Page 134 of Offside Devil

“There is no story,” I growl.

He sighs. “If I could quash news I didn’t like with wishful thinking like that, my job would be a hell of a lot easier.”

I grit my teeth and fight not to slam on the gas. The last thing today needs is Zane Whitaker in Accident; Races Home to Illicit Lover and Bastard Baby splashed across newsstands. “Aiden isn’t a news story. He’s my son.”

Hollis claps his hands on the other end of the line. “There we go. That’s a great start to this press release, actually. We demand privacy for you and your family by appealing to people’s deeper sense of humanity.”

I almost blast through a red light and have to screech to a stop. “What press release?”

“The press release we should have put out a month ago.” Hollis doesn’t get angry. As an attorney turned sports agent, he’s seen too much shit to let anything get him riled. But he’s as close to it as I’ve ever heard right now. “You swore to me there would be no more secrets. No more bombshells I’d have to discover at the same time as the rest of the world. You leaned over my desk and looked me in my eyes and told me that I’d always get a heads up. Do you remember that, Zane? Because I do. I remember it very, very well.”

There was a stretch of time where all Hollis could do was follow me around and put out fires.

Is this a picture of Zane Whitaker slumped in an Uber with a bottle of whiskey in his fist? The NHL schedule has been tough this season. He’s exhausted.

Did Zane Whitaker forge checks from his parents? Of course not. Zane has a close relationship with his parents and no police reports have been filed.

I didn’t exactly make his job easy.

I sigh. “I remember.”

“Okay. Then you can understand why I’m feeling a little blindsided right now.”

“Not as blindsided as I was by a four-year-old showing up on my doorstep!” I snap. “I’ve been trying to figure this all out, too. I’ve been trying to process it alone. Without the entire world telling me all the ways I’m going to fuck up my kid.”

I might be ruining him, anyway. I should have prepared him for the possibility that people with cameras might try to take his picture and sell it to the highest bidder. But how do you explain that to a four-year-old?

I glance at the clock in the dash. I don’t know, but I have about ten minutes to figure it out.

“I get it, Zane. I do,” Hollis says. “But we don’t have a lot of options right now. The press is going to latch onto this story one way or another. If we can head off the worst of the speculation, I think you’ll all be better for it.”

I don’t want this. But I know Hollis is right.

“Fine,” I relent. “Send me the press release before you post it for approval.”

“I always do. Give me an hour.” He hangs up without saying goodbye.

I knew this was coming. I knew I couldn’t keep Aiden—or Mira—a secret forever.

But I can still protect them. And if this press release will keep the hounds at bay, then it’s what I’m going to do.

Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure they come out of this okay.

It’s been four hours since I walked through the door and Aiden threw himself at my chest, crying and shaking. Four hours since I scooped him up with one arm and pulled Mira into me with the other.

And I still can’t bear to let either of them out of my sight.

Aiden is sitting at the table eating pizza, and I can’t stop imagining how easily I could have lost him. What if the photographer wanted something worse than a picture? What if he wanted to hurt him?

Evan has already emailed me a slideshow outlining all of the ways he’s going to increase security and make sure this never happens again.

Hollis sent the press release and I approved it. As of an hour ago, it was posted on all of my socials and sent to every local news station that didn’t run with the pictures the asshole at the trampoline park took.

My team is mobilized, my family is safe… but I can’t relax.

Mira slips her hand into mine from behind. “It’s getting late. Do you want me to put him to bed or…?”

“I’ll do it.”

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