Kit (Chicago Blaze 8)

“Cannonball!” A boy I don’t recognize comes flying into the room, wearing swim trunks and goggles. He must be a friend of one of Luca’s kids.

He jumps into the deep end, grabbing his knees in the air and splashing into the water, the spray hitting me and Molly.

More kids follow, and soon after, my teammates and their wives come in to ooh and ahh over the pool and get the party started. Music starts up on the sound system and people wade into the water.

My time alone with Molly is over. For now. I keep her by my side for most of the day, talking to my teammates and their wives one or two at a time so she doesn’t feel overwhelmed.

By the time I’m driving us home many hours later, Molly looks content. I think she had a good time, and I know I did.

“How’s the story coming?” I ask her.

She smiles. “There’s only one more thing I need to do before I write it. Can I have your mom’s number? I know it sounds random, but I want to ask her what kind of baby you were, and see if it matches up with your personality now. I know it sounds weird, but it’s a fun little detail.”

I’m silent for a few seconds as I try to come up with an answer. I could make up an excuse—come up with a reason Molly can’t call her. But I can’t bring myself to lie to her.

“I don’t want you to call her,” I admit, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make my knuckles burn.

“Oh…okay.” She’s caught off guard. It’s obvious.

I sigh heavily. “I’ve got my reasons. And it’s nothing…I’m not even sure how to put it. I’d just appreciate it if you don’t.”

My heart pounds as I think about Molly talking to my mom. It’s a black cloud over a day that’s been incredible up until this moment.

“It’s no big deal. I won’t try to reach her,” Molly says in a reassuring tone. “I’ve got enough for the story already.”

“Thanks.”

I stare ahead at the road, the magic of our day gone now. I trust Molly, but this isn’t about trust. No one knows why my relationship with my mom is so strained, and that can’t change.

Not even for the woman who can bring me to my knees with just a smile. Some things are too broken to ever be put back together again.

Chapter Thirteen

Molly

* * *

I stare at the blinking cursor on my computer screen, trying to decide how to start the story about Kit. It shouldn’t be this hard, but I’ve been trying to come up with my first sentence for a solid ten minutes now.

How do I capture a man like him in words, and not make it completely obvious I’ve got a major thing for him?

Somehow I have to write this story and not let my feelings come into play. And since our day at Luca and Abby’s house a few days ago, feelings about Kit have consumed my thoughts.

Socializing with so many people was hard, but I got through it. Kit stayed with me the whole time. By the time we left, I’d actually enjoyed myself. That was unexpected.

Kit’s teammates and their families are laid back. They didn’t fire questions at me. Everyone just did their thing, and there were times it was just me and Kit sitting at our table, eating and talking. No one made me feel like I didn’t belong there.

Me, feeling like I fit in at a pro hockey player’s pool party for a few dozen of his closest friends at his multi-million dollar mansion. It sounds crazy, but it’s true.

My phone rings and I look at the screen absently. It’s an inter-office call, and I always pick those up.

“Lynch,” I say into the receiver.

“Molly, It’s Clara Romano. Did you get my email about the Springfield thing?”

“Yeah, but I can’t do it.”

She sighs with impatience. “You don’t even know when it is.”

“It doesn’t really matter. I need to be here for my Lamont story, and the rest of the city hall beat. I can’t just take two days completely away. I can’t even take one day away.”

“Well, who else is going to do it?”

“I don’t know, but I need to go. I’m in the middle of a story.”

I hang up. It was a slight fib; I’m at the beginning of the story. But in my head, I’m already buried in all things Kit Carter.

His body is ridiculous. I’ve never been with any man but Zach, and Zach definitely didn’t have defined muscles or tattoos. I’m dying to be closer to Kit, and find out all the little things about him. Whether I’ve formally crossed a professional boundary or not is irrelevant; my feelings for Kit aren’t appropriate for a reporter to have about her story subject.