Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kade
“My god, look at you.” Parker looks me over as I walk into his office. “Have you grown again?”
“No, my Lord.”
He smirks and easily becomes the good-natured guy I know. “Don’t you dare call me that.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“Well, now you can be. I’m still the same person.”
I grin back at him. “Just lord chancellor now.”
“Sure, kid, but I haven’t stopped being your godfather. Come on, let’s sit.” He points at the sofa area and leads the way.
I follow and we sit opposite each other. While he grabs two Cohiba cigars from the humidor on the coffee table, I observe him, wondering what the hell it was about him that upset Isabelle. Like he said, he’s still the same person. Nothing at all feels different about him. But maybe that’s just me.
Parker hands me a cigar and gives me a wolfish grin. “Don’t tell anyone I gave you this.”
“You know I won’t.”
We light up and smoke like we always do when we’re together. Last time I saw him, he took me camping in Norway for my birthday.
We sat on folded chairs by a frozen lake, watching the Aurora Borealis light up the night sky in a spectrum of magical colors.
It was the kind of birthday I needed; quiet and reflective. Not like the ones I was used to before my parents died.
“So, tell me, how are you doing here? Everywhere I go, people keep talking about you and football.” He gives me a proud-father smile and I imagine my father looking at me just like that if he were still alive.
“Things are good. You know I met with that scout for the Rangers before Christmas.”
“Yes. Has anything more happened?”
“Not yet. They’ll touch base with me about their camp before the summer. The problem is there are another two scouts after me.”
He laughs heartily. “Fantastic news. Keep them coming, son.”
“I’ll try. I guess I’m supposed to keep winning until something else happens.”
“Which you are.”
“I am.”
“I can’t wait to see you play tonight. I haven’t been to one of your games since high school.”
“It will be good to have you there.”
“It will be great to be there.” His voice fills with more pride.
I’ve always had confidence in my abilities, but when I moved to New York after my parents' deaths and the rough patch I had, Parker came to watch me knowing I’d be nervous playing for a new school. I know I only played as well as I did that day because of him.
“I’m guessing you and Dmitri still play the way you do.”
“Couldn’t do it without him. We’re hoping to play for the same team after graduation, then I suppose when we retire we can run our businesses together. The way our fathers did.”
It’s a conflict of interest in the sports world to play on a team that you own, so it will be a long time before Dmitri or I reap the benefits of owning our own teams.
“Your father would be so damn proud of you. He lives through you. I can see it. Damon was devastated when that injury took him out of the game, but he had you, and then he had the idea to buy a team. That’s what you call legacy.”
When anyone talks about my father it always hits home. But being compared to him, the great Damon Gurkovsky, is an honor. My father played right through college and two years after, until he busted his knee scoring his last touchdown. His team won but that was the last time he ever played pro ball.
“Thank you. I hope to make him proud.”
“Believe me. You already have.” The sting of grief dulls his eyes. “He would have been proud of you even if you did nothing but be his son.”
“That was one thing I loved about Dad. He never forced me to do anything. Everything I ever wanted to do was because I wanted it.” I pause for a moment and allow my mind to drift back to the past and linger on the image of my father smiling at me at one of my games.
“That sounds exactly like my best friend.”
I wish I could tell him that I’ve got the man responsible for killing my parents in my grasp, but I hold my tongue. Once all is said and done, I’ll speak out. Then we can celebrate, and maybe I’ll be able to put the past behind me. Perhaps the people affected by their deaths can, too.
“It’ll be epic to see what you become while I’m here.” Parker resumes his previous lightheartedness. “But that does mean you’re stuck with me for the next three and a half years.” He chuckles, then takes a drag on his cigar.
“I’m sure it will beat the last three years. How are you settling in? Aren’t you going to miss traveling around the world?” I was surprised when he accepted this job but I heard that Aleksander Ivanov reached out to him directly to offer him the position.
Before my parents died Parker had a regular nine-to-five job at the art museum in New York. He loved being around art but hated being in one place for so long.
“Sure, I’ll miss it, but when the leader of the Knights asks you to do something, you do it. I was shocked to say the least but it’s a real honor to be Lord Chancellor of Raventhorn University.”
“I imagine so. Congratulations again.”
“Thanks. Enough about me now. I want to hear more about you.” He throws a playful punch in my shoulder. “Tell me about life outside football and college. Do you have a girlfriend yet?”
The question doesn’t surprise me. Parker never got married because he could never settle down. He always had a different woman on his arm every time I saw him. It’s odd for a Knight because everyone is expected to get married after graduation. It’s not uncommon, though.
“No girlfriend yet,” I reply, but the moment the words leave my lips, I think of Isabelle again.
She’s not my girlfriend but she’s the only girl I’ve ever obsessed over.
“Don’t tell me you're taking a leaf out of my book.”
I puff on my cigar. “No, but how about we'll see?”
“I like that answer.”
We talk some more and it’s just like old times. Then it’s time to leave for the game.
Raventhorn is playing New Hampshire tonight. We arrive at their stadium a few hours early so we have enough time to get ready.
Coach McKeithan leads us in a good training session and all the guys are fired up to win.
Soon it’s time to go onto the field. When we get there, the first person I look for is her—Isabelle.
Something lifts in me when I find her in the front row, staring back at me.
Tonight she’s in some midnight black Wednesday Adams getup that makes her look like she’s going to a funeral, but I’ve never seen her look sexier.
Her cheeks flush when I stare at her for longer than I should. The soft rose color looks angelic against all that darkness she’s covered herself in.
The match begins and I switch my focus to the game.
Dmitri and I are vicious out there, obliterating anyone who gets in our way. Like the Incredible Hulk, he clears my path by keeping the defense team on their toes. When I get the ball I run like The Flash.
We score two goals before halftime. The crowd goes wild on that last one.
I look at Isabelle and annoyance fills me when I see she’s looking at Parker.
Not merely looking at him, she’s fucking gawking.
What the hell is going on with her and him? The insanity of obsession pushes me to walk over to her and make her talk, but I can’t fuck around like that when I have a game to win.
I do my best to focus but no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop my gaze from drifting back to Isabelle. Every time I do, she’s looking at him.
My lack of focus allows New Hampshire to score a goal but I pull it together near the end and score two more times. The last is the winning touchdown.
Raventhorn fans lose their minds, electrifying the air with their chants of victory.
The team crowds me and we cheer together. I live for moments like these. But the euphoria dulls when I look back to Isabelle and see she’s gone.
Her seat is empty and I can’t spot her anywhere.
The fact that I looked pisses me off, but I’m not mad at her. I’m mad at myself for wanting her to be there. But I’m always fucking wanting her regardless of the reason.
I give myself a break for the night when I get back to Raventhorn. I do the same the next night with the hope of balancing my mind.
It doesn’t work because I can’t get Isabelle out of my head.
The next night, after the mission briefing with Caspian and Thorne, I find myself heading to Isabelle’s apartment.
When I see that her bedroom window is open, I take my position in the grove of trees where I can see her but she can’t see me.
She’s painting again.
She’s working on that painting she was working on the other week. The one of the woman standing by the sea that reminded me of her. I can see the woman’s face now.
She does look a lot like Isabelle. But I can see clearly now that it’s not her, although the resemblance is striking.
The woman is her mother.
I remember her face from the files Dmitri got me on Isabelle. The files explained that her mother was killed in a random act of violence because the man who shot her wasn’t linked to the Knights.
It was thought that he was a hitman because he had no connection to her mother and he’d killed in the same manner before. However, there was no evidence of who hired him.
Isabelle was twelve at the time. There wasn’t much in the records about her specifically, but the way it was written suggested things about her had been left out on purpose. I supposed that was because she was a child and her father was protecting her name. It made sense, especially if they couldn’t find the guy who was working with the hitman.
My friends and I aren’t mentioned in my parents' records either. We were classed as anonymous witnesses, but only those close to us know that we were there.
Isabelle stops painting, stands back so she can look over her work, then she brings her hands to her cheeks and her shoulders shake.
She starts sobbing and floods of tears flow down her cheeks. That weakness I witnessed in her the other day seems to come back and she crumples to the floor, crying.
I never expected my heart to clench the way it does at the sad sight of her.
I haven’t felt the human side of me in years. The side that’s supposed to feel compassion. It’s strange that I would feel it now while watching the girl I blame equally as much as Nikoli for the loss of my parents.
I still don’t know how she’s linked to him, but she is. I know that part is true, and her hands are just as dirty no matter the part she played. If I didn’t blame her, we wouldn’t be in this mess.
But as the weeks have gone by and I’ve crossed several lines with her, I’ve realized that I don’t hate her.
I don’t feel that raging thirst for vengeance flowing in me as much as I did when I first found out the part she played.
I feared this happening to me. Because it changes things.
It changes me .
Instead of taking pleasure in her pain, I care that she’s grieving.
And I want to take away her pain.