52. Zane
52
ZANE
I’m going to murder whoever did this.
“Evan already texted me,” I say as Mira’s breathing wobbles and breaks in my ear. “He’s bringing the car around back. You are both going to be out of there in a couple minutes.”
Daniel leans out of the film room. “Is everything okay?”
I shake my head.
There’s no point in lying. Coach was talking directly to me, breaking down some play from a game I can’t even remember, when my heart started beating this fast, and I sprinted out of the room. I didn’t have a choice—Evan’s text tapped into my most basic instincts.
A photographer cornered Aiden. Mira got him away.
They were in danger, and I wasn’t there.
I wasn’t fucking there .
For the first time in his whole damn life, Daniel doesn’t ask any questions. He must be able to see on my face that I’m not in a place to answer them. He just nods. “I’ll tell the team you aren’t coming back.”
“I’m so s-sorry, Zane,” Mira stammers. “It happened so fast. He was playing and then I heard—He screamed. I should have been there. I ran to him, but I?—”
“This was not your fault,” I interrupt. “Do you hear me? You didn’t do this. None of this is your fault.”
Mira sniffles, and I hate that I’m not there. I despise that I didn’t get the chance to bash that photographer’s head in with his own camera.
Murder isn’t good enough for the asshole responsible. I’m going to rip him apart piece by tiny piece, nurse him back to health, and then do it again.
“Aiden is safe,” I say, as much for her sake as mine. I know it’s true. If Aiden wasn’t safe, it would’ve been the first thing out of Mira’s mouth. I know how much she loves him.
“He’s safe,” she confirms, blowing out a deep breath. There are voices in the background. “They’re saying Evan is here. Are we okay to leave with him right now? There were reporters out front. Should I wait for you?”
Part of me wants her to wait. I pay Evan to take care of them, but I still don’t trust anyone but myself to get them safely out of that building.
“You can go with him,” I force out. “I’m leaving here now. I’ll meet you at home.”
“Okay.” Her voice sounds so small. Nothing like the fierce, tough woman I’m used to. “I’ll see you soon.”
I’m running down the hall before I even hang up.
Not soon enough.
Hollis calls me five minutes later. “We’re going to ignore the fact that you didn’t tell me you have a son,” he starts. “We’re also going to ignore that photo of you shirtless that’s currently bouncing around the internet. I have a feeling it’s about to be buried by a much bigger story.”
Jace showed me the picture this morning. Mira’s face was hidden by her dark hair, which is all I really cared about. And even if CPS wanted to use the picture as evidence against me, it’s blurry enough that no one could ID me for sure.
“There is no story,” I growl.
He sighs. “If I could quash news I didn’t like with wishful thinking like that, my job would be a hell of a lot easier.”
I grit my teeth and fight not to slam on the gas. The last thing today needs is Zane Whitaker in Accident; Races Home to Illicit Lover and Bastard Baby splashed across newsstands. “Aiden isn’t a news story. He’s my son.”
Hollis claps his hands on the other end of the line. “There we go. That’s a great start to this press release, actually. We demand privacy for you and your family by appealing to people’s deeper sense of humanity.”
I almost blast through a red light and have to screech to a stop. “What press release?”
“The press release we should have put out a month ago.” Hollis doesn’t get angry. As an attorney turned sports agent, he’s seen too much shit to let anything get him riled. But he’s as close to it as I’ve ever heard right now. “You swore to me there would be no more secrets. No more bombshells I’d have to discover at the same time as the rest of the world. You leaned over my desk and looked me in my eyes and told me that I’d always get a heads up. Do you remember that, Zane? Because I do. I remember it very, very well.”
There was a stretch of time where all Hollis could do was follow me around and put out fires.
Is this a picture of Zane Whitaker slumped in an Uber with a bottle of whiskey in his fist? The NHL schedule has been tough this season. He’s exhausted.
Did Zane Whitaker forge checks from his parents? Of course not. Zane has a close relationship with his parents and no police reports have been filed.
I didn’t exactly make his job easy.
I sigh. “I remember.”
“Okay. Then you can understand why I’m feeling a little blindsided right now.”
“Not as blindsided as I was by a four-year-old showing up on my doorstep!” I snap. “I’ve been trying to figure this all out, too. I’ve been trying to process it alone . Without the entire world telling me all the ways I’m going to fuck up my kid.”
I might be ruining him, anyway. I should have prepared him for the possibility that people with cameras might try to take his picture and sell it to the highest bidder. But how do you explain that to a four-year-old?
I glance at the clock in the dash. I don’t know, but I have about ten minutes to figure it out.
“I get it, Zane. I do,” Hollis says. “But we don’t have a lot of options right now. The press is going to latch onto this story one way or another. If we can head off the worst of the speculation, I think you’ll all be better for it.”
I don’t want this. But I know Hollis is right.
“Fine,” I relent. “Send me the press release before you post it for approval.”
“I always do. Give me an hour.” He hangs up without saying goodbye.
I knew this was coming. I knew I couldn’t keep Aiden—or Mira—a secret forever.
But I can still protect them. And if this press release will keep the hounds at bay, then it’s what I’m going to do.
Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure they come out of this okay.
It’s been four hours since I walked through the door and Aiden threw himself at my chest, crying and shaking. Four hours since I scooped him up with one arm and pulled Mira into me with the other.
And I still can’t bear to let either of them out of my sight.
Aiden is sitting at the table eating pizza, and I can’t stop imagining how easily I could have lost him. What if the photographer wanted something worse than a picture? What if he wanted to hurt him?
Evan has already emailed me a slideshow outlining all of the ways he’s going to increase security and make sure this never happens again.
Hollis sent the press release and I approved it. As of an hour ago, it was posted on all of my socials and sent to every local news station that didn’t run with the pictures the asshole at the trampoline park took.
My team is mobilized, my family is safe… but I can’t relax.
Mira slips her hand into mine from behind. “It’s getting late. Do you want me to put him to bed or…?”
“I’ll do it.”
I know I’m going to be up at least ten times tonight to check on him. Maybe being the one to put him to bed will give me some semblance of peace.
She gives me a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Okay.”
I herd Aiden from the table to the bathroom to brush teeth. He giggles when I pretend he’s on fire and can only be put out with the lavender lotion Mira bought for him. He points to his favorite parts of his books and seems normal.
But when I turn off the light and flip on his nightlight, his little forehead creases in a frown.
“The man kept talking about my mom,” he says softly.
Torture. Endless, painful torture. That’s what that bastard deserves.
“He didn’t mean your mom,” I explain gently. “He was asking about Mira.”
His eyes snap to mine. “Is Mira my mom?”
Fuck. “No. No, she’s not.” I drag a hand through my hair. “That man was confused. He thought Mira was your mom because he doesn’t know us. He shouldn’t have even been there today. I’m sorry that he was.”
He pulls the blankets under his chin. “Who is Mira?”
“Mira is…”
I don’t know how to finish that sentence. Not anymore. Everything is changing too fast. She went from Aiden’s nanny to my fake girlfriend to mine in the matter of a few weeks, and I don’t know what any of it means.
“Mira is Mira,” I finally say. “She’s part of our family and we don’t need to explain that to anyone else.”
That answer is enough for Aiden.
I wish it was enough to quiet the storm in my head.