Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
But when I take a good, long look at him, he’s strong. Big and fit and honed.
If he’s lost any of his former superpowers on the rink, it doesn’t show one bit in that punishing body.
“I’m sure. It’s not the chapter of my life I want to revisit. I’d rather be dead than turn into one of those guys who never shuts up about the ‘good old days.’ Like life just ended the day I hung up my stick. You start talking like that, you’ll believe it, and then you really are boned.”
Wise man.
His gaze sharpens, and I do my very best to keep the admiration off my face.
“I left hockey and that’s that. There’s nothing else to know.”
“Okay, okay. No fame and fortune for you. Got it.” I grab his dishes from mixing and place them in the sink to soak. “Maybe someday people will finally stop recognizing you, too.”
“That’s the hope,” he clips.
Man.
I desperately want to ask about the company he helped found after his sports career, but I can tell he’s on edge.
His voice seems wary, on edge, and I like his easy, whimsical side too much.
“Probably a shit idea hanging around you if I want to keep a low profile,” he jokes. “Everyone in Sully Bay knows who you are, huh?”
“Well, yeah. I used to come here a lot.”
“You’re a Blackthorn, you mean.”
“It’s just a name,” I say, starting on the dishes. “And it’s not like I’m famous on my own. Sure, I go around to big events and people get all giddy to shake my hand. But it’s not like I’m a movie star or famous model.”
“Too modest.” He leans across to bump shoulders with me. “Everyone in New England and New York have heard of the Blackthorns. You’re damn near royalty.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Oh yeah? Is that why you went all bouncer and made me show you my ID?”
“You’re mad about that?” He throws his head back and laughs.
“Can’t remember the last time I had to show it. Not since I turned twenty-one,” I tell him.
And yes, when you’re a Blackthorn, the security at high-end clubs and restaurants rarely checks. I was carded more in Scottsdale and LA than anywhere else.
The rules are different when you have enough money to buy out entire VIP areas for a girls’ weekend.
“I thought you were trespassing. Simple as.” Kane’s shoulder nudges mine again. Warmth blooms from the contact and my arms tingle. “You could’ve been some crazy asshole’s accomplice, waiting to snatch my daughter.”
“My point is, I’m not that famous. You had no idea who I was.”
“No, but I knew the name. Your grandfather was a legend.” He flips the pancakes and puts the hot ones on a plate, piling them up like he’s done this every day for years.
I wonder if he has.
I get started on the hashbrowns. Might as well contribute something.
“So, what’s next for you?” I ask. “New career? Retirement? Early grave?”
“Very funny,” he deadpans. “I told you, I’m not looking to die like some guys do when they leave the arena.”
“I mean it. What’s next for the great Kane Saint? Another wildly successful start-up? OptiSynth sounds like it’s doing pretty well.”
His shoulders stiffen.
The atmosphere in the room dims.
One second, we’re teasing and laughing. Then we’re dropped into this tense, eerie pit where he looks down at the pan like it’s his life ebbing away.
“I’m out of that game, too. Last company didn’t work out,” he mutters, his eyes still riveted to the sizzling pan.
“So that’s a no?” I whisper.
“Fuck no. The corporate world doesn’t suit me. All that cutthroat cloak-and-dagger shit gets old. If I wanted that, I would’ve gone into politics like my old man wanted.”
Oof. Now we’re getting somewhere.
I noticed his father served a few terms in Congress when I ran my little background check.
For all the talk about my family’s lofty achievements, the Saints are no slouches.
There’s a bitterness in his voice I don’t quite understand, though, and before I can ask, there’s a banging upstairs, followed by blunt, rhythmic tapping.
“Dan’s awake. Watch the stove for a second, will you?” Kane peels away from me and walks to the base of the stairs. “Dan, keep it down! Too early, kiddo,” he calls up.
“He really loves to practice, huh?” I say, seizing the opportunity to change subjects.
If Kane shuts down every time I mention his old company, I guess I shouldn’t push it.
I don’t want him stressed every time I’m in the room.
“He’s addicted, that kid. Can’t even count the days he’s woken up the whole house.” He shakes his head affectionately as he comes back into the kitchen. “But I guess it’s a good thing. Music builds discipline and it keeps him out of trouble.”
“Yeah. I played the oboe and I was pretty awful,” I confess, wincing. “I’d like to think it helped me with school, though. Chemistry was a breeze after squeaking my way through an hour of sheet music with the band teacher turning red.”