Kane

Coach sits at his desk with my phone in his hands, flipping through the photos I’d taken of Noah.

I expect him to lose his shit at any second.

Yell.

Threaten.

Maybe even take a swing at me.

God knows, I deserve it.

But he doesn’t do any of those things. He just sits there, staring at the damn phone with an odd expression on his face.

“Coach, I-”

“He looks like you.”

I nod, standing there like a complete chump. “Yeah.”

Silence.

“Do you love her?” He glances up at me, his gaze questioning.

“I do.”

He nods, then hands me back the phone. “Good.” He pulls some papers out of a folder and starts reading them, as if dismissing me.

“Coach?”

He grunts, but his attention stays on the documents in front of him.

“I…did you want…” Fuck. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. But I sound like a blabbering idiot.

“Do I want what, Madden?” His tone is sharp, and holds the first hint of anger he’s shown since I came into his office after practice.

I should have kept my mouth shut, because I can almost feel the tension building inside him, ready to explode.

Ten…nine…eight…boom.

“You know what I would have wanted?” He stands, his face turning a deep shade of red, his voice rising with each word. “For the man I’ve treated like a son to have enough respect for me to tell me he knocked up my daughter. That I have a goddamn grandson. I expect this from Brynne, but you…”

He sits back down, placing the palm of his hand in the center of his chest and winces.

I take a step towards him.

He raises his hand to stop me. “I’m fine.”

Sweat beads on the side of his face.

“Maybe I should call-”

“No.” With some effort, he leans back in his chair, holding my gaze. “You want to do something for me, Madden? You want to make this right?”

“Yes.”

“Then get me my family back.”

I grimace, wishing it was that simple. “Brynne is…”

“Stubborn.”

I snort. “Yeah.”

“Always has been.” He wipes the side of his face, his color starting to return to normal. “If I could just talk to her. Explain…” Closing his eyes, he leans his head back. “Maybe she wouldn’t hate me as much.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

He grunts.

“I think she uses her anger as a shield not only to protect herself, but also Sam’s memory.”

Coach goes silent, pensive, the way he always does whenever I mention Sam.

“I always thought it was Brynne I had to worry about,” he says eventually. “She looked so much like her mother.” He runs his hands over his face. “And then there was her art…” His eyes gloss over and he shakes his head. “But it was Sam I should have been worried about.”

I wonder if Coach had ever talked to Sam or Brynne the way he speaks to me - open, honest, like an equal - if their relationship would have been different.

“You can go,” he says dismissively, resignation heavy in his voice.

I’m emotionally and physically drained when I leave the arena, and I want nothing more than to go home, wrap my arms around Brynne, and kiss her until all the shittiness of the day is forgotten. But I still have to check in on Kiley. And every mile closer I get to the apartment, I can’t help but feel like there’s a bomb ready to drop.

But what else could possibly go wrong today?

Kiley is awake when I come into Blake’s apartment. She’s sitting up on the couch, with a steaming mug in her hands. Her one good eye widens when she sees me, and I swear the girl pulls tighter into herself.

“Hey, kid,” I say, sitting on the coffee table in front of her and placing my forearms on my thighs. “Looks like you’re feeling better.”

She nods, and glances over at Blake.

She reminds me of a bird. Fragile and nervous, ready to take flight the second she’s spooked.

I realize now that I don’t have to worry too much about Blake, because I doubt she’ll be here come morning. Her fight or flight response is on high alert, and there’s no fight left in the girl.

“Want to tell me what happened?”

“I-I told Blake. I got mugged.”

Bullshit.

I sigh. “So, you don’t know the person who did this to you?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you think you would recognize them if you saw them again?”

“It was dark…” Her tongue darts over her cracked bottom lip.

She’s protecting someone, or she’s too scared of what they’ll do if she goes to the police.

“Can’t help you if you don’t tell us the truth.”

Her fingers tremble around the mug.

“I am telling you the truth,” she whispers, not meeting my gaze.

“Kiley,” I say gruffly, making her flinch.

“Kane,” Blake says my name behind me, and there’s a warning there.

I rub my palms on my pants, then stand.

“I don’t do drugs,” she says softly. “I heard what you said earlier. And I wanted you to know that I don’t want to hurt you or your family. I’m not…a junkie.”

I can’t help but grunt. “Blake said you can stay here as long as it takes for you to get back on your feet.” I shove my hands in my pockets and look down at her, my heart twisting in my chest for the girl staring up at me. “Once you’re better, I’ll look into getting you a place of your own.”

She pulls her lip between her teeth again, her eyes widening. “I don’t need your-”

“Yeah, you do. So, the way I see it, you have two choices. You can accept my help, or you can run. I’m not asking you to decide right now. But I will tell you this. You stay, you follow my rules.”

“Rules?” Her chin is quivering now.

I’m pretty sure the kid thinks I’m an insensitive thug, or worse, but I need to make sure she knows I’m not fucking around.

“You get a job when you’re able. You don’t steal from me or from Blake. And absolutely no drugs.”

“I don’t-”

“No drugs, Kiley.”

She gives a small nod. “Okay.”

I watch her silently for a moment, searching for any hint of deception, but she keeps her face averted. Maybe I’m being too hard on her. But then, maybe if I’d been harder on Sam, he’d still be alive.

She fidgets with her cup, which I realize now is filled with a broth based soup that she hasn’t touched.

“And, for God’s sake, eat something. You look like you haven’t had a meal in days.”

Her gaze comes up then, and what I see guts me, because I realize how close to the truth my words are.

People talk about carrying a weight on their shoulders, but I’d never felt the actual physical presence of it until today. It’s a heaviness in your very soul. A numb pain. It’s an oxymoron maybe, but that’s how it feels. Like the emotional pain is so heavy that your body becomes frozen from it, and you are wound so tight that at any moment you know you could snap.

That’s how I feel as I push the elevator button to take me up to my apartment.

Drained.

Raw.

The only thing that keeps those pent-up emotions from spilling over is the thought of Brynne’s smile this morning, the way her body trembled at my touch.

I need her tonight.

Her body.

Her heart.

Her trust.

I’m desperate for them.

The apartment is quiet and dark when I come in. I kick my shoes off, and go to her studio, but it’s dark as well.

It’s only quarter to ten. She never goes to sleep this early. But the lights under her bedroom door are off.

I know it’s selfish waking her, but I knock anyway.

Nothing.

I open the door slightly. “Brynne?”

The bed is made, and she’s not in it.

A surge of panic swells in my chest. Not really sure why, I just know something is off.

I go to Noah’s room, holding my breath when I open the door, expecting to find the crib empty.

But I hear his little sucking noises, see his tiny little form spread out, the moonlight catching the shimmer of blonde hair.

I finally find Brynne sitting in the dark in the living room, staring out at the city lights, a half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table in front of her.

“Hey. Didn’t you hear me come in?”

She doesn’t answer, just takes a sip of her wine.

“I’m sorry about earlier with Blake. I wanted to come back, but-”

“But what?” She looks at me then, and even in the dim light I can see the accusation in her eyes.

Every damn wall that I’d spent the past few weeks trying to tear down is back up.

“I can explain about this morning.”

She laughs. “I’m sure you can. You’ve always been good at excuses.”

“Brynne,” I warn, not in the mood for a fight, my patience already hanging on by a thread.

She picks up her phone, presses something, then tosses it to me. “Unfortunately for you, pictures don’t lie.”

I scan the article that pops up, cursing when I see the photos of me and Kiley outside the parking garage.

The entire article is a bunch of bullshit, but then so is the website that posted it.

I don’t know who I’m more upset at, the person who leaked the pictures, the person who wrote the fucking article, or the woman I love that could even for a second believe the bullshit written about me.

Anger simmers, boiling to a point where I know it’s going to explode if I don’t walk away.

I toss the phone back at her, then turn.

“What? Not going to defend yourself, Madden?” she says, and I can hear the couch creak as she gets up, her footsteps following me.

“Shouldn’t have to.”

“You promised me-”

“I promised you what?” I stop and spin towards her. She’s so close she bumps into me. “Tell me, Brynne. What do you think I did? What promise did I break?” My voice goes icy, a tone I’ve never really used with her. “I want you to think real hard before you accuse me.”

She sways a little, reminding me that she’s been drinking. But it’s not an excuse.

“Who is she? Your dealer? An ex? You gave her money. You can’t deny that.”

I hold her gaze, seeing every accusation she doesn’t say.

“Yeah, Brynne. She’s my fucking drug dealer.” Sarcasm and bitterness drip from my words, but despite that, I can tell she believes me.

Hurt twists in my chest. And I know she’ll never really trust me. No matter what I do, I’ll always be the guy who killed her brother.

“Enough.” I take a step towards her, but she holds her ground, jutting her chin up at me. “No more, Brynne. I’m sick of this. Sick of you always thinking the worst of me. I can deal with a lot of shit. But not this. Not from you, and not tonight.”

“Don’t act like you’re the victim here-”

“Is that what you think you are? A victim?” I snort and drag my hands over my face.

“I didn’t say that. But I’m not the one with pictures all over the internet looking like you’re making some sort of-”

“You want to know who she is?” I yell, making her wince.

“I want the truth.”

“Bullshit. You want something you can use against me so that you don’t have to feel the things you do.” I stalk towards her, and she backs up until she’s flat against the wall, and I shoot my arms out, palms flat beside her. I lean down, narrowing my eyes at her, my breathing rough, my emotions frayed. “You keep pushing me away. Wanting me to fuck up. Because you’re too damn scared to admit you care about me.”

She doesn’t respond, just holds my gaze.

“You think you’re strong. Think that steel cage you’ve got yourself trapped in is going to protect you from getting hurt. But it just makes you a coward.”

She sucks in a breath, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. And like the asshole I feel I am right now, I push at it harder.

“Admit it, Brynne. You’re a coward. You’ve got everything you want standing right in front of you, but you’re too damn scared to take it.”

Her bottom lip trembles, and for a second I think she’s going to break. To finally admit the truth. But instead, I see her expression cloud over, and the stubborn set of her jaw returns.

“You’re trying to change the subject.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “No, sweetheart. I’m just trying to make you see the truth. I’ve been too worried about protecting you, but it’s obvious you don’t need or want my protection.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

I hold her gaze, but there’s no give there, just wall after wall of self-preservation.

God, I love her so damn much it hurts. But right now, I wonder if it wouldn’t hurt less to walk away.

I push off the wall and take a step back.

“The girl in the pictures is my sister.” There’s no emotion in my voice, just cold, hard resignation.

“You don’t have a sister.”

“I do. But you’d know that if you hadn’t hidden from me like a fucking coward for the past year.”

Her mouth parts, eyes widening slightly. Maybe she believes me. Maybe she doesn’t. Normally, I’d care. But right now, anger is the only thing that consumes me.

“You think you’re the only one in this world who deals with shit? We all have our problems, and we face them. You don’t run away like some scared teenager. Your brother died. He killed himself. Yeah, it sucks. But stop taking it out on everyone who loves you. Or you know what? You’re going to push everyone away, and you’ll have no one. Not even me.”

She sucks in a shaky breath, her eyes wide. “Kane-”

“Save it.” I rub the back of my neck where all the tension sits like a heavy stone. “I’ve had a long, shitty day. Funny thing is, I couldn’t wait to come home to see you. But I should have figured you’d find something to sabotage what we have.” I walk away, but toss one last truth over my shoulder. “You always do.”