Hot Damn (Hot as Puck #3)

15. Cami

Cami

P acing Beckett’s house I notice a few things are different since I left this morning. For one, the clean laundry I left in the utility room is gone, and the dishwasher had been run and everything put away.

The small amount of last night’s leftovers I put in the fridge are gone too.

It pleases me to think Beckett ate them for lunch. Or breakfast. And I can’t help wondering if he liked what I made. It wasn’t fancy, just a chicken, bacon, and leek bake I’ve made for years because it’s great for freezing leftovers. And when you’re cooking for one all the time, meals that have more than one use are better and more efficient than cooking a single meal every night.

Not that I cook as much as I should. Years of living at home meant Mom took care of that most nights and now I’m out of their home, I find myself back at Mom and Dad’s a lot of the time.

Except recently.

I might not have had much say—or any—in the way the Rogues came together but I’ve been there. Which shocks me that most people don’t seem to know I’m part owner. Like I told Beckett, it’s not a secret and I’ve been at every press conference about the team from the announcement of the franchise nearly two years ago.

Although I tend to stand toward the back. And I never speak. I leave that to Nat, Oakley, and Blake. They’re all front and center whenever something happens. It’s the same way with Rogue sportswear. I’m not comfortable in the spotlight, not after spending my childhood being thrust into it.

The thought of my life before Dad took me away from it makes me shudder. Crossing my arms, I rub my hands up and down my biceps in an attempt to ward off the chill.

I hate thinking about that time in my life. Hate that no matter what I do the memories are as clear as the day they happened and still have the ability to affect me.

Resentment and hate are all I feel for the two people I spent my first eight years with. The last two the worst of them because Andrea finally admitted I wasn’t Gun Muskin’s kid.

I’m pulled from my thoughts by the door to the garage bursting open. For a moment my instinct is to reach for a knife in the block sitting prominently on the kitchen counter. The urge is squashed a second later when Whitney’s voice echoes off every surface.

“Cami!”

The girl races toward me and throws her arms around my neck. Shocked by the show of affection I stare at her father with wide eyes. His indulgent smile has me snapping out of my daze and reciprocating the hug.

“Hey. How was school?”

“It was school.” She pulls back, her arms still around me. “But guess what?”

“What?”

“Dad said if it’s okay with you I can stay at your house or you can stay here whenever he has an away game from now on.”

“Oh.” My gaze darts to Beckett for confirmation. The look he sends me is sheepish, and I have to believe there’s a reason he offered me up as babysitter. “That sounds like a plan. But I have to work things out with your dad first. There might be conflicts in my schedule and his?—”

“That’s okay. Oakley said I could also stay with Pa or Natalie with the twins.” She lets me go and walks to the fridge. “I’m starving, are those leftovers still here?”

“I ate them for lunch.”

Whitney eyes her father over the fridge door. “Of course you did. But I’m not going to last until the barbecue tonight. I need something to tide me over.”

One thing I noticed about Whitney last night was that for someone so slender, she has an appetite. One to rival a teenage boy. “I can whip something up.”

The offer is out and I’m moving toward her before I think about what I’m doing.

“Oh. Sorry.” I glance at Beckett. “Cal said he’s going to be another thirty minutes so I’ve got time to make you both something before then.”

“You don’t need to get going?”

Glancing at the time on the microwave, I calculate what I have to do before the start of the Rogues’ Fan Barbecue and shrug. “I’ve got time.”

“Sure. Did you talk to the head of security?” Beckett asks as he comes closer. “And tell us what we can do to help you pull something together.”

“Yes. He’s going to talk to you tonight and arrange to come over tomorrow.”

“I can give him a key and he can come while I’m at training and Whit’s at school.”

“Why do we need a security guy here?” Whitney eyes us suspiciously.

“Because our system is out of date and I want the garage wired up,” Beckett says as though it’s no big deal.

I smile at Whitney and ask, “How does a nibble platter sound? ”

“Do we have stuff for that?” she asks, peering into the fridge beside me.

“Sure. Give me some room and I’ll pass you what will work.”

“Okay.” Stepping back, she waits, her gaze bouncing between me and her dad.

I noticed a tub of hummus and a bottle of ranch dressing when I put the leftovers away last night and I know I saw a bunch of veggies and fruit in here too. “Do you have some corn chips or crackers?”

“Yeah. I’ll get them,” Beckett answers.

Passing things behind me I hear Whitney muttering with each one. Once I think there’s enough to fill both their bellies, I close the fridge and turn. Both Beckett and Whitney eye the food on the counter.

It’s Beckett who voices the concern I see on their faces. “Is this enough for all of us?”

“All of us?”

“You’re staying, right? We can’t expect you to put something together and then not eat with us.”

“Oh. I…” I honestly hadn’t thought about it but now that he’s put it out there, it seems stupid to put a platter together for them to eat while we wait for Cal to get here with Whitney’s car and not join them. “Hold on.”

Spinning back, I yank the fridge open again and grab a jar of olives and a block of cheese. I’ll cut up one of the apples Beckett has in the bowl on the counter too. Now we’ll have cold cuts, veggies, fruit, crackers, and cheese, with two dips to choose from.

“We just lay all this out and pick what we want to dip?” Beckett asks, already getting to work on opening packages.

“Some of it we should cut into sticks. Like the apple, cheese, cucumber, carrots?—”

“I get it.” He moves away and comes back with a chopping board and knife. “I’ll cut, you set it up.”

Whitney hands me a large platter. “I don’t think this is going to be big enough and it’s the biggest we’ve got. ”

“Got some foil? Or baking paper?”

“Yeah, that drawer over there.” Beckett points his knife toward the fridge.

“What are you going to do with it?” Whitney asks.

“Spread it out on the counter. We’ll pile everything on it then we can roll it up and toss it out when we’re done.”

“Wow, that’s a cool idea. I never would have thought of it. Dad and I would probably have used lots of plates.”

“We could do that too. Bowls or plates would work but this way there isn’t much clean up and it’s kind of fun to eat off the counter. A bit of rebellion against manners.” I grin.

They’re both looking at me. Whitney with awe and Beckett with a curious, confused expression, like he’s trying to work me out and can’t.

I don’t mind that. If I’m honest, I like it. A lot. Having his interest isn’t something I’ve really thought about. Our first few interactions weren’t good, he wasn’t nice, but with each subsequent one, there’s a subtle shift in our demeanor. His mainly.

His hostility is no longer front and center. In fact, I’d go as far as saying it’s barely hovering in the background now.

“Are you going to be at the barbecue tonight?” Whitney asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“Yes. I’ll be doing some filming and asking some of the fans questions.”

“Not the players?” Beckett asks.

“Probably. Especially if they’re with a fan. I want to continue with the real aspect of the Conversations with a Rogue series.”

“I’ve watched every one so far. They’re really good.” Whitney smiles at me. “I have to do a project about technology and I was going to focus on the way social media has changed our lives but I want to change it to how devices have made our lives different with a focus on the accessibility to the internet and social media particularly.”

“That sounds like a huge undertaking. ”

“Not really. I did something similar last year but about cars. The evolution of them and their impact on society.”

I glance at Beckett. “Wow. Are you sure you’re in high school? That sounds like something you’d do in college.”

“It’s for an AP class.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Can I use your series as an example of what a phone can do? You used your phone to edit the videos, right?”

“I did. Although, I didn’t really edit them much. Mainly tweaked the sound.”

“I need to get your permission in writing, and I’ll credit you at the end of the assignment.”

“Sure. I’ll get my mom to draw up a legal doc covering it.”

“Your mom?”

“She’s a lawyer. You can meet her tonight if you want.”

“Your parents are coming?” Beckett asks, a look on his face I can’t decipher.

“Yeah. They try and support everything I do but they’re both hockey fans so it’s a no brainer they’ll be at all the Rogue things they can get to.”

“And yet, you’re not a fan.”

“You don’t like hockey?” Whitney asks, her mouth agape. “Who doesn’t like hockey?”

I laugh. “It’s not that I don’t like it. More that I’m not a fan.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, a fan goes out of their way to watch it, play it, talk about it.”

“And you don’t do that?”

“I don’t go out of my way, no. But I do watch. And I do talk about it. Kind of hard not to when I own a team in the NHL.”

“I don’t understand why you own a team if you’re not a fan.” Whitney shakes her head as we put the last few things out on our makeshift platter.

“It’s a business to me. Same as Rogue sportswear. I own them both but I’m not involved in the everyday running of either. ”

“If I owned them I’d be in everything.” Whitney nods. “Yeah, you’d never get me to stop working.”

“That’s no way to live. It’s why we have managers and staff in both businesses. Experts in their field who take care of things we don’t have time or skill to do.”

“I want to work for KAW when I finish school.”

“That’s a few years away, yet. You’ll probably change your mind.” Beckett nudges her with his shoulder. “And there is nothing wrong with changing your mind.”

“Oh, I won’t. And I’m not talking about after college, Dad. I’m going to start looking for something I can do while I go to college.”

“You’re sticking close for college?” I ask, curious as to what this blossoming woman has in mind. She seems so set and determined and I’ve already noticed how mature she is for her age.

“I am. I’m also looking at doing online. I know everyone thinks going away to college is an experience I should want but I don’t. I like being close to Dad, and why should I go if I can get where I want to go without it?”

“You have a point.” Beckett eyes his daughter. “You really don’t want to go away to college?”

“No. I like it here.”

“We’ve been here less than six months.”

“I know but as soon as we got here, it felt like home.”

“Huh.”

“You didn’t feel that way?” she asks, her gaze glued to Beckett.

“I did.” Something passes through his gaze, something that has an edge of fear to it. And I can’t help but think he’s not being quite truthful.

“Does it remind you of where you grew up?” Whitney asks before she picks up a cherry tomato, drags it through the hummus, and pops it in her mouth.

Beckett’s entire body goes rigid. There’s no visible jolt or anything, but the tenseness of every muscle telegraphs his reaction to her words .

“You grew up near here?” I flinch as soon as the words are out because the look he shoots me is one so hostile you’d think we were opposing each other on a battle field. I wrack my brain for any memory of his file. I know the PI gave us an extensive one before we offered him a contract but I don’t recall anything about him living in the US.

As far as I remember he’s played his whole career for Canadian teams and never set foot across the border for anything other than to play.

He takes a moment to get himself a glass of water, pours myself and Whitney one too before he comes back and looks me right in the eye.

“I was born in Florida, but my mother moved us north, to Michigan, when I was two. So no. Baton Rouge doesn’t remind me of home.”

He doesn’t say anything else and I don’t either. The look in his eyes tells me the subject is closed and he won’t answer any other question I might ask.

Once again I think he’s hiding something.

I can’t put my finger on it. Have no idea what it could be or why he feels the need to keep it to himself.

The doorbell interrupts the tension hanging in the air and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“That will be Cal.” I go to move but Beckett stops me with a hand on my arm.

“I’ll get it in case it’s not. Stay here with Whit.” His words aren’t harsh but they’re an order all the same.

I glance at Whitney who shrugs as she stuffs a handful of grapes into her mouth.

She’s as clueless as I am and her lack of concern for the weirdness of the last few minutes has me trying to shake it off.

Except the more I think about it, the more I want to dive deeper into Beckett’s past. And I can’t decide if it’s the reporter in me or the woman who’s become a little too intrigued by this man and his daughter.