A Secret for a Secret (All In #3)(67)

“Her mother.”

He nods. “She’s done nothing to earn that title.” He’s silent for a moment before he continues. “She was, and still is, a very selfish, self-absorbed person. Her concerns revolved around herself and what she wanted, not what Queenie needed.”

“I’ve gathered that from what Queenie’s said about her.” And how she reacted to the phone call from her when exhibition games first started.

“The only thing she’s ever done for Queenie is cause upheaval in her life.” He tosses his pen on the desk and scrubs a palm over his face. “Look, King, I’m probably overstepping every single boundary there is right now, but I know my daughter. She’s used to people leaving and letting her down. And while I’ve done everything in my power to make sure she’s taken care of, clearly I can’t always protect her. And I feel like I’m a big part of the reason she’s in her current predicament. So if you’re really in this like you seem to be, don’t let her push you away. And trust me: she’ll try.”

“I’m prepared for that, sir.”

He smiles, but his sadness weighs it down. “I figured you would be.”



I take my chances that Queenie is going to be at home and head to her place without texting first. It’s purposeful, since I fully expect her to avoid me or do what Jake said and try to push me away. We have a series of away games coming up, and there’s no way I’m leaving things the way they are when I’ll be gone for several days.

Loud, melancholic music makes the windows rattle as I approach her front door. I knock and peek through the curtains. I can see her in the kitchen, standing in front of her easel, paintbrush in one hand, palette in the other. I’m almost relieved to see her doing something constructive, after yesterday. But another part of me feels . . . sad that this part of her is something she hasn’t been comfortable enough to share with me, and I believe that these two facets of who she is are somehow intertwined.

I want all of her, and she keeps tucking little pieces away, hiding the things she’s afraid to let me see.

I knock again, harder this time. She startles and curses, dropping her brush on the floor. She bends to pick it up, giving me a quick glimpse of the piece she’s working on before she eclipses it with her frame again. It’s not enough time for me to decipher the content, only enough to get a blur of green and black. She drapes a sheet over it and drops the palette on the table and the brush in a murky glass of water.

“Coming! Hold on!” she calls out as she surveys the mayhem. I see the moment she decides there’s nothing she can do about it and rushes to answer the door, tucking a bra under a couch cushion on the way.

The door flies open, and her eyes flare with surprise. “King, hi, I didn’t . . . hi.”

I take her in, messy bun knotted on top of her head, black and green paint streaked across her cheek and the oversize white button-down shirt she’s wearing. I don’t detect shorts or any other bottoms, although the shirt does hit her midthigh. “Hi.”

“I wasn’t expecting company.” It sounds like an apology. She glances over her shoulder at the disarray inside her house.

“Do you mind if I come in? So we can talk.” I hook my thumbs in my pockets so I’m not tempted to tuck her hair behind her ear, or make unwelcome physical contact. What I want is to wrap her up and protect her from Corey and the hell this is probably wreaking on her.

Her shoulders curl in and her head drops, eyes on the floor. “Sure. Of course.” She steps aside and lets me in. Then rushes to make room for us on the couch, which is littered with blankets, a few sweatshirts, and a couple of pairs of socks. The state of her place is significantly more chaotic than it was the last time I was here.

“Have a seat.” She motions to the now mostly clothing-free couch and wrings her hands nervously. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m okay, thank you. Come sit with me.” I pat the cushion beside me.

Queenie chews her bottom lip for a few long seconds and finally drops down, but she leaves a cushion of space between us.

“How are things with Jake?” I felt awful leaving her last night, but I also knew she was right and that I wouldn’t have been an impartial mediator at all.

She plays with a loose string on her shirttail. “They’re . . . okay. He was hurt more than anything.”

“Because you kept a secret from him?”

She nods. “He’s angry at the situation, though, not me.”

“I’m not angry with you, either, Queenie.”

She exhales a shaky breath and lifts her eyes to meet mine briefly. “But I understand that this is all too much for you. You don’t need my drama.”

“Queenie—”

“It’s okay.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand before withdrawing hers quickly. “You don’t need to explain. I completely understand. My life is a mess and yours isn’t. It’s probably better if we end things now so you don’t get dragged into more of my bullshit.”

A hot spike of panic slides down my spine. “Is that what you want? To end things?”

Her gaze lifts again, eyes red rimmed. She looks exhausted and so, so sad. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

I realize I need to tread very carefully here, that I can’t direct my anger and frustration over this situation she’s found herself in at her, since the fault doesn’t lie with her. “No.”