Loving Him Off the Field (Santa Fe Bobcats #2)(69)

Aileen forced herself to take two calming breaths. Except they did nothing. She closed her eyes and let her forehead fall to the door.

Son of a bitch.

Mrs. Reynolds coughed loudly. “They’re coming back, dear.”

Aileen lifted her head in time to see the ice-blonde and the young boy approaching. In his hand, Iron Man rested.

“Hello,” the blonde said coolly. “Can I help you?”

“I . . .” Forgot my own name, apparently. “Hi. Is Killian available?”

“No, he’s stepped out.” The woman walked to the door, pausing while Aileen stepped out of the way. When she opened it, she shuffled the boy inside. She didn’t invite Aileen in—though why would she? They were strangers. “I can tell him you came by, though. What’s your name?”

“Just tell him Fr—Aileen came by. He’ll know why.” She stepped back, then couldn’t help but ask, “Are you his sister, by any chance?”

The woman just watched her, neither confirming nor denying.

“Right.” Something was gnawing at the center of her heart, leaving a bruise in its wake. “Okay, well—”

“Mom, who’s that?”

The voice was familiar, though Aileen couldn’t be positive if it were the one from the phone. She’d been half-comatose at the time. But when the little boy popped his head around what she assumed was his mother’s legs, there was no mistaking that face. Those unruly mink-brown locks. Those eyes.

Killian. Twenty-some odd years ago, that would have been Killian’s face.

The gnawing became a full-blown pain and she balled a fist against her chest. “I . . . I have to go.” She turned and stumbled toward the stairs, barely making it to her car before the tears started.





Chapter Twenty-one




Killian nudged the door open with his elbow and closed it behind him with his foot. “Dinner’s here. Get it while it’s hot, cause you know it’ll suck if we re-heat it.”

“Completely unnecessary use of the word ‘suck,’” Emma chided as she came to take one of the takeout bags from him. “But thank you for getting dinner.”

“Sure thing. Charlie! Come and get it!”

Charlie raced into the kitchen, green Hulk and an Iron Man clutched in his hands. “I’m busy saving the world. Can it wait?”

“Not if you want it to taste good. The world’s been here for a while now, I think it’ll survive another thirty minutes. Go sit down.”

“Go wash,” Emma corrected, shooing him toward the guest bathroom. When they heard the water run, Emma leaned on the counter next to where Killian was scooping food from Styrofoam boxes to plates. “Someone came by while you were gone.”

He paused mid-scoop. “Did you answer the door?”

“Sort of.” She waited for him to finish, then traded the full plate for an empty one. “She said her name was Aileen.” Watching him, she nodded. “So that’s her. I wasn’t sure, since she didn’t quite look like your type.”

“I don’t have a type,” he answered automatically. But he knew what she was saying. Aileen was almost the exact opposite of Emma in every way. “What’d you tell her?”

“She asked if I was your sister. I didn’t answer. Just said I’d tell you she came by.”

Not great, Killian thought as he stuffed the boxes in the trash can. Could have been worse.

Emma started searching the kitchen for silverware, grabbing forks when she found the right drawer. “And she saw Charlie.”

There was the worse. “Saw him? Like, hey, there was a kid in that apartment somewhere saw him?”

“More like, she got a really good look at him.”

Charlie was Killian’s mini-me in almost every way. You’d have to be an idiot not to catch on to the relationship. And Aileen was no idiot.

“I’m sorry,” she said again as he stared at her. “She caught us walking to your door. What was I supposed to do, shove him behind my back or throw my coat over his head?”

When the water in the bathroom turned off, he lowered his voice. “What did she do when she saw Charlie?”

“She . . .” Emma chewed on her lip and grabbed some paper towels for napkins, taking an absurd amount of time to fold each one into perfect squares. “She just left. Maybe she didn’t put two and two together.”

“She’s smart,” he said woodenly. “She’s a reporter. She’ll put it together.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. “I thought you said this was the special someone?”

“She is.” He tossed the serving spoon in the sink, wishing he had something to break instead. “She’s both.”

“Well, for God’s sake, Killian.” Emma delivered the plates to the kitchen table and turned back to him. “You’re dating a reporter?”

“Don’t start, Emma. Your little surprise is why we’re in this mess.” He wiped his hands on a dish towel and tossed it on the counter. “Son of a bitch.”

Charlie bounced in, action figures still in his hand, and slowed as he took in the mood of the kitchen. “Are you guys mad?”

“Yes,” Killian said just as Emma said, “No.”