Chapter 12 #3
Brushing past him and charging toward the stage where Leah welcomed everyone, I have one foot on the step when a hand clasps around my arm. I assume it’s the sleazy paparazzi guy, and whip around to see Lane standing there, concern pinching his expression.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just keep getting asked about—”
“Us?”
I nod and then notice, over Lane’s shoulder, that several large men form a huddle in the exact place the paparazzo stopped me.
Lane follows my gaze. “It’s safe to say they’re putting a stop to his inquiries.”
A flurry of thoughts turns into a mental blizzard as I blurt, “I was about to do something impulsive, announce to everyone gathered that Kai isn’t my biological son and we didn’t marry for love.
But those aren’t the only things that form a family.
There’s loyalty and choices, sticking together even when it’s difficult.
There’s the kind of love that grows. That stays.
Even though I’m afraid of you going, of losing everything. ” My voice falters.
Lane tips my chin so I meet his eyes. Mine well up with tears.
He says, “I choose you. I choose us, no matter what anyone thinks.”
“I do too.” I truly mean those first two words, an echo of our vows.
He wraps his arms around me, boosting me off the ground, hugging me close.
Into my hair, he says, “I’ve been worried today. About the pressure, the prying from the public. But also, seeing you here, this is your element. I was afraid that maybe I don’t fit.”
“You do.” I squeeze him tight.
Still holding me, so my feet don’t even touch the ground, he says, “We do?”
“We fit together,” I repeat, planting a warm kiss on his lips.
And that’s all the assurance we seem to need.
While Lane takes Kai to the face painting station as promised, I take over for Jess so she can cruise around the festival with her family. Mayor Nishimura orders a pumpkin Bundt for Thanksgiving morning. After we say goodbye, I tally the remaining slices of cake to keep track for Jess.
Frowning, I count again because I think a piece is missing. How could that have happened?
Before I triple-check the amount, Bree bustles over, bubbling with excitement.
“Leah has done an amazing job! Did you see the ice sculptures and the parade of hockey mascots? They’re performing later with the Ice Maidens!
This is phenomenal.” Then her expression drops.
“I know you’ve been awake since an obscene hour, but you don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself. ”
Plastering on a smile, I say, “I am. This is great. I’m just processing everything, I guess.” This is partly true. “And trying to account for a missing slice.”
Bree whispers, “Is that code for you ate it and now you feel guilty?”
A laugh surfaces through the weight of my concern about the cake and my preoccupation with Lane. “No, but—” A figure darting behind the Milk Mustache truck again makes me drop what I was about to say. If it’s that paparazzo, I’m calling security.
“No, but—?” Bree fishes.
“I thought I saw—” I blink a few times, focusing on the brief image in my mind, trying to recall the details.
“Actually, it really looked like Kai. Or him wearing a purple winter coat with braids poking out from under a white hat with pom poms. A familiar hat.” Eyes bulging, I continue, “One of the hats Bibi knit for me.”
“You mentioned Kai pulls pranks, could that be it, or are you tired? Overwhelmed? Need a bestie to gab with?”
Shaking my head slowly, I say, “He’s with Lane, but—”
Bree links her arm through mine. “I know you and—”
“I’m fine,” I fib.
She shakes her head, seeing right through me and we sit down on the chairs Liam brought for Jess and me. Wearing a concerned expression, she says, “Come on. Let’s have a grat chat.”
I recall our gratitude chats and wonder why we haven’t had one in a while. They’re like pep talks, but with more appreciation and less pressure.
Bree says, “Talk to me. What’s really going on?”
I glance around to make sure we’re not being overheard, then launch into everything—the strange prank-like incidents at the bakery, the mysterious girl I keep glimpsing, Kai’s increasingly secretive behavior—though, today, he’s been normal.
Then there are my worries about the lease, seeing women following Lane around, Badaszek’s grimace, the reporters, and the growing feeling that I’m in way over my head.
Bree taps her finger on her chin. “Where to start? The grimace. That’s just the coach’s face. Unless he’s cooing at his grandchildren, he looks like he’s going to strike someone with a hockey stick.”
I chuckle because she’s not entirely wrong. “And then there’s Lane’s father. He thinks I’m a gold-digging opportunist. Like, I’m just seeking Lane for his money and fame. What if he’s right? What if I don’t belong in this world?”
Bree listens patiently, then shakes her head. “Nina Elizabeth Bruun, you are being ridiculous.”
“Gee, thanks for the support.”
“I’m serious. You know what I see when I look at you and Lane together? I see two people who make each other better. I see a man who’s learned what family means because of you, and a woman who’s learned to take risks because of him.”
“But what if—?”
Bree interrupts. “What if you trust that you deserve good things? What if you believe that you’re not your mother?”
The last one hits hard, but again, she’s right in a lot of ways. Everything has happened so fast, it’s like I’m a knotted ball of yarn—seems like the start of a Kai prank.
Before I can answer, a commotion near the game area catches our attention. A small figure in a dark coat weaves through the crowd, moving fast and purposefully.
It’s the girl I’ve been glimpsing around town.
I grab Bree’s arm. “That’s who I was telling you about!”
Bree looks where I point. Since I can’t leave the bakery table, like a good best friend, she rushes through the crowd for me. However, the kid is quick and seemingly knows how to disappear into groups of people.
Bree returns, catching her breath. “I hope an angry parent doesn’t track me down and holler at me for chasing their child.”
“She wouldn’t have run unless she was up to something.”
I scan the crowd, looking for any sign of dark hair and familiar features. “She looked so much like Kai. Same age, same build, same—”
“Same what?” Lane’s voice comes from behind us. He and Kai have appeared, both sporting matching Knights face paint.
“Just thought I saw someone familiar,” I say smoothly.
Glancing around nervously, Kai goes pale under the red and silver paint.
“Everything okay?” Lane asks, having noticed too.
“Fine,” Kai says, but his voice is tight. “Can I go play the hockey stick ring toss game?”
Something is definitely going on. But what?
“How about later? I have to get ready to crush the competition,” Lane says mock-aggressively.
Half the guys take to the ice with face paint and Knights uniforms and the others in bright yellow and green regalia—Cobbiton colors—the charity game is fun and lighthearted, but absolutely dominated by the Knights players, who are holding back against the enthusiastic but outmatched local volunteers.
Lane scores twice and sets up three other goals, playing with a near constant smile.
Even as I cheer from the stands, I can’t shake the feeling that shadows are gathering around our perfect day—the mysterious girl, Badaszek, who doesn’t so much as grin, and the female fans who wear pink jerseys with Lane’s name and shake pom poms while chanting LSJ.
After the game, as we’re packing up the bakery booth and preparing to head home, Kai announces he wants to go back to the midway.
Lane says, “The festival is winding down and you’ve had a pretty big day.”
“I just want to skate a little more. Please? Just for a few minutes?”
Something about his tone sets off alarm bells in my head, but Lane agrees, and soon we’re back at the Ice Castle—a smaller version of the Ice Palace rink. Kai laces up his skates with unusual urgency and heads onto the ice alone.
“He’s been so excited today, which I expect, but then he’ll suddenly start acting strange,” I tell Lane as we watch him skate.
“What do you mean?”
“Jumpy, secretive. And those pranks at the bakery—”
“What pranks?” Lane’s attention sharpens.
“Well, not pranks exactly.” I explain about the rearranged items and the sense that someone’s been in the building when I’m not there. With each word, I doubt myself, worried I’m overworked, overwhelmed and am imagining things.
“You think Kai—?”
I take a risk and blurt, “Either Kai has help from a girl who looks so much like him it’s spooky, or I’ve got a serious nisser—gnome—problem.”
Lane stares at me for a long moment, then his expression lightens as he smooths a piece of loose hair from my cheek. “I’ve called my sister. Texted her. Could send a carrier pigeon ...”
I bump him with my shoulder, feeling immediately at ease in his presence despite everything going on.
He continues, “But the likelihood of her having another child, us not knowing about it, and the girl ending up here, is doubtful.”
I nod, now more worried that stress is really getting the better of me.
Lane clears his throat and says, “But is there something you want to tell me?”
“I just did.”
“I mean about the bakery.”
Oh, like confessing that I’m an abysmal failure and can’t afford the lease payment when the landlord raised it last October, rather than waiting until January as we’d agreed upon, and now I’m in default? How the insurance also went up and I owe thousands to him and he’s threatening to kick me out?
Puffing a breath from my cheeks, I start to choose my words carefully, because I don’t want to give Lane the sense that his father was right about me—because he isn’t—when I hear raised voices from the ice. Kai is arguing with someone near the far boards, but from this distance, I can’t see who.
Lane and I hurry over. The closer we get, the clearer his companion becomes as Kai’s voice carries to us, high and desperate. “I can’t! They’ll split us up! You have to stay hidden!”
By the time we get to where he is, Kai is alone and droops like a wilted plant.
“Kai, what’s going on?” Lane asks gently.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. I don’t know what you mean. Everything is fine.”
Lane and I exchange a look.
Crouching down so I’m more at his level, I say, “It’s pretty obvious that’s not true. You can tell us, trust us. You’re not in trouble.”
Kai’s expression ripples with emotion. The tough, mischievous kid crumbles, and suddenly he’s just a ten-year-old boy who’s been carrying a secret too big for his shoulders as he wraps his arms around mine.
“I can’t tell you!” he sobs.
Lane squats and puts his big arms around both of us. “We’re here. Not going anywhere and neither are you. It’s safe.”
He cries, “If I tell you, they’ll take her away! They’ll put us in different homes and I’ll never see her again!”
“Her?” Lane leans in.
Drawing back, I ask, “Kai, who is ‘her’?”
Eyes wide, Lane and I seem to be wondering the same thing. Were we right about Desi having another child?