Hot Damn (Hot as Puck #3)

14. Beckett

Beckett

I wipe down the kitchen counter.

Again.

And curse myself an idiot.

Cami has already been in my house. She’s seen it in less than a sparkling clean state so why the hell am I cleaning the place from top to bottom before she arrives?

And she’s probably not even going to come inside!

We’re cutting the timing close to pick up Whit when school gets out. I did that on purpose because after my jack-off session in the shower this morning I need to put some distance between me and the woman who has me thinking things I haven’t in over seventeen years.

She’s just a lift. Like a share-ride without the cost, she’ll pick me up, take me to get my daughter, then we’ll go get Whit’s car.

That’s it.

She’ll drive away, leaving us at the mechanic to pay for the repairs or air or whatever the guy decides to charge me for.

My house doesn’t need to be clean.

I’m not out to impress her.

I don’t like her.

Hell .

That’s a lie.

I don’t like her job and by extension I don’t like her, but I don’t know her.

She seems genuine. She helped Whit when I couldn’t. She even came to me with her concerns about what happened and she didn’t have to. She could have just dropped Whit at home after helping get her car towed and that would have been acceptable.

Except she didn’t.

She cooked dinner.

For Whit and Mrs. Gerber, who came by earlier to thank me for the meal and the leftovers Cami sent her home with last night.

The woman confounds me. She’s nothing like I assumed she would be.

Then again, the worst time of my life involved reporters digging for dirt, trying to invade my life and take away my chance to love my daughter.

To keep my daughter.

I scrub a hand down my face and sigh.

I’m laying someone else’s misdeeds on Cami’s shoulders.

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. I’m the first to understand how someone else’s actions can affect those around them. How finger pointing and laying blame aren’t always in the right places.

Cami has done nothing to reinforce my first instinct to protect myself and Whit from her. In fact, she’s done a number of things that prove I can trust her.

And I trust Oakley, Coaches Alcott and Watts, even the Rogues’ GM is in the trust column. I can’t see any of them being friends, never mind business partners, with a woman who would set out to hurt others.

I need to dig up some of her work. See what type of articles she writes. Get a feel for the way she treats people and their secrets.

Not that I will ever reveal mine.

Not until Whit knows the whole truth about her mother.

That’s another reason I’m struggling with my feelings toward Cami. She makes me realize I need to tell Whit the truth. I’ve put it off for long enough thinking it best to wait until she was an adult, out of college.

But my girl is smart, well adjusted, and mature enough to know now. She’ll be eighteen in two months. It’s time I told her everything. Told her how she came into my life.

The doorbell echoes through the house and I glance at the microwave.

“She’s early.”

Only a few minutes, but it’s a good sign. She either doesn’t like to be late or she knows we don’t have time to waste. Scooping up my keys from the bowl on the counter along with the garage remote Whit took out of her car before letting it be towed, I head for the front door.

I’m a few steps into the foyer when the doorbell rings again and I smile at the woman’s impatience. It’s barely a minute since she pressed it the first time.

I pull the door open with a grin on my face that quickly dies. “Can I help you?”

The guy on my front step jumps and turns back to face me. “Oh. I didn’t think anyone was home.”

It’s not an answer to my question and I’m standing here which proves his assumption is incorrect so there’s no need to say a word. Something that makes the guy squirm.

He’s in his twenties, mid to late if I were to guess, but I’m more interested in what he’s doing here. When he stares at me for another few seconds, his feet shuffling and his eyes shifting, I want to slam the door in his face.

Except at that moment Cami pulls into my driveway. At least I think it’s her. I have no idea what type of car she drives but the high end SUV seems to fit. And when the driver’s door opens and Cami steps out with a frown on her face my suspicion of this guy ramps up a notch.

Cami wastes no time getting to us and the frown on her face turns into a downright scowl with laser-eyes that should have this guy dropping to his knees.

“Kenneth. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, hey, I...” His gaze darts back and forth between us. “Hi, Cami.”

She walks around him and stops in front of my door, kind of blocking me and the house from Kenneth, whoever he is. Her arms are crossed, her feet are shoulder width apart. The stance is a defensive one that makes me smile.

How she thinks she can protect me from this guy is anyone’s guess but I have to say the pleasure her protection delivers is one I’m not accustomed to but find appealing.

I cock my head and arch an eyebrow, sizing up the possible threat at my door. “So, Kenneth, you haven’t answered mine or Cami’s question.”

“Oh, right. Well, um?—”

“For god’s sake, Kenneth, get to it.” Cami’s voice is laced with exasperation without a trace of concern and I have to think she’s no longer worried this guy is here with nefarious intentions.

“I…” He licks his lips and swallows. “IwonderedifImightgetaninterviewwithHiggison.”

His words roll out in one long rush and it takes me a few seconds to separate them. “An inter?—”

“No!” Cami takes a step toward Kenneth, making him back up. “And you know better than turning up on someone’s doorstep to ask. If you want to interview anyone on the Rogues’ roster you contact head office. They’ll either grant or deny your request. If they grant it, they’ll tell you where and when the interview will take place.”

“But—”

“Nope. No buts. That’s the way it works with professional athletes, and you know it.”

“It’s not against the law?—”

“No, it’s not, but being on private property without invitation is trespassing. And that is against the law. ”

“Aw, c’mon, Cami. The Rogues aren’t letting anyone interview their players.”

Turning her head slightly, Cami says, “Beckett, can you call the police and then the Rogues’ GM please?”

“Okay, okay.” Kenneth holds up his hands as he walks backward. “No need to go that far. I’m leaving.”

“Good.” Cami’s attention is back on the guy retreating with his shoulders hunched and a frown on his face. “And, Kenneth?”

She waits for him to look right at her.

“Don’t come back.”

He shoots her a dirty look that has my fists clenching. I’d like to punch this guy in the nose, hopefully break it, for looking at Cami like that.

The violent urge surprises me. Physical altercations have only even been inspired on the ice, or in defense of Whit.

This woman, one I claim to dislike, is pulling on instincts previously reserved for my daughter. And let’s be honest, I don’t think Cami needs me to protect her. She’s fully capable of doing it herself, and if she can’t she’s smart enough to find someone or something that can.

“Wait until he leaves.” Her voice is low even though Kenneth is too far away to hear anything we say.

Quietly we watch him get into a car parked across the street. It’s a beater, a little worse for wear than the car I bought Whit, and it sparks an idea.

“Do you think he let the air out of Whit’s tires?”

“Before today I’d have said no. Now I’m not so sure. I’ll send his picture to our PI and see if he can get a connection between what happened to Whitney’s car and Kenneth.”

“He’s driving?—”

“I took a picture. I’ll send that to Amos too.”

Tipping forward, I peer over her shoulder. Sure enough, she’s got her phone out and she’s zooming in on Kenneth’s car and snapping photos rapidly.

Once he’s out of sight, she spins around and faces me. “Here. ”

I look down to see she’s holding out her keys. “What are those for?”

“Go get Whitney, bring her back here. I’ll have Cal bring the car to you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I don’t like that he was here. It’s strange to see a reporter on your doorstep when I know the Rogues put out the word to all media outlets that players are off limits unless they go through official channels.”

“So what you told him is true, the org decides who we speak to?”

“You didn’t get the email?”

“I...” I shake my head. “No. I haven’t checked my inbox since before getting on the plane this morning.”

“Okay. Well, basically you’ve all been banned from talking to the media, and that includes influencers and bloggers, until further notice. Nat’s on a tear. She’s pissed but not at the team, or the media really, but it is what it is, and she calls the shots on these things.”

“You don’t get a say?” It’s the first time I’ve brought up her involvement with the team.

Her mouth opens and closes. With a shrug, she says, “It’s not my place?—”

“Bullshit. You own the team.”

She sucks in a breath, her eyes going wide as her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “Right. Okay, yes, I’m part owner.”

“You don’t advertise it.”

“No.”

“Why not? Why keep it a secret?”

“It’s not a secret. I’m not involved in the running of the team, frontend or back. I’m a quarter of KAW and that’s it.”

“So you don’t care about the team?” I know she does, but I want to poke at her. Find out why she stays away from something the others seem so proud of .

“I do.” Her gaze skitters to the side. “I’m just not a sports fan.”

“But one of your best friends played hockey her whole life. Went to the Olympics.”

“Yes. I’m aware.” Her eyes are back on me and I can see she’s moved back into defense mode after that brief display of vulnerability.

“So. You don’t get a say? In the media ban?”

Cami blows out a breath and her shoulders slump. “I suggested it.”

“You. Why?”

“Because they want the Conversations with a Rogue to be in the spotlight and if you all go around talking to any reporter, there will be multiple articles and interviews floating around. Plus we need to steer the narrative, particularly with you right now, and the way to do that is to control all information being put out.”

Shit, she’s so fucking smart. If the only thing coming out of the Rogue camp is Rogue approved, there’s less chance of things being uncovered that should remain private.

“Okay, I get it. No talking to anyone about anything.”

“It’s going to prove difficult because we want the fans to have access to the players, want you all to be able to sign autographs if a fan stops you, but you’ll need to be careful about what you say.”

“Is there any direction concerning that in the email you talked about?”

“No. But I’m meeting with Nat, Oakley, and Blake after this before the barbecue tonight. I’ll run the idea of holding a media dos and don’ts with everyone tomorrow. Before or after training.”

“And the reason you’re giving me your keys and telling me to go get Whit?”

“I don’t think you should leave your house empty at the moment. And my car isn’t yours so it won’t draw as much attention as yours would.”

“Mine isn’t exactly flashy.” It’s a BMW SUV. Plenty of those on the road around here. Especially in the parking lot of Whit’s private school.

“No. But we have the ability to disguise you, so why not. Just to be safe.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Exactly!” She grabs my hand and turns it over so my palm is up. Dropping her keys into it she says, “Now go get Whit before you’re late and I’ll call Cal to get her car brought over.”

“I haven’t paid him.”

She waves her hand. “Don’t worry about that. Whitney gave him her card details yesterday. He’ll charge that.”

“Oh.” I keep forgetting I gave Whit a card for when I’m not around. “If that guy comes back, do what you asked me to do, and call the police.”

“Don’t worry, I will. I’m also going to call the Rogues’ head of security and see about beefing up yours.”

“I’ve got an alarm.”

“Yes, except it could use an update and I noticed the door to the garage isn’t alarmed and neither is the garage.”

“Huh.” I lean forward and look at my roller door. “I never thought about that.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got experience in needing to cover every angle of security.”

Her words have my gaze back on her, curious about her tone and what she’s implying. The thought of Cami needing security or finding breaches in it through any means other than a security specialist telling her has my entire body tensing.

“Lock the door behind me,” I say as I move past her and urge her through the doorway. “I’ll be as quick as I can but don’t open the door to anyone while I’m gone. Unless it’s the police.”

“Beckett, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Of course. Just don’t take any chances.” I reach into the house and grab the front door handle. As I pull it closed, she takes a step back. “See you when I get back.”

“But I?— ”

I snap the door shut and call out, “Lock it!”

Ignoring her protests about something in her car, I step back and repeat, “Lock it, Cami.”

I hear her huff through the door but I also hear the tell-tale click of the deadbolt sliding into place. With a smile, I head for Cami’s car, pleased she’s safe inside my house.

The alarm might not be the best but I doubt anyone, especially reed-thin Kenneth, will break in at this hour of the day. Then again, most burglaries occur during the day while the occupants are out at work or whatever.

That thought has me picking up my pace and when I jump behind the wheel and crank the engine, I slam the gear into reverse and accelerate so fast the tires give a little squeal against the driveway’s concrete surface.

And I’m not ashamed to admit I went a few miles above the speed limit all the way to Whit’s school.