Page 11 of Whirlwind (Seattle Blades #4)

H ugo is right about Kit. The more time I spend with her, the more I see that something in her past weighs on her. The more time I spend with her, the more I want to know her, too.

She reminds me of Lottie in many ways. The best ways, really. Her inquisitiveness, her honesty, and bluntness. Sometimes she holds back, as if she’s afraid what she wants to say will offend. But if I call her on it, she opens back up.

With most things, that is. If I get too close to what plagues her, she clams up tight.

I want to know. I find myself wanting to know everything about her.

Yet, I’m also afraid of her telling me. Scared that, if I’m correct in my assumptions, I’ll never know peace until I find who hurt her.

Because I don’t think it’s as simple as growing up without her mother.

Kit doesn’t know peace, though. Not completely, or not always.

Why should she be alone in that? The answer is, she shouldn’t be.

Nobody should feel alone in the world. And I don’t want that for her.

I wouldn’t let my sister be alone in that.

Maybe Kit isn’t; she has the Cole family, who I know love her.

But when she drifts off into her own head, she looks like the loneliest person I’ve ever seen.

Her sad stare breaks my fucking heart.

I hadn’t realized that I had much heart left to break. Not after Isla. I thought what I had left was strictly reserved for my family and for my career.

The past couple of years I’ve quit letting people in.

If you don’t get close, you don’t get hurt.

There’s something different about this woman, though.

She’s capable in so many ways, yet in my head, she’s fragile and needs protection.

I can’t make sense of my feelings when I think of her. Which is more than I’d like to admit.

The little hints she’s given about her life before coming to Seattle stay with me like a plague.

I can admit I’ve lived a fucking privileged life.

Not only financially, but with a loving and caring family, with friends, with a community.

Death didn’t touch me until I was old enough to understand it.

Hardship wasn’t something I understood. Mostly, I still don’t.

The most tragic thing to happen to me is heartbreak. Not a loved one who has been missing for twenty-five years.

Kit is a fascinating mystery. One I want to solve.

Zander and I are working out with trainers today, none of the other teammates are here this morning. I use the opportunity to my benefit.

“Hey, Fane. What do you know about Kit?”

“A lot. And also, not that much,” he answers, looking at me strangely. “You’ll need to be more specific. Then, I’ll decide if I want to answer.”

“That means you get it,” I say. “She’s different. Special.”

“Different than who? The random women you take home after a game? Most definitely.”

“They’re all the same,” I dismiss. Does that make me an asshole?

Probably. It doesn’t make it less true, though.

The random women I fuck only care about being able to tell their girlfriends they bagged a pro athlete.

Maybe in the back of their minds they hold hope that they’ll land a rich husband out of it, but most know better.

“I mean, she’s different than most people I’ve known.

She’s blunt, honest, and…I don’t know, fun. Sassy.”

“You dated Isla. None of that is new to you. She’s all those things, too. But I get your meaning. What’s your intention?”

“I want to be her friend.”

“Is that it?” he asks.

“You think I’m not capable of that?” Fane is being cautious of me in favor of his friend. I love that about him, and I love that for Kit.

“I know you are,” he says, laughing. “But you do have a reputation.”

“That was a one-time fuck up,” I protest at the same time my trainer, Jesse, adds more weight to the leg press I’m on.

I feel the burn in my thighs. It’s a good fire, a reminder that I can be stronger.

And a good distraction from the tabloid debacle I ended up in when I was caught with a sex worker after a game on the road.

Being caught by the press would have been bad enough; being caught by police was much worse.

My reasoning for being with the woman made it worse, still, not that I ever admitted that reasoning to anyone.

“Kind of a big one,” Zander mumbles.

“Okay, yeah. But I don’t see every woman as a conquest. I don’t want to fuck my way through every vagina in Seattle.”

“Do you want to fuck Kit?” Now, his brow furrows in concern.

“No,” I say, but I can hear my own lie.

“No?” He raises an eyebrow and stops mid-squat.

“Listen, she’s fucking beautiful. I’m not blind. But that’s not what I’m looking for from her. Kit is the first woman I’ve wanted to know since…” I let the sentence drop. We both know I’m talking about his best friend.

“Since Isla,” he finishes for me. “Who you did want to fuck.”

“Fair point.” I sigh in exasperation. “Right now, I only want to know her. She’s, like, I don’t know, man. She’s like the fucking sun and I just want to be in her warmth.”

“Dude…”

“What?”

“That’s not something you say about a woman you want to be just friends with.”

“Why not? Don’t you feel that way about Isla?”

“Of course, I do,” he says. “Is that what you want from Kit? You’re looking for a best friend?”

“Maybe. I haven’t had one since I was a kid.”

“Is it possible you’re lonely, being in a new city and away from your family?”

“I mean, yeah. But I feel like that completely discredits how fucking awesome Kit is.” I can’t argue how much she reminds me of my sister. Hell, I think they’d be two peas in a pod if they ever got the chance to be friends. They match nervous energy and bubbly enthusiasm.

But I’m not looking for someone to replace Lottie. Nobody ever could, even if they tried.

That knowledge doesn’t change the fact that something about Kit feels a little like home.

“You really like her,” he states.

“I do, man.”

“She doesn’t date,” Zander says solemnly, after a moment. “She’s never told me why that is. Not that I’d share it if she had, that’s her business. I only know that it’s something she doesn’t seek. If she becomes more than a friend to you, you’ll be climbing Mt. Everest.”

“I’m not asking you for her secrets. That wasn’t my intention,” I say. “Blom mentioned that he thinks something haunts her. I’ve seen it, too.”

“What are you asking?”

“Fuck, I’m not even sure anymore.” I sigh and signal to Jesse that I’m done. “I guess, I worry about her. You know, when we’re away, I find myself worrying about her.”

“Sounds like more than friendship, my dude.”

“He’s not wrong,” Jesse chimes in for the first time.

“Yeah, yeah, all right,” I say to their laughter. “I think friendship is all either of us is capable of, though.”

Eight days on the road never gets easier, no matter how many times I’ve done it.

No matter that I’m not going home, even.

I’m still crashing at Calvin’s. It’s been two months since the trade, and I haven’t so much as looked for a real estate agent.

Cal said not to worry about it until the off season, which is still another few months out, if we make playoffs. And it looks like we will.

All I do when I get home is change my clothes before I’m back out the door and crossing the street. Nightmare barks when I knock on Kit’s front door.

“It’s me, buddy,” I say, and the yapping turns into an excited whimper. We’ve officially become pals. As I have with his pretty owner. When she opens the door, I scoop up the pup, then wrap Kit in a hug. “I missed you.”

“Oh,” she exclaims. We haven’t been huggers before this. It was an instinct, but since she doesn’t pull away, I don’t, either. “How can you miss me? We’ve been playing Destiny together more nights than not.”

“Party chat isn’t the same.” I pull my arms back but don’t step away. “You look good.”

She looks down at herself before looking back at me, a skeptical grin on her face.

She’s wearing purple shorts emblazoned with croissants and a bright yellow Pikachu tee, that I’d guess she’s had since she was much younger and less developed.

Her chest strains under it, and I force my gaze not to linger.

Which is a testament to how much I respect her, because, holy fuck, she has great tits.

“I know that goon with Utah got a shitty hit on you, but they said it didn’t crack your bucket,” she says.

“It didn’t,” I say. “But I like that you checked up on me.”

“It’s what friends do. Besides, when I asked you about it, all you did was grunt.”

“Some guys like to be babied when they’re bruised up, I don’t.

” I plop Nightmare on his bed that sits on the end of the sofa.

He curls up after a few spins to find the right spot, but his eyes follow me.

The past couple of times I’ve been over here, I’ve sat next to him, letting Kit have her space at the other end of the couch.

That’s not where I want to be tonight. I’d like to be closer. The conversation I had with Fane a while back has been heavy on my mind on this road trip. Every new interaction with Kit brings me closer to the truth, which is that I am interested in more than just friendship with her.

I physically ache to touch her. To press my lips to hers. To feel her skin against mine.

To sink into her and never fully back out.

Making any of my normal moves would send her running to hole up in the nearest cave, though, I’m sure of it.

Getting women comfortable with my interest in them is as foreign to me as rocket science.

It’s always just happened naturally, probably thanks to my chosen profession.

Not to say I’m not charming and shit…because, of course I am.

Or I think I am.

No, no, I am. I’m sure I am. Right? I’m a fucking catch. My mom says I am.

Fucking hell, I’m losing my mind.

“Tyson?”

“What?” I shake my head to clear my thoughts and find Kit standing in front of me, peering at me with an odd expression.