A Secret for a Secret Page 44

“I think it might be similar to how I felt when your mother finally signed over full custody. My whole life felt like it was suspended until that moment, so I get it, Queenie. I’m so sorry that you had to go through this at all.”

“Well, it’s done now, so we can leave it in the past, where it belongs.” I tap on the armrest, gathering my courage. “I asked for money and I got it. Not a lot. I mean, it’s a lot for me but not for him. I can pay for college now. I can finish my degree, and you won’t have to worry about helping me financially.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I will always be here to support you.”

“I know. But he owed me after everything that happened, and I know that you’ll never tell me I can’t come back and work for you, but I don’t think I should. I love you for helping pick me up every time I fall, Dad, but this was always supposed to be temporary. It’s too many layers of complication: for you, for me, for Kingston.”

“I understand, and I think it’s brave and ballsy of you to go in there on your own and face that douchebag. If I could take back bringing him on the team, I would.”

My dad drops me off at home, and I message Kingston to let him know everything went okay this morning before I tackle the slew of messages in my group chat with Stevie, Lainey, and Violet. Never in my life did I think that sending a message announcing my official divorcée status would garner so much excitement.

Things are finally looking up.


CHAPTER 27


UNPLEASANT SURPRISES


Kingston

Queenie messaged to say she was home from the lawyer’s and that she is no longer married. So I’m standing outside her door with a bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates, and a helium-filled unicorn balloon that reads CONGRATULATIONS. Seems appropriate, all things considered. Besides, she and I both need a little levity after this crap situation.

She throws open the door. “Hey, hi.” Queenie looks beautiful, exhausted, and nervous.

“How’s my queen?”

All the relief that comes with seeing her disappears when her chin quivers and her eyes pool with tears. She lifts her shoulder in a wordless shrug. I drop the flowers and chocolate on the closest available surface, which happens to be her clean counter.

I open my arms and Queenie steps into me, her low, soft sob getting muffled by my shirt. I hold her against me, cupping the back of her head, and drop my mouth so it’s at her ear. “What’s wrong; what happened? How can I fix it?”

“You’ve already fixed it: you’re here.”

After a few minutes of just holding her, I cup her face in my palms and tip her chin up, brushing away the tears. “Why so sad?”

“Not sad.” She shakes her head. “Just emotional. I’m glad it’s over and happy you’re here.”

I brush my lips over hers. “That makes sense. So it’s official? The papers are all signed?”

“They are.”

“And Corey didn’t give you a hard time?”

“I held my own.” She smooths her hands over my chest. “I left tearstains and snot trails all over your polo.”

That’s not the answer I’m looking for, and it’s clear she’s trying to distract me, but I don’t push because I know it’s been difficult for her.

“I always have an extra one in my car, so nothing to worry about.”

“Of course you do.” She laughs and then gives me a small, slightly sad and rueful smile. “You’re officially dating a divorcée.”

I tip her chin up. “I like it. Makes me feel like a rebel.”

This time her smile is genuine. She chuckles and shakes her head. “Only you, King.”

“I missed you.” I skim her throat, and her pulse hammers under my fingertips.

“Me too. I mean, I missed you, not myself.” She links her hands behind my neck, bringing her body flush with mine again. “I was worried this week.”

“About?”

“All the time you had to think while we were apart. I wasn’t sure if you’d come to your senses or not.” She huffs a laugh and looks away, so I can’t see her vulnerability. She doesn’t give me a chance to ask what she means. Instead she tugs on the back of my neck and brings my mouth to hers.

The kiss is soft for a few strokes of tongue before need takes hold. Her nails dig into my nape, and she moans into my mouth. I pick her up and deposit her on the counter. She lands on the box of chocolates, crushing the corner. I shove them out of the way and step between her legs.

“Thank you for the flowers and the chocolate.”

“You’re welcome,” I groan when she bites the edge of my jaw.

“And the . . . unicorn balloon? Does that say ‘Congratulations’?”

“They don’t have ‘Happy Divorce’ ones, interestingly enough.” I tug her blouse over her head. It’s pale green and pretty, as is the green lace bra underneath. I cup her breasts in my palms, then glance around the bungalow. The curtains are gauzy and not the best at keeping prying eyes from seeing things they shouldn’t. “Is Jake at the arena?”

“Yeah, he dropped me off and headed there right away. How long do you have before you have pregame skate?” She tugs my polo free of my khakis and goes to work on my belt.

I check the clock on the stove. “About an hour and a half, but you have an appointment in an hour, so this’ll have to be a quickie.” I find the zipper on her skirt and pause. “Is that okay? I promise I’ll take better care of you later.”

“Your version of a quickie is not the same as everyone else’s, King. And yes, it’s okay. And you take amazing care of me, always.” She flicks the button open on my pants. “Wait, I don’t have an appointment.”

“I set up a pampering session for you and Stevie before the game tonight. I thought you might need some extra TLC, and since I can’t provide it in the form of excessive orgasms, this was the next best thing.”

“You are the most amazing boyfriend.” She slips her hand in my pants. “Now please get inside me so I can have at least one of those orgasms you keep taunting me with.”

Thirty-seven minutes and two orgasms for Queenie later, we’re dressed again and in my SUV, on the way to the spa.

Except when we arrive, there are all sorts of media vans parked in front of it. “What the heck is going on?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they got wind that there’s a celebrity around or something?” I say as we pass the spa. It’s an exclusive one, and very expensive.

The last time I sent Queenie there, she told me the lead singer of a local band was getting a facial. They’re usually really good about keeping celebrity clients under the radar, but occasionally someone posts something and forgets to shut off their locator, and the media jumps all over it.

“Maybe.” I park around the corner. “I’ll walk you in to make sure it’s nothing we need to worry about.”

“Okay. Sure. That would be good.” Queenie nibbles on the end of her fingernail.

I hop out of the SUV and meet Queenie on the sidewalk. I thread our fingers together and give her hand a squeeze. “I’m sure everything is fine.”

Except as we round the corner, the throng of media vipers suddenly turns and moves toward us in a wave. I look over my shoulder, expecting to see someone notable, but then famous people often wear hats and big shades to hide who they are. And then I realize what’s happening, because the reporters start yelling. At us.

“Ryan Kingston! Are the rumors true? Did you get the general manager’s daughter pregnant?”

“Are you being blackmailed?”

“Did you really take all of Corey Slater’s money in the divorce?”

“Are you dating the GM’s daughter as a PR stunt?”

“Did you know that Queenie Masterson was married when you two started dating?”

“Is she going after all your money too?”

“Oh my God.” Queenie tucks herself into my side, trying to hide from the flashes and the microphones suddenly pointed in our direction. Stevie’s aqua hair appears as she shoves her way through the crowd, Bishop’s mammoth frame hulking behind her.

He spins around and holds out his arms. “What? No questions for me? Me and my wife aren’t exciting enough for you?”

“We gotta get Queenie out of here. They’re sending one of the stylists to our house. We showed up early, and Bishop thought he was being funny posting about ball waxing. The media showed up because you two have your bromance going on.”

One of the reporters asks him if Stevie’s pregnant.

Bishop jabs a finger in the reporter’s direction. “Yes. With sextuplets, because my army of sperm is the motherfucking bomb. We’re gonna start our own damn hockey team in one fell swoop.” He raises his arms in the air like he’s preaching a sermon.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. My brother is going to shit a brick when this goes viral.” Stevie spins us around and flanks me as we head back to my SUV. She and Queenie duck into the back seat and I get behind the wheel, soon pulling out into traffic before the reporters can surround us. Bishop does a good job of distracting everyone, letting us make a quick getaway.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Queenie’s eyes are wide, her fingers at her lips, and she looks like she’s about to cry. Again.

Stevie meets my concerned gaze in the rearview mirror and throws her arm around Queenie’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s just fresh gossip.”

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