54. Kai
Kai
Fuck. It’s my publicist.
“Hello?” I answer gruffly, tendrils of unease roiling around my stomach.
“Hey, Kai, sorry to wake you. But this is kind of important,” Stephanie replies curtly.
“And I wanted your take before it went to print.” Stephanie is all business and no nonsense.
If I didn’t know her any better, I would say she suffered from an undeserving power trip.
But she bosses us Boston Bucks players around like we’re petulant children in need of a scold or good backhand.
Stephanie does her job and she does it well, and right now, I appreciate her ability to cut through the bullshit and get directly to the point.
“It’s fine, Steph, what’s going on?” I ask, trying and failing to smooth the edge of alarm in my voice.
“A mildly reputable magazine snapped pictures of you getting ice cream the other day with…a boy.” A short pause. “That is presumably your son?” she asks. She knows the truth but I can tell she’s waiting for me to confirm it.
“Yes, he’s my son,” I respond, sitting up and swinging my feet over the edge of the bed. I have a terrible feeling I should be upright for the rest of this conversation.
“So, the magazine plans on publishing the picture tomorrow with the tagline Boston Bucks former bachelor has secret son.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckkkk.
I can feel my heart pounding in my ears, bile and stomach acid threatening to make its way up my throat.
I’m not super concerned about my reputation—that has been trashed and rehabbed more times than I can count.
But I’m worried about my parents' reactions and Kendall and Akio's privacy. I release a long sigh.
“What are my options here, Steph?” I run my hands through my hair repeatedly like it could soothe me.
“Well, you could pay to make it go away. That would probably be the easiest option, path of least resistance and all. You could ask them to kill it in exchange for an exclusive, all access interview with you. Or you could just say fuck it and let the vultures in. If it’s not them today it will be someone else tomorrow,” she explains nonchalantly, like it isn’t my future or anyone else’s on the line here.
“Right,” I mutter.
“But something tells me this situation was kept a secret for a reason, one you probably aren’t particularly ready to share with the world just yet, hmm?”
“You’re right. Tell them to kill it in exchange for whatever kind of access they want...I don’t want this coming out. Not yet. I need to at least talk to her first and my family.”
“Her?” she pries. And I know it’s not out of curiosity, at least not entirely. She very much wants and needs to stay ahead of the story.
“My girlfriend,” I clear my throat awkwardly. “His mother.”
“Ah. I’ll try my best to keep a lid on it for now. But sharks are in the water and they’re circling. Someone is going to leak this probably sooner than you would like. I just wanted you to be in the loop.”
“Thanks, Steph. Let me know what they say,” I respond and end the call.
Before I get out of bed, I make another call to Kendall.
I’m anxious to hear what she has to say about all this.
I explain the situation with the magazine to her as calmly and quickly as I can.
And she assuages any guilt I might have felt about it, the way only she can.
She tells me that eventually both our families are going to know and so is the press and everyone else.
She said ultimately the choice is up to me but she knows the terms and conditions, what she signed up for dating a professional athlete.
We both agree that we want to protect Akio as much as possible and control the narrative but we aren’t going to chase away every single story that comes up.
Eventually, the world will find out about our past and our present and that’s okay.
I want them to. I want everyone to know they’re mine.
***
Aweek later, I tell my parents and my younger sister about Kendall and Akio during our monthly mandatory family dinner. My mom looks shocked and my dad seems a little pale, like he’s going to be ill. My sister, however, is ecstatic.
“This is so cool! So, I’m an aunt now?” she asks enthusiastically, her black bob swishing from side to side as she glances from my parents to me.
“Yeah, I guess you are,” I answer, reaching over and ruffling her hair. She might be an aunt but she’s still my younger sister and the baby of the family.
“So…” My mom eyes me carefully. “Did she give you an explanation for all this? The lying, moving away, keeping your son a secret?” she asks, trying to mask her emotions but her frustration surfaces anyways.
“It’s complicated, Mom. She was young, we both were. I had just been drafted and there is still a lot of stuff we need to figure out,” I respond, taking a large gulp of water.
“I’m sorry,” Amy interrupts. “I think it’s really cool you have a son but don’t we all think it’s a little fucked up she hid this from you?” she says while shoveling broccoli into her mouth. And while tact isn’t her strong suit, I know she said what everyone else at the table is thinking.
“Amy, language!” Mom chides but my sister just rolls her eyes in defiance.
“Yeah, it isn’t exactly ideal,” I admit. “But like I said, it’s complicated. We’re trying to work on things and we're going to couple’s therapy together.”
“Well, that’s good right? That’s a good thing,” My mom notes and I nod in agreement.
“I just worry about you, Kai. I know how hard it was when you two broke up,” she says softly.
And I can see the concern in her eyes, in the pinch of her brow and the hardness of her features.
What she's really asking is will you be okay if things don’t work out this time?
Can you recover from that? And I know she’s right to be worried because I am too.
About all the what ifs and the what nows, and the multiple balls Kendall and I are both trying to carefully juggle and keep in the air.
“I know, Mom. I think this time will be different.”
God I really fucking hope I’m right. I don’t think I can survive being wrong.
“So, when do we get to meet him, our grandson?” my mom inquires, excitement bleeding into her voice.
“We’re taking things very slow, so not just yet. But hopefully soon.”
“Okay. I can’t wait,” she replies, covering my hand with hers.
“Me either!” Amy chimes in.
My dad remains silent throughout the entire dinner, quietly moving food around his plate but never eating it.
Which isn’t out of character for him. He’s quiet and reserved by nature.
But his silence is suffocating and the complete lack of a verbal reaction makes me want to scream.
As much as my relationship with my father is strained, I still crave his approval.
Before we get up from the table, he excuses himself to his office.
Is he angry? Confused? Shocked?
I’m not sure what his fucking deal is but he needs to be on board with this.
“He’ll come around,” my mom says, reading the expression on my face. “He just needs a little time.” But some shred of awareness unfurling in my gut tells me this isn’t about time or patience or waiting for the shock to wear off.
A half hour later, Amy and I are supposed to be doing the dishes together.
But like usual, she’s leaning against the kitchen island scrolling through her phone while I do all the work.
She wanders into the den and leaves me alone with my thoughts.
Which admittedly is dangerous. My mom’s soft voice and my dad’s authoritative one drift out to me from his office.
I put down the dish I’m working on and creep closer to the door, trying not to let my heavy footsteps and lumbering frame give me away.
I feel like I’m fucking 16 again, eavesdropping on my parents, instead of just entering the room like an adult.
“You don’t think this all seems a little strange, a little bizarre? She disappeared for years and now she returns at the height of his career with a toddler she claims is his?” my dad asks viciously. His words slice deep and sharp.
“I mean strange, yes. But what are you suggesting exactly…that Akio isn’t his?
That this is a ploy by her somehow? I find that highly unlikely,” she replies.
And I can picture the skeptical irritated glare she’s giving him, in an attempt to reconcile the romantic she married with the harsh words and utter bullshit he’s spewing.
Because of course Akio is mine and there is no way Kendall is using me.
I’m certain of that. But if my dad believes that then maybe he’s more cynical than I thought.
“I know you’re probably right. I’m just worried about him. He was so devastated over her. It seems odd is all. I don’t think I’m wrong in wanting to be cautious. In wanting him to be cautious.”
But his remark doesn’t feel honest or genuine. It seems forced, performative. And what I want to know is why the hell is he choosing to put on a performance now? When has he ever given one singular fuck about my happiness or what I want?
My career? He’s heavily invested in that.
My stats? Definitely. My net worth? Sure.
But the things that make me tick, the things that bring me pleasure outside of hockey—he never gave any indication that he cares about those.
I’m not an idiot, I know my father loves me in his own unique fucked up way.
Sometimes that looked like pushing me too hard, for too long as a kid.
Sometimes that looks like freezing me out when I make a mistake.
Cold indifference other times. It feels like love bordering on hate.
So I should be grateful for this concern, his protectiveness.
But I’m not. I can’t move past my knee jerk reaction to believe the worst in him.
I can’t shake the nagging feeling that something is off.
Why does he suddenly care about my relationship or lack thereof with Kendall?
He has seen me at my lowest. He has watched me fall apart over her and barely put myself back together.
He witnessed me turn into a miserable, depressed husk of the person I once was.
And he never said one fucking word to me about her or our breakup.
I carefully tiptoe to the den, kiss Amy on the head, and grab my keys, heading to the door.
“Tell Mom and Dad I had to go, okay? Love you.”
“Okay. Love you,” she echoes.
I can’t stand outside that door any longer listening to them, knowing every word my father said makes my skin crawl with rage and distrust that I can’t exactly place.
Later when I roll over the situation in my brain, I realize my dad’s initial reaction, unlike my mom’s, wasn’t shock or surprise. It was pure unadulterated terror.