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“Nunya business.”
“Damn, it’s like that.” Erik laughs along with the rest of them.
I don’t bother answering them. Not when the electrical current that had crackled through me when our eyes met as I skated out on the ice still throbs in my veins.
“Save it. This is Solomon. He’s not going to talk about shit if he don’t want to.” Ken smirks and walks through the open door.
We step out into the hall. Erik and Ken peel off to head toward the media room, where Coach waits with a few other team members to do postgame interviews. I hate that shit and don’t pretend otherwise. Which is why Coach and the organization don’t make me or Mont participate before or after every game. Not because I don’t like it—shit,it comes with the job. The main reason is they know I don’t give a fuck about ingratiating myself to reporters, and anything is likely to fly outta my mouth. Especially if they ask a dumb-ass question. And believe me, they always do. Me with my don’t-give-a-fuck answers and Mont with his comically short ones? Yeah, they don’t push us.
Instead of heading toward the exit, I take the elevator to the floor with the luxury box. Whenever Khalil attends one of my games, I always meet him and my in-laws up there so he won’t be caught up in the crush of the postgame crowd. Also, although I try to protect his privacy and don’t post pictures of him, fans still recognize Khalil. And some of them have no fucking home training. So to avoid all that—and to avoid my mug shot ending up on somebody’s Instagram account—I separate him from most of this.
I reach the luxury box minutes later and enter. Khalil’s engrossed in his tablet, probably playingMinecraft, but his head pops up when I step into the room.
“Daddy!” He jumps up, tosses the tablet down, and races toward me. I bend down and scoop him up, then hold him against my chest. Hugging him, I kiss his cheek, and his giggle is better than any hat trick. “You did good!”
“Thanks, li’l man.” I laugh, moving him to my hip. “Nate, Caroline. Thanks for bringing him to the game and watching him for me.”
“You know you don’t ever have to thank us for keeping our grandson.” Caroline walks over to us and ruffles his tight curls. “He’s our heart.”
“Daddy, we saw Ms. Dina! I said hi.”
“Did you?” I wondered if she would come through. Satisfaction pulses within me. So does a gnawing curiosity to see what she thought about the game.
“Yes, we met her as well,” Caroline says, and something in her tone has me tensing and switching my attention to her. “Nice young lady.”
“She is,” I carefully agree, setting Khalil down on the floor.
“Khalil,” Nate says, moving toward us. “Go play on your tablet for a minute, Grandson. Let your grammy and me talk to your daddy for a moment.”
“Okay.” Khalil races back to his seat, and I wait until he picks his tablet up and is lost in his game before turning back to my in-laws.
“What’s up?” I ask, although the stillness crouching right behind my rib cage clues me in that I’m not going to like where this is heading. “Something wrong?”
“Not wrong but ... concerning,” Nate says. He looks at Caroline, and they share some kind of silent communication. “Like Caroline said, we met Ms. Wright. Khalil saw her sitting in the section for the players’ family and wanted to go down and speak to her. It caught us off guard, since we didn’t know, one, that you were still in contact with her, as you’d told us there was nothing between you two. And two, that you’d invited her to the game.”
“Of course, your friends aren’t our business. But when it involves Khalil ...” Caroline trails off.
Anger flares inside me, and it takes everything in me not to tell her that she’s right—it isn’t their business. But I clench my jaw, trapping the words behind my teeth. Respect and love for them curb my tongue.
“Khalil asked to go to the fire station, and he had a good time. There’s no problem or need for concern.”
“I disagree, Solomon.” Nate crosses his arms, his eyebrows arrowing down in a small frown. “When it has to do with him, we will always be concerned. He’s our grandson—”
“And I’m his father.” I cut him off before he says something that will make me say fuck the respect and love I have for them. “And I would never do anything to place him in harm’s way, physically or emotionally.”
“Not intentionally, honey. We know that. Of course we do.” Caroline sets a hand on my arm. “And of course we understand that you’ll have”—she briefly pauses—“friends. It’s unreasonable for us to expect that you won’t. But not all of them need to be introduced to yourson. He could get confused. And with that picture floating around the internet ... then for you to bring that same woman around him? He could very easily mistake this Ms. Wright for someone else in your life. In his life.”
Part of me agrees with her; I do. No one will ever take Kendra’s place in my heart, and I’m for damn sure not trying to bring anyone in my son’s orbit for him to think I’m replacing his mother. And thatNot all of them need to be introduced to your son? What the fuck was that about? They act like I’m out here hoing and then sitting every woman I fuck across from my son at the breakfast table. They know me better than that. Yeah, I get they’re hurting, they’re protective. Even scared. But that shit gets me hot.
Grabbing on to my temper by my fingernails, I crook my fingers at him and dip my chin in the direction of the box’s bar. They follow me over to that corner of the room, placing even more distance between us and Khalil. He’s a boy; he doesn’t need to be in adult business, even if it’s just overhearing us.
Once they stand in front of me, I slide my hands in my pockets. I love the two people standing in front of me. And not just because they’re Kendra’s parents. Nate welcomed me onto the Pirates, initiating the trade that brought me here. He’s been fair, kind, even coaching and guiding me about other business ventures outside of hockey. And Caroline has been the mother figure I didn’t know I needed when mine is so far away from me. So yeah, I hide my hands, not wanting them to see my fisted fingers. Not wanting them to guess the anger simmering inside me on a low, steady burn.
“Adina Wright is a friend. And that’s all she is.” Hell, I can’t even call her that, seeing as how every time we’re together, we tear into each other. Would thattearing into each otherremain only verbal? With the way my dick bricks up when I’m within breathing distance of her, I highly doubt that. “But even if that changed, it would be my decision. Just as anything having to do with Khalil and his well-being is mydecision. And as his father, you have to trust that he, his happiness and safety, will always come first with me.”
“You wouldn’t be the first man to have his head turned by a woman. To be caught up and preoccupied by something pretty and new. Like you’re his father, we’re his grandparents. His mother is—” Nate pauses, swallows, and his jaw flexes. “Was our daughter. That gives us the right to question what’s going on in his life, how yourentanglementswill affect him.”
Entanglements? Fuck I look like? Jada Pinkett Smith?
