Chapter Four
Kyle was certain that death would be preferable to the gruelling session Griff was putting them all through on Monday. The coach was still in a foul mood, and everyone was wearing it, not just Kyle. Which made him even less popular with the guys than he’d been since they’d realised he’d had carnal knowledge of the coach’s daughter.
Apparently Val was like their kid sister. And that made him a grubby, horndog fifteen-year-old with only one thing on his mind. Which was partially true at the moment, except the thing on his mind was getting this fucking heinous training session over and done with as soon as possible.
Followed closely by finding Val and demanding a bloody explanation.
Sure, he’d promised Griff he’d stay away, but it just wasn’t a promise he could keep. Firstly, he needed to know she was okay after the terrible argument with her father, and secondly, he needed to know why she’d slept with him. Had it all just been some act of rebellion, or had there been more?
He’d been pretty damn steamed as he’d left Griff’s office Saturday night. He couldn’t believe she’d done something so potentially catastrophic for his career in some kind of sick screw you to her father. Especially when he’d thought they’d actually made a connection and that she’d chosen him not because of who he was, but because he’d made her laugh.
He was calmer now he’d had time to think it all through. Time to remember that the night they’d met had been Val’s birthday. Which meant it was her twin sister’s birthday as well. It was no secret in rugby circles that Val’s twin sister had been run over and killed in the driveway by Griff when she’d been two years old, so Val’s state of mind that night made sense. He could hardly blame her for not making good decisions on a day that might still be difficult for her even twenty-two years later. It was obvious she was as wrapped up—possibly as fucked up—by the King family tragedy as her father.
And, as such, he was prepared to cut her some slack over it.
But he still wanted to talk to her. He needed to look her in the eye and ask her if there’d been any malicious intent. Mostly, though, he needed to check she was okay. The argument with her father had been intense, and they’d both said things they probably regretted.
Except, he still had no idea how to find her. Knowing who she really was helped, but googling her hadn’t turned up anything much that was current, apart from a couple of pictures which looked like they’d been taken at home games. There’d been plenty of older stuff about the accident, which he’d read because he hadn’t been able to stop and because he’d thought maybe he’d get a better insight into Griff and Val if he knew all the gory details.
He just wished he’d asked more questions of the guys about the coach’s daughter when they’d told him she was off-limits. He hadn’t even asked her name, just made a mental note to keep his dick under control when he eventually met her.
What a doofus.
If he’d made more enquires, he might have realised sooner just who he’d slept with two weeks ago.
And tracked her down earlier.
And avoided the debacle of Saturday night.
But he hadn’t.
He had made a few discreet enquiries of his old teammates and exploited some other rugby contacts, but had drawn a blank as to where she might live or work. Which left him to make less-discreet enquiries around Henley. His teammates were the most obvious source to go to, but they’d already closed ranks where Val was concerned, and even if they hadn’t, he doubted any of them would be in much of a mood to help him after this fucking never-ending training session.
They were finally granted sweet relief an hour later. Between Griff’s bad mood and the guy’s passive-aggressive bullshit on the field, Kyle was glad it was over.
Everyone was exhausted and pissed off. At him. But Kyle couldn’t let that bother him. He needed to talk to Val, and that meant tackling things head-on.
After a shower.
The heat felt good on Kyle’s aching muscles, and he stood under it for a long time, his head bowed, hot water running down his neck and back as he kicked around ways to approach the subject with his teammates. It was ironic that all these years he’d been working toward this goal of playing for the Sydney Smoke, and now, here he was in their locker room, having just trained with them, and he’d rather be anywhere else.
He stepped out of the shower and secured a towel around his waist, walking out into the general area and heading for his locker. He noticed Eve, Griff’s PA, was talking to Tanner Stone—the Sydney Smoke captain—over by the door, apparently unconcerned about being amongst a bunch of sweaty half-naked rugby players.
He nodded at Lincoln Quinn, who was approaching on his way to the showers. Linc didn’t respond other than to shoulder check him as he passed. Kyle’s temper flared, his pulse spiking into the red zone. He was generally hard to rile—growing up with his family had imbued him with the patience of a saint—but he’d had enough today.
He shoved Linc in the chest. “Back the fuck off, dude.”
Linc returned the favour, shoving him, too, and getting up in his face, and then the whole team was there, calling for calm and pulling them apart.
“Knock it off,” Dexter Blake said.
Kyle could see Eve standing by herself now, frowning at the proceedings from a distance as he allowed John Trimble to pull him away. Ryder Davis had Linc.
“Dude.” Lincoln glared at Kyle. “You had one rule to remember, and you broke it.”
Kyle gritted his teeth. “Listen up,” he said as he pulled out of John’s hold. He was addressing Linc, but he meant it for everyone. “I didn’t know she was Griff’s daughter.”
Linc, freeing himself of Ryder’s hold, quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. “You usually fuck women without finding out their names first?”
Kyle snorted. Lincoln Quinn may be happily monogamous now, but his reputation as rugby’s biggest manwhore before that was well-known. He’d pit his rep with women against Linc’s any day. “She told me her name was Val. And no, we didn’t get past first names.”
If she’d said she was Val King, it might have rung bells for Kyle.
Which was, of course, why she hadn’t.
“She’d have known who you were, though.” Bodie Webb—or Spidey, as he was called—threw that titbit at him. “Val has an encyclopaedic knowledge where rugby’s concerned. She knows every professional player and their stats in the world.”
“She knew me, yes.”
That gave them all pause, as it slowly dawned on the team that their kid sister might not be the innocent party in all this. It was a good opening for Kyle.
“I don’t suppose any of you have her number or her address or know where she works?” He’d given Griff his word that he’d stay away, and he would.
After they’d talked.
Expressions that had been less hostile, sympathetic even a moment ago, closed down like steel traps. He might as well have asked them for their wives and girlfriends’ numbers.
Dono crossed his massive tribal-tattooed biceps across his chest. “Now why would we tell you that?”
Kyle held up his hands in a surrender motion as the testosterone levels in the locker room sky rocketed. “I just want to talk to her, that’s all.”
“If she wanted to talk to you,” Dono said, “you’d be talking.”
Kyle looked around the circle at all the nodding heads. It was clear none of them were going to hand Val to him on a platter. He glanced across the room to appeal to Eve, but she was just disappearing out the door.
What now?
“She was upset when she left Griff’s office on Saturday night. I just want to check on her.”
“She’s fine,” Tanner said. “Matilda spoke to her already.”
Matilda was Tanner’s wife. “I’d like to check for myself.”
“I bet you would, you grubby bastard,” Linc muttered.
Kyle tensed again, and John grabbed his shoulder in reflex.
“Val and Griff have a…strained relationship,” Tanner said. “But all of us and the WAGs look out for her. You’ve no need to trouble yourself.”
Kyle knew from the Centaurs what a tight-knit bunch WAGs often were. With the Smoke this apparently included the coach’s daughter, too. Which was great. But being there for Val when her father upset her wasn’t the same as calling Griff on his bullshit.
Sometimes it took an outsider to see things as they were. And whatever the reasons for Griff being Griff, he was obviously hurting his daughter, even if it wasn’t his intention. Kyle doubted any of the team had the balls to point that out to their coach.
Even if somebody should.
But not right now. There was a time and a place, and this wasn’t it—now he needed to see Val. If he could just bulldoze his way through the biggest cock-blocking exercise he’d ever had the misfortune to be on the wrong end of.
So much for male solidarity.
Not that he wanted to see Val to get into her pants again. He’d given Griff his word, and he had no intention of reneging on that part of it.
Kyle glanced at Val’s band of merry defenders. She obviously inspired loyalty, and he was pleased to know that she had good people around her.
Even if they were annoying as fuck.
“I will find out, you know? It’s just a matter of time.”
Dono cracked his knuckles. “Good luck with that.”
The message was clear. He wouldn’t be finding out through any of them. Or anyone from the club, probably, given the loyalty to Griff and his displeasure over the now-infamous Saturday night incident that had spread like wildfire.
Kyle sighed. “Fine.” He was too bloody tired for this crap anyway. He supposed if he just waited, he’d come across her socially at some point. But the stricken look on her face Saturday night as she’d stormed out of the office had played on repeat through his head, and he wanted to see with his own two eyes that she was okay.
He was, after all, responsible for the kiss that had landed them both in the shit.
And he’d never been the patient sort.
Eve was his next port of call. He didn’t think he’d get anywhere. She’d apparently been with Griff for as long as he’d been coaching at the Smoke, and, as such, there was absolutely no doubt where her loyalties lay. But he was going to throw himself on her mercy anyway.
And if that failed, he could hire a private detective. What was the point of having money if you didn’t spend it?
Eve looked up from her computer when Kyle knocked quietly on her door. She eyed him warily but smiled and said, “Hey, Kyle. Is there something you needed?”
Oh yeah. He needed, all right.
“Can I come in?”
She sighed as if she knew what was coming but nodded, indicating for him to take the chair on the other side of the desk. Kyle sat, noting the framed picture of Liam, her sixteen-year-old son who had Down Syndrome, a water bottle in both hands. It’d had been taken at a game, with Liam in full Sydney Smoke garb. He was the Smoke’s water boy for home games.
“You want me to tell you how to get in touch with Valerie?”
Kyle appreciated that Eve got straight to the point. From his experience with her so far, it was very much her personality. Straight-talking and efficient, Eve took care of all Griff’s stuff, leaving him free to do what he did best—coach. She was in her early forties, about the same age as Griff, with streaks of gray in the dark hair she always wore pulled back in a scrunchie.
“I know it probably puts you in an awkward position.”
She gave a half laugh, her face lighting up, suddenly looking and sounding about ten years younger. “You could say that.”
“Please.” Kyle grimaced at the desperation in his voice. “I just want to talk to her. And then I’m done.”
Eve pursed her lips, considering him for long moments. “I’ve been trying to get Griff and Val to patch things up for years. His fault, of course.” She waved her hand in a gesture indicating everyone knew it to be so. “Such a stubborn bloody…man.”
She said the last word with such disgust, Kyle felt the need to apologise on behalf of his sex. For everything.
“Griff would be monumentally pissed at me for aiding and abetting you.”
“I understand.” Kyle had always thought it a long shot, but it didn’t stop a flood of disappointment.
She pursed her lips a bit longer. “You like doughnuts?”
Kyle blinked at the rapid change in topic. “Yeah…sure.”
“Croissants?”
“Yes.”
“What about Chelsea buns, you know, the scrolly ones with sultanas and the pink icing.”
Yeah. He knew Chelsea buns. “They’re my favourite. There’s a bakery in Manly that makes them, I stop by there most mornings on my way to training.”
Eve’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. Sure…Chelsea buns weren’t a particularly manly thing to admit to eating, but why should she care? And they were laden with carbs, which he was going to need more of if Griff kept up this level of training intensity.
“Sticky Fingers?” she asked.
“You know it?” The bakery was known and loved amongst locals, but he knew Eve lived a long way from Manly.
“Oh, I know it.” Her gaze was speculative now. “I think you should stop there on your way home today.” She stared at him hard, as if she was trying to convey a silent message.
“I called there this morning.”
“You have something against two Chelsea buns in a day?”
Kyle shook his head. The more Chelsea buns the better, as far as he was concerned. He looked at his watch. “They’ll be sold out, though. In fact, they’ll probably be closed. It shuts as soon as the food is gone. That’s usually between one and two.”
“I know.” She gave him another prolonged, meaningful look he wasn’t quite sure how to interpret.
“If you want, I can grab you one tomorrow morning on my way here?”
She tisked under her breath and all but rolled her eyes at him. “I want you to go there directly, knock on the glass if it’s closed, and demand to talk to the owner.”
It took a few seconds for Kyle to compute her meaning. At least, he thought he knew what she was hinting at, even if it made no sense. “Val works at Sticky Fingers?”
If someone had put a gun to his head and asked him to guess the sexy redhead’s job, he’d have said she was some kind of corporate professional. Someone who worked in an office, wore narrow skirts and high heels. Okay…maybe he was just confusing fantasy with reality, but hell, he’d have even bought a secret agent over shop assistant.
Eve bugged her eyes at him, leaving Kyle in no doubt that she thought his intellect lacking. “She owns it,” Eve said slowly, joining the dots for him. “She’s a baker.”
Owns it? Val owned Sticky Fingers?
Val was a baker?
Small business owner had been the last thing on Kyle’s list of possibilities. A baker even less so. Surely that would have shown up in his Google search yesterday? He’d never seen her there, but he supposed if she was the baker she was probably busy in the kitchens when he was quickly ducking in for his Chelsea bun just before six most mornings.
Is that why she’d snuck out on him the other night? Because bakers started work at the crack of dawn and she had to get to Sticky Fingers? He hadn’t felt her leave—he was a really heavy sleeper—but the thought cheered him.
“Okay.” Kyle blinked, still a little dazed at the news. And also more than a little preoccupied by images of pouring pink Chelsea bun icing all over Val’s body and licking it off.
Which wasn’t going to happen.
“Well?” Eve looked at him expectantly. “What are you waiting for?”
Kyle stood, pinwheels churning in his gut at the thought of seeing her again. He had no idea how it would go down. He just knew he had to.
“Thank you.” He reached across and squeezed Eve’s hands, which were clasped together on the desk in front of her. “Just…thank you.”
Eve’s face told him she wasn’t really convinced she’d done the right thing. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“You won’t.”
“Hmm.” She did her lip pursing again. “You’re a pretty flashy player on the field, Kyle, but are you any good at the long game?”
Kyle stiffened a little at the implication. He knew Griff thought he was all flash and no substance, and it irked. “I’ve been working my way toward playing for the Smoke since I was in the under sixteens. That’s eight years. Long enough?”
More lip pursing. “You’re probably going to need a lot of patience. There’s twenty-odd years of stuff between them, and Griff’s guilt is…” She broke off, and Kyle heard the catch in her voice. “Set like cement around him.”
“Oh, I’m not… I can’t…” Eve had obviously gotten the wrong end of the stick. He just wanted to make sure Val was okay and get some answers. “There’s not anything between us,” Kyle hastened to assure her.
Eve’s head dropped to the side. “Really?”
Her tone clearly said she didn’t believe it. Christ. That was the last thing he needed. Griff’s PA thinking he and Val were a thing when he’d promised the man they weren’t. “I just want to check on her. That’s all.”
She frowned at him as if she was disappointed in his reply. “Well that’s a shame. Griff needs a seismic shove. Thought you might be up to the job.”
Kyle shook his head. He didn’t want to be some catalyst between father and daughter. He wanted to play rugby. Why hadn’t someone else who’d known Griff for longer taken it up with him?
“I’m just—”
“Yeah,” she interrupted with a nod. “You’re just checking on her.” She waved him away with a grim smile. “Go.”
Kyle left, but not without the feeling he’d somehow been judged and found severely wanting.
Kyle pulled up opposite Sticky Fingers forty minutes later. It was almost one thirty. The street parking outside the shop was plentiful. He could see the closed sign on the door from across the street, and the display cabinets normally laden with baked goodies at six in the morning were empty. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him.
He was going to get out and knock, just like Eve had suggested. And knock until she opened the door. And if she’d left for the day, he’d be back here tomorrow morning, because she’d definitely be in then.
His phone rang as he unbuckled. He glanced at the screen. His mother. This could be a discussion about anything from his sister’s pregnancy, to how his father had managed to get his hands on a dozen lobsters and would Kyle like one, to how Uncle Denny couldn’t afford to pay for his full set of veneers so could Kyle cough up the money instead.
None of it would surprise him.
He glanced at the bakery again, usually bustling with customers and somehow so much more intimidating now it wasn’t, and decided he could work off some of his nerves in conversation with his mum. She could win a gold medal in talking.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Hey, Kyle.”
So it was to be a financial thing. She was always more formal when asking him for money. Usually she just called him baby, because, despite being twenty-four and a pro rugby player who was regularly on the tele, he was the youngest of his four siblings, so baby it was.
Plus. He did kinda like it. Kept his feet on the ground and his head from swelling too much. His family were loud and proud about his success, but they’d be on him in a heartbeat if they thought he was getting too big for his boots.
“Jaidyn got picked up for street racing last night.”
Jaidyn was a second cousin on his dad’s side who was a good, hardworking kid with a genius for motors. He was also an idiot petrol head who liked to drag race with his mates at deserted industrial estates as if they were living on the set of The Fast and the Furious.
“He needs bail money?”
“Yes. And that lawyer friend of yours. They’re talking about confiscating his car this time.”
Kyle sighed. It’d probably be cheaper to keep his lawyer friend on a bloody retainer, considering his family’s propensity to regularly find itself on the wrong side of the law. They were no Corleones, but the Leighton clan was always in some kind of trouble or other.
It would be easy to disown them all. They were exasperating and distracting, their reputation often causing him grief with the media, but hell if he didn’t love his big, fat, bogan family.
“They should confiscate his car, Ma.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
“Okay.” He glanced across at the bakery. “Give me an hour. Which cop shop is he at?”
She told him. “You’re a good boy, Kyle Reese Leighton. You’re living up to your namesake.”
Kyle had been named after Kyle Reese from Terminator because his mother had apparently had a crush on him. But, according to his father, because he’d been conceived during one of the many times they’d watched the film.
Which was a little too much information. But he guessed he’d rather be named Kyle than Arnie.
Although, as he looked at the bakery, he wished he was as invincible as the Terminator.
“Bye, Ma,” he said, ending the call with grim determination.