It was more than just Leah leaving him hanging at the altar. Worse than that, I would discover in time.

  I couldn't have known all of the machinations that went on behind the scenes in our world when I was barely nineteen years old, but I'd learned enough to know a lot of it wasn't nice.

  Despicable was a much better adjective.

  James had been twenty-seven when he found out there were many secret deals and plenty of depravity in plain sight if you knew where to look.

  I think the discovery of just how depraved was part of my interest in choosing social work at Boston University. I wanted to live my life differently than the people in my "social" circle. I didn't desire to be impoverished, but I didn't desire to waste my money on frivolous excess either. I wanted to use it to help make a difference for people who desperately needed someone to care, and had no one.

  No one at all.

  After his wedding-that-didn't-happen, I heard that James stayed drunk for about a month before pulling himself back together. With fierce resolve to overcome the betrayal of those who'd done him wrong, a mask descended over his handsome face. James lost his carefree manner and the easy smile he'd always had for others, and most importantly, in my mind, for me. He became more closed off, and far less engaging after Leah worked him over.

  I missed the old James terribly at first, but I didn't have many encounters with him during the years I was an undergrad at BU. I was busy being a student, and James was busy separating himself from his father's firm. There was drama over that decision at the time. I remember my parents discussing it, but in the end, James made his own stamp in the legal community, establishing himself as the go-to guy for contract law in New England. James R. Blakney & Associates, P.C. was retained by my dad for Blackstone Global Enterprises as soon as James had set up on his own. Nothing had changed with Caleb heading up BGE since Dad's death. In fact, James probated his will—a complicated undertaking for anyone faced with settling the billion-dollar personal fortune our father left to us—and he handled it without a blip. On top of being a close family friend, James knew the conditions of my trust fund. He knew what was required for me to gain access to it before my thirtieth birthday, too. He was the one who'd explained it to my sister and me at the reading of the will. Lucas and Wyatt had nothing to worry about given they were twenty-nine when Dad passed away.

  It's fair to say I hated Leah. Not so much for being with James in the first place, but for wounding him and leaving him a changed man. For that reason, she was on my unforgivable sinners' list. Because I was not confident he was as capable of forgiveness and goodwill toward people who grieved him as he might have been in the past. Which was what worried me the most, because now I've done something to hurt James. Something that could make him hate me, even though it would kill me inside if he did.

  I stole from him.

  I took advantage of James in a weak moment. I knew it was wrong, and yet I didn't care as I crossed over a dangerous line with hi
m. I indulged nearly a decade's worth of craving to experience the magic of being loved by James Blakney. Loved? Probably more like fucked. It was done lovingly, so I didn't care. Carelessness indeed. I knew the risks and took my chances anyway.

  Still, it was so very wrong of me to let it happen, because the circumstances were too close to how Leah betrayed him. My betrayal was even worse, because the ripple effects would be felt by many.

  And now?

  I'd have to face up to the consequences of what I did.

  To James.

  To us.

  To our unborn child.

  Filthy Lies: One

  James

  Three months earlier.

  Boston

  There was one reason and one reason only why I was at my father's law office today. The woman who birthed me. My mother asked me to see him, so I agreed, even though I'd rather take a swim in the Charles River. That I would prefer immersing myself into a polluted-as-fuck body of water to meeting with my dad, spoke volumes.

  The truth? I loved my mother, but I couldn't say the same about my father. Harsh as it was to acknowledge, pragmatism told me I wasn't the first son to feel this way about a parent. History was filled with examples.

  I dreaded this meeting because I knew whatever message he wanted to deliver to me personally wasn't anything I'd want to hear. Nothing he ever imparted was good news, but this felt like walking into an ambush. To say we had a stiff relationship was a polite way of describing it. I kept myself guarded because I had to. If your father sat on the First Circuit Court of Appeals that would probably do it for most people. The fact I practiced law in the same city as him required the appearance of family solidarity even if there was none. I had a fuck-ton of valid reasons for feeling the way I did.

  Even though I'd been in his presence at family dinners and holiday occasions, I hadn't been in his office since the day I left it five years ago. The feelings of anger and disgust simmered below the surface where I'd forced them to stay. After this, I'd need a release to bring me back down to level. I knew where I'd be heading tonight. Annnnnd wasn't the irony just fucking beautiful considering where I was right now?

  "He's ready for you, James." Patricia's smile held a touch of sympathy. She probably knew the reason for my summons. My father, the judge, only hired the best, and every lawyer with half a brain understood a smooth running office existed in direct correlation to the skills of his or her legal secretary.

  "Thanks. Oh, before I forget, tell Chase to get in touch with Marguerite at my offices if he's interested in an internship." Patricia's oldest son was a first year law student at Suffolk and probably a smart kid if he was anything like his mom.

  "Oh, that's so kind. I know Chase will jump at the opportunity, James." She smiled with genuine thanks before leading me into my father's inner sanctum.

  He tracked me with his eyes as I entered the room. I had to work fucking hard to keep a lid on my emotions and remain impassive. I was on enemy turf for as long as this meeting lasted. I thought of my mother, and that helped to keep my feet planted. If not for her request, I'd be out the fucking door and back on the street where I could breathe again.

  "Sit down, son."

  I settled into one of his soft leather chairs and leaned back with an expression of relaxed comfort. An acting performance that should probably earn me an Academy Award because in reality, it felt like I was being ass-fucked on a bed of nails. I would probably walk out of here feeling the same way when this meeting was over.

  "Thank you for coming today. I realize your mother had to persuade you."

  I kept my eyes forward and ignored the calculated barb. "How is she?" I deflected by asking him a question.

  "Your mother is very well as she always is." Undoubtedly he was lying, but I'd learned long ago that my parents' relationship was not my battle to fight. "I've asked you for a private meeting to share my news. You need to know what's coming."

  I said nothing. There wasn't a thing on earth that could've compelled me to ask him for the information. I wasn't able to pretend that much with my father. All my energy was taken up by being present in the first place. I knew my silent disinterest rankled him. And I fucking loved that it did.

  "Ted Robinson's recent cancer diagnosis has ended his political career."

  "You know what they say about karma," I answered. All I could envision was the darkly beautiful goddess that was karma swooping in for her well-deserved due, because Ted Robinson shared space on the same list with my dad. Cut from exactly the same cloth. "Besides, he has Mrs. Robinson to care for his every need now, so he can certainly take some comfort in that."

  Bitch, please.

  The idea of my ex, Leah, nursing her sick husband back to health was so outrageous even I had to call bullshit on my own inner monologue. Robinson would abso-fucking-lutely have private in-home nursing care, because his adoring wife certainly wouldn't soil her hands cleaning up his piss and puke.

  "It's time to let go of what happened in the past, James. It's done. Move on to the new."

  Let go of what happened in the past?

  My jaw twitched involuntarily, probably from how hard I was gritting my teeth. I had moved on to the new, as he put it. What the fuck did he think that was five years ago when I severed ties with this law firm and started my own? James R. Blakney & Associates, P.C. was something pretty fucking new. I shrugged and shook my head slowly. "So, what…you're running for public office now?"

  "I've been approached by the party, yes." He unclasped his hands and placed both palms onto his desk. "I will accept their invitation to throw my hat into the proverbial ring. I have every intention of representing Massachusetts in the US Senate one year from now."

  Of course you do.

  I figured this day would come. My father's ego most definitely predestined a political career at some point. "Congratulations," I managed to ground out.

  "The senate is just the first step in the overarching plan though."

  "Overarching plan?" I loathed when he spoke in riddles like he was now. So arrogantly smug in his passive aggressiveness, it grated on my already stretched patience.

  "Yes. The senate campaign announcement will come early February when everyone is breathing a collective sigh of relief the presidential race debacle has finally been put to bed. They'll use it to deflect some of the negative into a positive. Two years isn't a horribly long time to have to wait for a candidate they can really get behind and safely propel into the White House."

  Whoa. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? "You're serious."

  "Deadly serious."

  "You're going to run for President of the United States." I didn't pose it as a question. I blinked at him, hoping to wake up from a really bad fucking dream—unable to accept the idea—grasping at straws of denial instead. "But aren't you getting ahead of things? The White House is a long way from a judgeship on the First Circuit."

  He stone-faced me, taking me straight back to when I was a kid and about to get served my punishment for some irrationally perceived infraction. I had a lot of those moments in my childhood to draw from. A flicker of fear crept inside my heart.

  "I-I m-mean, you have to win the senate seat before you can declare a run for President in two years." I wanted to cut out my tongue for stammering and showing weakness in front of him.

  "The senate race is already done. All I need to make it stick is the cooperation of my beloved family." His lip curled up on one side in a definite sign of distaste as he spoke the last word. Jesus Christ, he must hate us all.

  "How so?" I wouldn't have anything to do with his campaign. No fucking way. I held my palms up. "This has nothing to do with me. Your campaign is yours…as in, not mine."

  "Oh, but it is in a way, son. You'll have to do your part to help present the right image to the voting public. Every aspect of our lives will be scrutinized. Every predilection…" He folded his hands and focused his dark eyes on mine, finally getting to the crux of the issue.

 
"Even I can't change who I am...Dad. You might think you can clean me up for your precious campaign, but you can't. You are responsible for my transformation, after all."

  Maybe he was responsible.

  But maybe not.

  The darkness had always been there for as long as I could remember, just not acted on until rather recently. Now? I needed it to survive. The control was essential for me. That my father had knowledge of my sexual proclivities was a far worse burden to bear on my part. That I liked to tie up women and spank them while fucking was going to be his.

  "Don't be so dramatic. It's a simple solution. Your sister is already on the right path. She understands her duty to her family. The only loose end is you." He did the lip curl again. "You will also do your duty to this family, and you will do it quickly."

  I shook my head at him. Denying what I knew he was asking of me. "I'm not hearing this."

  "You are hearing this. I can't run a campaign for the highest office in the land with a thirty-something son unmarried and frequenting an underground sex club. Discreet you may be, but this upcoming level of scrutiny isn't what you've ever experienced. I might be able to get the past whitewashed somewhat, but my powers aren't infinite here. A pretty wife and young family will do a much more convincing job than a cover-up could ever manage. The Internet makes things goddamn complicated for all of us."

  Ain't that the fuckin' truth.

  "Married doesn't work for me. I mean, just look at what happened the last time I tried to put a ring on it. You orchestrated that catastrophe like a pro, I might add."

  "Ancient history, James," he said with a dismissive wave of a hand.

  Ancient history, perhaps to him.