Page 57 of Hot Damn
I want to go after him. Ask him the million and one questions now filling my head, but I know if I do he’ll shut down and I won’t get any answers. If I wait, keep doing what I’m doing, he may reveal more about himself, about what he went through raising Whitney.
One thing is for sure. He’s hiding something about how he came to be a teenage parent. I’m not sure if I want to know or not. Or if I deserve to know.
Whitney hasn’t dropped any hints about their early life. The only thing she’s mentioned is that Beckett was born in the US. And the small amount of elaborating he did on that subject isn’t enough to curb my curiosity.
I want to know everything there is to know about Beckett Higgison.
I want to blame my reporter instinct.
I want to say it’s nothing more than me intrigued by the dynamic between him and Whitney.
Except I’m not a liar. Especially with myself.
I want to know everything there is to know about Beckett Higgison because I can’t not know. The more time I spend with him, talk to him, the more I want to do both.
It’s like a snowball rolling down a hill. My desire to know himgrows with each new piece of information. The longer I spend in his company the more I want to be there.
And that’s not including my interest in Whitney.
She’s such a remarkable young woman. And when you look at her life, the father who raised her, she’s more extraordinary.
They both are.
And I’m not going to lie to myself anymore.
I want to know both of them, but Beckett, he stirs up feelings I haven’t felt in a long long time, if ever.
It’s like a smoldering fire beneath my skin, in my bones. Glowing and warming from the inside out. A slow burn that if I’m not careful could spark and catch, turning into a wildfire engulfing everything in its way.
I don’t want any of us to get hurt in whatever this thing is bubbling through me. I know there’s a healthy dose of attraction. I’m not blind or delusional—Beckett is gorgeous, and how some woman hasn’t snapped him up and put a ring on it is anyone’s guess.
Although, watching him with Whitney, knowing what I know about them, I can see he’s kept himself and her secluded in their own little bubble.
A bubble that burst the other week when Whitney posted that picture.
A picture that since she took her account off private has been reposted hundreds of times. Most of the reposts have been good, encouraging. Only a handful have questioned how Beckett Higgison has a seventeen-year-old daughter and where he’s been hiding her.
Fortunately there hasn’t been too much speculation on why he kept her out of the public eye. I haven’t said anything to anyone except Dad, but I’ve set up some alerts. Any time either Beckett or Whitney is mentioned I know about it. Check it out and make sure it’s nothing to worry about.
Dad’s also keeping his ear to the ground. Neither of us wants this to turn into the scandal that was my childhood. We’re toofamiliar with how things can go from inquisitive to dangerous in the blink of an eye.
I don’t want that for either of them. So I’ll keep doing what I’m doing until I don’t have to anymore.
When that will be, I’m not sure.
All I know is right now I want to protect them both from anything that could hurt them.
Beckett
Clicking my fob as I walk toward my truck, I wave at a few of the guys left lingering in the players’ carpark. Training went well today, like it has most days since we took to the ice together.
We’re playing as though we’ve played together for years and it’s lifting our spirits as much as the fact we’ve remained undefeated through our pre-season games. The day after tomorrow we play our first away game in a week.
The season opener against the Miami Steam.
Everyone will be there. The Rogues org has arranged for any family member or Rogues employee to travel to Miami for our first regular season game in the league.
It’s a big day.
