The Rebel's Own(13)

“Not until the end of practice.”

“You’re not serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

“Best friend, huh?”

“The very best.” Matt offered him an apologetic smile. “Now get your ass to practice. I’ll drive you.”

Ryan agreed to go to practice, not because Matt had told him to, but because he was postponing the inevitable. He needed to get his alcohol-soaked head together. Most importantly, he had to find the right words to apologize, to offer his help and to convince Kennedy to let him help. And he needed to push his anger aside, no matter how difficult. Ryan had tried convincing himself not to be angry, to take the blame. But Kennedy had kept his son away from him. All this time she could have told him, it didn’t matter how big of a grudge she had for him.

But that didn’t matter now. It couldn’t.

His son needed him.





Chapter Eight





Kennedy refused to let herself intrude on her son’s privacy. According to her mother, Riley was five years old and not entitled to any privacy, and as his mother, it was Kennedy’s responsibility to stop him from doing what he had now become obsessed with. But Kennedy was scared. She couldn’t stare into her son’s little face and try to explain why what he was doing was wrong. She sat on the floor by his bedroom door and listened as he cried; her heart wrenched with each tear he shed.

Riley stood in front of his mirror with one of her hairbrushes. With each stroke, he lost a strand of hair, a tear rolled down his cheek, and a whimper escaped his lips. Kennedy tried to force herself to her feet, but she couldn’t. Watching him had paralyzed her. She was just as weak if not weaker than Riley. But unlike him, her weakness did not result from the poison rushing though his veins, but from the pain throbbing in her heart.

“You need to stop this madness, Kennedy.” Rebecca stood over her, anger and tears burning bright in her eyes.

Kennedy shrugged her shoulders and turned away when Rebecca marched into Riley’s room and grabbed the hairbrush from him. She heard him let out a piercing cry, and that was quickly followed by her mother’s sobs. Riley was asking why he was sick, why he was losing his hair, and why he was being punished. Rebecca, lost for words, could only cry. And the combined symphony of their pain was too much for Kennedy to bear.

Jumping to her feet she made her way to the front door. She needed to get out, to get away. More than anything, Kennedy needed to find a space in this world that didn’t involve pain, because in the past six years, pain was all she had come to know.

When Kennedy pulled the front door open, a pair of icy blue eyes and a furious scowl met her gaze. Anger emanated from Ryan’s whole body. Behind him, Matt stood, his eyes looking past her, the guilt evident in his expression. Kennedy didn’t know why she tried, but her first instinct was to shut the door. But the quarterback had more strength than she did. With his foot, he was able to block her attempt and with a powerful hand, he pushed her out of the way and marched into her tiny house.

“Where is he?” Ryan demanded.

“Where is who?” Kennedy’s pain was gone. She was relieved, but that was quickly replaced by anger.

“Where is my son?” Ryan barked.

“You don’t have a son,” Kennedy said firmly.

With one giant step, Ryan was suddenly an inch away from Kennedy. His hands balled into fists at his sides and his eyes held a storm waiting to be unleashed. “Don’t play with me. I know I have a son. I’m sorry about how he was conceived, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have a son.”

“Mommy?”

• • •

Ryan’s body turned towards the frail little voice. Immediately he shut his eyes, and for a second, he wished he hadn’t walked into her house, wished he hadn’t met her at the bar, and desperately wished he hadn’t taken part in that stupid game back in high school. His heart couldn’t bear the sight that stood in front of him. On the car ride over, Matt had told him Riley was sick, but he left out the part of how sick he was. Chancing a second look at his son, he slowly opened his eyes, but this time Riley was in his mother’s arms.

“What happened to his hair?” Ryan cautiously asked, part of him wishing that he hadn’t.

“It’s falling out.” Kennedy’s strangled reply seared through him. “Chemotherapy.”

For the first time since his unwelcomed entrance, Ryan looked at Kennedy. He studied her and noticed the droop in her shoulders, she looked thinner than the last time they were together, her eyes were puffy and red, and sadness loomed within them. He had only seen Riley for a second, and the shock had managed to knock the stuffing out of him. Kennedy had been here with Riley day and night, and Ryan could see the toll it was taking on her physically. He immediately regretted the anger with which he had entered her house. He was being a selfish brute.