Kit (Chicago Blaze 8)

Molly’s expression softens, and I get a glimpse of what she’s like with her guard down. “That must have been scary for you and your sister.”

I nod. “It was rough. I didn’t understand everything but I knew my brother was really sick. I look back now as an adult and think how hard it must’ve been for my parents. Mom was focused entirely on Lance, and Dad was trying to keep up with the store, take care of me and Sara when Mom and Lance were in Iowa City, and be there for them as much as he could.” I meet Molly’s eyes across the table. “It was tough, but Lance survived, so we’re the lucky ones. I volunteer at a children’s hospital because my family has been there, you know?”

“Do you think that experience made you and your sister closer?”

Just thinking about my little sister makes me break out in a huge smile. “I think so. I tried to help our dad take care of her when our mom was gone. She sat through every hockey practice and game. She was my biggest cheerleader.”

“You said she’s twenty-five now; are you guys still close?”

“We talk often, yeah. She’s finishing up law school at the University of Chicago, so we meet up for dinner when our schedules allow it.”

Molly writes as I talk, her letters neat and her words lined up perfectly. Even her nails are orderly, short and painted pale pink.

“And your brother?” she asks.

“Lance runs an investment firm in Houston. He’s doing great. Married with three kids.”

“I spoke with Andrew McCall, one of your youth hockey teammates,” Molly says, and I laugh in response.

“Handy Andy. That guy’s a character. We played together from the time we were little through the end of high school.”

“He said you’ve never liked the spotlight. That you’re more likely to give a teammate an assist and let them have the glory than to seek it for yourself.”

I shrug. “That’s what it means to be part of a team.”

“Andrew said you didn’t care for the attention of college scouts, though. That you tried to get them to notice your teammates instead.”

“That was a long time ago. Andy may have a foggy recollection.”

Molly takes a quick sip of her tea. “Is he wrong, though? Do you like attention?”

I sigh softly. “I play hockey in front of thousands of people. If that’s not attention, I don’t know what is.”

“But do you like it?”

Somehow, she’s managing to press me without sounding aggressive or confrontational. It makes it hard for me to push back, which is what instinct tells me to do.

“I’ve been with the Blaze for six years now, so I’d say it’s working for me.”

“Andrew said he thinks hockey helped you cope when your brother was ill. Do you think so?”

I lean back in my seat, scrubbing a hand down my face.

“Look, I don’t do many interviews. But this feels like a bait and switch. Why did you ask me about my brother if you already knew he’d been sick? And why did you call my former teammate? I feel like I’m being investigated here.”

“I understand.” Molly sets her pen down on her notebook. “I am an investigative reporter, so it’s my natural tendency to interview people this way.”

“I was told this would be a quick, easy interview. Softball questions.”

Molly furrows her brow. “You think these questions are difficult?”

I blow out a breath. “I don’t know. No. It’s just not what I was expecting.”

“If you’d rather not do it—”

I interject before I can stop myself. “I didn’t say that. But if you already know something, can you not ask me about it like you don’t know? It feels like a game of ‘gotcha,’ where you’re trying to catch me in a lie or something. If I say I don’t mind attention, then that’s what I mean. I’d know the answer to that better than Andy McCall, who hasn’t even seen me in years.”

Molly is quiet for a few seconds, and a wave of guilt washes over me. I’m being defensive and rude to her, and right now I feel like shit.

“Look,” I say softly. “I’m sorry. I don’t get asked about my brother’s illness much. A lot of people don’t even know about it.”

“Would you rather not discuss it?”

I shake my head. “It’s fine, I just…didn’t know what to expect.”

Molly’s expression softens. “I should have told you up front that I don’t like doing softball interviews. Journalism teaches you that everyone has a story. Everyone has experiences that are unique. In every story I write, I try to dig deep and find out what I can tell the world that might reach someone. I don’t think there’s anything more powerful than words.”

Now I feel even more like shit. I offer her a half smile. “And you think maybe what I went through with my brother’s illness could reach someone.”