She settled back, a stunned look on her face. Raising one fisted hand to her chest, she blinked slowly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It sort of is.” Her eyes closed. “This was all one big bowl of crazy from the start, wasn’t it?”

He nodded, hands clasped.

“Is this the part where you ask me to not write the story?”

Killian’s grip tightened, until his knuckles turned white. “I’m not going to do that. You’ll do whatever you have to.” Slapping his hands on his knees, he stood. “I need to get back before Charlie eats Mrs. Reynolds out of her apartment.” He breathed heavily. “You know, Emma’s a great mom. That shocked me from the start, but it’s true. She’s always been great with Charlie. It’s me and her who bump heads from time to time.”

“And are you a great dad?”

He looked at her from the door, surprised. “Who’s asking?”

“Freckles,” she said, watching him closely. “Just Freckles.”

“I love him, and I’d do anything for him.” Even if it cost him Aileen, and a potential future he’d begun to crave.

She didn’t stop him from leaving.

Chapter Twenty-two

Aileen sat on the sofa until the condensation from the bottle in her hand soaked her shirt and forced her to get up and toss it out.

A high-priced escort. A secret kid. Lies and half truths from the start. No, this hadn’t been what she’d been hunting around for when she’d started his story. But it absolutely did explain why he was so aloof from everyone, including his own teammates. He was protecting his son’s right to anonymity by removing all temptation and opportunity to spill the news.

Charlie. An adorable name for—what she’d seen of him—an adorable young boy. Killian’s spitting image.

Wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, she sat at her desk chair and opened her laptop. She typed out a few sentences in a Word document, hoping to put things together in an outline. Maybe, if she saw it on paper, she could make her mind process it easier. Black and white had always been her go-to for centering before. But her eyes kept drifting to the left, to the photo of her parents.

“Mom . . .” The word caught in her throat. “What . . . I mean, how . . .” She let her head drop to the desk, arms dangling down. “There’s no way. I can’t do this.”

Reaching for her phone, she dialed the one person she least wanted to speak to at that exact moment. She hit the record button just as he answered.

“You’ve got Bobby Mundane, what’s the story?”

Ug. The greeting made her skin crawl. “Bobby, it’s Aileen.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you answer like that?”

“It’s my thing,” he said simply, and she fought a gag.

“I’m recording this call for my own records. I’m not doing the Killian Reeves story. Just thought I would let you know.”

“Got a Cassie Wainwright story?” he asked immediately.

She refused to even let him know she’d spoken to the coach’s daughter. “I do not.”

“Then this is the end of the line, babe.”

Babe. Another gag.

“If you can’t pull out the big guns when we need you most, there’s nothing I can do to save ya. You don’t have the killer instinct for this gig.”

He might have been right about that. But . . . “It’s fine. I was actually calling to quit, anyway. As of this moment, I’m no longer employed by Off Season, which means all unsubmitted footage is my own.”

“Sounds like that’s a whole lot of bupkis anyway,” he said easily. “But sure, whatever. Anything not already in our system is yours to keep. Though I’ll tell you right now, you’re not going to find another website or vlog that’s gonna want it.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” That was her concern now. “Either way, I’m not your problem anymore. Guess you’ll have to find another chick to take the softballs you lob at her. Hey,” she said in a falsely cheerful voice. “Maybe the next one will like bikinis!”

“I can only wish,” he said in a reverent voice, then hung up on her.

“Pig.” She closed the screen, then leaned back so far in her chair it creaked and made her think twice about the position. As she couldn’t afford a new chair—couldn’t even before she quit/got fired, and certainly couldn’t now—she got up gingerly from the seat and paced the tiny room.

“What would Mom do,” she muttered, glancing around the room for inspiration. “What would Mom do?”

Then her eyes landed on the bag in the corner behind her front door, and stayed there. “Seriously?” She glanced toward the photo, as if that were going to answer her. “Fine. Who am I to judge?”

She was going bowling.

* * *

Killian sat back on the kitchen chair he’d pulled to the living room, suddenly wishing he’d had more seating. But other than Aileen, he’d never had guests over. His living room was currently packed to capacity, thanks to the large bodies hovering in his apartment.

Well, four large bodies and one pint-sized one.

“So this is the little man, huh?” Trey held out a hand and Charlie slapped it, looking a little awed. “Nice to meet ya, Charlie.”

Charlie nodded solemnly, looking much more mature than his five and a half years. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Owens. When we picked numbers for T-ball last summer, my best friend picked sixteen, for you.”

Trey’s face lit up. “Hey, nice taste your friend’s got there.”

Josiah and Michael both grumbled about taste. Then Josiah knelt down. “So if you know who he is, who am I?”

Charlie’s face screwed up in thought, analyzing Josiah from where he stood next to Killian’s leg. “You’re . . . a Bobcat.”

Michael laughed and nudged Josiah hard enough that he fell over from his crouch. “Face it, we don’t compare to the mighty Owens.”

“But my dad’s a Bobcat, so you must be okay,” Charlie finished, hugging Killian’s leg. Killian’s throat contracted, and he stroked a hand over his son’s soft hair.

“Smart kid,” Michael said softly, holding out a fist for Charlie. His son gave it a bump, then backed up to hug his leg again. “So all this time you’ve been a family man, huh?”

“Most of it.” He knelt down to Charlie’s level. “Hey, I’ve got a new video in your room. You wanna watch?”

Charlie gazed at the three other men in the room, as if weighing whether he wanted to give up being the center of attention for three men he looked up to. In the end, the movie won out. After Killian set him up and closed the door quietly, he walked to the kitchen. The other three followed and sat at the kitchen table, Josiah dragging the abandoned chair with him.

“Grab me a water, would ya?” Michael called out as Killian headed for the fridge. Josiah punched him in the shoulder. “What? I’m thirsty.”

Grabbing four bottles, he brought them back to the table. “Sorry I called you guys out here this late. We’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning and—”

“Don’t.” Josiah held out a hand for a bottle. “You asked us to come, and we did. Don’t start regressing now.”

“Yeah.” Twirling the bottle between his palms, Trey agreed. “You’ve gotta let the whole ‘standoffish’ crap die. So you’ve got a kid? Two-thirds of the guys on the team do, and less than half of them are married.”

He took a swallow of water, then sighed and replayed the story for them he’d told Aileen only two hours earlier, skipping the bits they would understand, like Jerry’s reputation.

“Seriously? You got caught up with Jerry’s BS? Damn, and you would have been just a baby back then.”

Killian flipped Michael the bird. “I’m only a year younger than you.”