Loving Him Off the Field(80)

When the water in the bathroom turned off, he lowered his voice. “What did she do when she saw Charlie?”

“She . . .” Emma chewed on her lip and grabbed some paper towels for napkins, taking an absurd amount of time to fold each one into perfect squares. “She just left. Maybe she didn’t put two and two together.”

“She’s smart,” he said woodenly. “She’s a reporter. She’ll put it together.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. “I thought you said this was the special someone?”

“She is.” He tossed the serving spoon in the sink, wishing he had something to break instead. “She’s both.”

“Well, for God’s sake, Killian.” Emma delivered the plates to the kitchen table and turned back to him. “You’re dating a reporter?”

“Don’t start, Emma. Your little surprise is why we’re in this mess.” He wiped his hands on a dish towel and tossed it on the counter. “Son of a bitch.”

Charlie bounced in, action figures still in his hand, and slowed as he took in the mood of the kitchen. “Are you guys mad?”

“Yes,” Killian said just as Emma said, “No.”

“Tell the kid the truth,” Killian added when Emma glared at him. “Yes, your mom and I are angry. We’re talking it out, which is what you should do when you’re mad.” That was a mature, parent-like thing to say, wasn’t it? “Let’s eat, then you can get your PJs on and we’ll play some Star Wars before bed.”

As he sat down, fear coated his tongue and he realized he couldn’t eat anything. Fear for Charlie, that their secret would get out and negatively impact his life. Fear that Aileen wouldn’t hear him out, wouldn’t give him a chance to explain why he’d kept his child from her. Wouldn’t give him another chance.

He would put it aside. For now, he had to. His son—the reason they kept secrets to begin with—was here, and deserved his full attention. Tomorrow, he’d start working on what to do.

* * *

For the first time since they met, Killian waited for Aileen. He was leaning against the outside wall of her apartment, next to her door. His pose was almost a mirror image of all the times she’d hovered around the arena locker room or practice field parking lot, waiting for him to finish up and walk out. The thought made him want to laugh, even while his throat closed at the memories.

Only this time, the stakes were higher than he could count, and the pressure made it hard to breathe.

He heard the rattletrap car pull up before he saw it. She parked and got out, and he watched from several stories up, muttering about personal safety when she didn’t even pay attention to her surroundings as she hefted her large tote out of the backseat and over her shoulder. The urge to rush down and help her carry it up the stairs was heavy, but he pushed it back and waited. Better to catch her off guard, hopefully enough that she’d let him in. Or at least not immediately push him off the three- story balcony.

Her head was down as she approached the door, keys already in her hand. Her head moved side to side, and he saw she’d put in earbuds. Completely oblivious to anything going on around her. She never even noticed him standing to the side. As she put her key in the lock and turned, he waved an arm in her line of vision to get her attention.

“Oh, Jesus!” she screamed, jumping back and losing her footing. She fell before he could grab her, her tote landing on the concrete with a sharp thump. Papers and a few magazines spilled out and slid across the smooth concrete walkway. Her keys almost skittered through two metal balusters in the railing, down to the parking lot, but he managed to step on them to save them from going over.

Hand on her heart, Aileen looked up at him through dark shades that covered half her small face. “What the hell was that for, Killian?” she asked, her voice almost at a shout. Her hand rose and fell quickly over her heaving chest.

Kneeling down, he reached for her. She moved to the side, in a gesture that might have seemed coincidental. But he saw it for what it was. Purposefully widening the gap between them, both emotionally and physically.

“I’m sorry, I thought you’d see me. I wasn’t hiding.” He realized then she hadn’t even heard him, with her earbuds still in and playing music. He reached out before she could move and tugged them out so they fell into her lap. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I thought you’d see me.”

“I wasn’t paying attention. I warned you I had a major startle reflex.” She scowled at him—he could tell that even without seeing her eyes—and stuffed her earbuds into her sweatshirt pocket where he assumed a phone or iPod already resided. Then, gathering her things, she stuffed them back in her tote. Except, now that everything was in disarray, it wouldn’t fit. “Damn it,” she muttered.