Kit (Chicago Blaze 8)
If I can nail this story, and turn it into something unexpected, I’ll be one step closer to the city hall beat. And while I want it because it would advance my career, it means a lot more than that to me.
Zach took nearly everything from me when he divorced me. The life I thought I had was ripped out from beneath me in that moment. He walked away with my pride as surely as if he’d packed it into a box and carried it from our apartment. My hopes, my plans, my confidence—all gone.
Now I have my gram, Mr. Darcy, and my work. The validation I’d get from landing this promotion is personal for me. Moving up, for me, will also mean moving on.
I thought this assignment writing about a hockey player was going to be a drag, but if I work hard enough, I can create an opportunity instead. This could very well be my golden ticket to becoming the Gazette’s permanent city hall reporter.
Chapter Four
Kit
* * *
“Mr. Carter, I’m Molly Lynch. Thanks for agreeing to be interviewed.”
I shake her hand, the serious expression on the reporter’s face making it impossible for me to keep the corners of my lips from quirking up in a smile.
Are we negotiating a peace treaty here, or talking about hockey? If I knew her better, I’d make a joke about her pursed lips and the little worry wrinkle between her eyes.
“It’s Kit,” I say, grinning in hopes of putting her at ease.
She’s pretty. Even her dark gray turtleneck sweater, black pants, snow boots and black-rimmed glasses can’t hide it. Molly is completely covered, other than her hands and her face, her skin a creamy ivory with a light blush on her cheeks from the cold outside. Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and if she’s wearing makeup, I can’t tell, but her bright blue eyes stand out all on their own.
Molly shrugs off her coat, opens her notebook and takes out a pen just as a waitress approaches our table at a little deli not far from the Carson Center, the arena my team plays at. She orders hot tea and I order iced tea.
“Today I’d like to just focus on your childhood and family,” she says. “I have an hour and a half until I have to leave for another interview. Will that work for you?”
“Sure, yeah. But honestly, I think you could cover my entire life in an hour and a half. I’m not all that exciting.”
She sets the pen down on her notebook. “I’d like to conduct several interviews with you, and also go to a couple games and practices and shadow you a few days.”
I hike my brows up in surprise. This doesn’t sound like the “softball” interview Mira told me it would be.
“Okay,” I say, shrugging. “If you want to do all that, it’s fine with me. I can get you some good game seats if you want.”
Molly frowns. “No, I’m getting press credentials through the Gazette. I don’t want you to do anything extra for me, just participate in the interviews.”
It’s all I can do not to tell her to relax. From the set of her shoulders to the stern look in her eyes, Molly Lynch is the very definition of rigid. Maybe she’s just nervous? She told me when she called to set up the interview that she normally doesn’t cover sports.
“If you need me to explain anything about hockey, I’d be happy to,” I offer. “I never get tired of talking about it.”
The waitress returns with our drinks, and Molly wraps her palms around her mug to take a sip.
“I’ll ask any questions about hockey that come up, but this story is going to be about you, so I want to keep most of the focus there.” She picks up her pen again. “Let’s start with your hometown of Orville, Iowa. Tell me more about it.”
“It was a great place to grow up. Not too big, not too small. But it still had a small-town feel. I played hockey, but I also played baseball, basketball, football and ran track. My dad co-owned a sporting goods store, so he knew all the coaches and was able to buy the equipment at cost.”
“And you have a brother and a sister, right?” Molly asks, and I wonder how she already knows that when this is our first interview.
“Yeah, Lance is older than me. Let’s see, I’m twenty-eight and he’s four years older so he’s thirty-two now; his birthday is in March. And my sister Sara is the baby of the family. She’s twenty-five.”
“Were you guys close growing up?”
I take a drink of my iced tea, memories of me and my brother flooding my mind.
“We were,” I say, mentally resetting myself. “But when Lance was twelve, he was diagnosed with leukemia. That was a hard time for our entire family. My mom took him to Iowa City for treatment, and it ravaged him.” I sigh softly as I remember my shock upon seeing what cancer had done to my older brother’s body, making him a shell of his former self. “They had to use really aggressive treatments and it took a long time, but he beat it.”