Hot Damn (Hot as Puck #3)

2. Beckett

Beckett

D ucking out of the conference room I scan the corridor, my thoughts consumed by one thing.

Whitney.

I can’t see her in the crowd. Where is she? She’s supposed to be here, waiting for me outside the locker room.

“Beckett.” Natalie Redding, the Rogues General Manager, comes rushing toward me. Grabbing my arm as she passes, she drags me into her race along the corridor—how she moves so fast on her stiletto heels is mind-boggling. “We’ve got her up in the owner’s box. Oakley is with her, and right now we need you out of sight for a few minutes while we clear the arena of reporters and fans.”

“What the fuck?”

“Let’s get out of this echo-y cement tunnel, shall we?” She shoves open the locker room door with one hand and pushes me ahead of her with the other. She’s stronger than she looks and I have no choice but to step into the room or land flat on my face.

Not that I’m protesting. Every instinct I have might be screaming at me to get to Whitney, but I’m not stupid. If she’s in the owner’s box with Oakley James, she’s in good hands.

For now .

It takes me a second to realize a lot of the guys and staff are still here. No wait, they’re all still here sitting around as though waiting for something to happen. “What’s going on?”

“What’s our official statement?” the GM asks.

“Statement?”

“We need to make one and every member of the Rogues from staff to players needs to know what it is before they go out there. I can guarantee you that little shit show is already all over the internet and while security accidentally dropped and stepped on that reporter’s phone, I’m pretty sure whatever he had is now splashed across the net.”

Fuck!

I put both hands on my head.

It’s my worst nightmare come to life. I’ve spent almost two decades keeping Whitney and our life out of the spotlight. It hasn’t been easy, and I never planned for it to be a secret but it is.

Whatever the hell happened tonight to reveal her existence happened because in the last couple of years we’ve both relaxed.

I let her open accounts on a few of the popular social media sites because I didn’t want her life to be any more isolated than it had been before she’d started high school.

She promised to be careful and I trust her. Besides, she’s almost an adult. Soon I’ll have no control over what she does and I’m okay with that. I think I’ve done a good job of preparing her for the world outside our little bubble.

In all the years I’ve limited her social interactions she’s not once complained. But homeschooling meant she missed out on those important friendships a teenage girl needs and we’d talked about it repeatedly before I’d moved her to a private high school back in Toronto three years ago.

We discussed the possible move to Baton Rouge and before I even looked at the new contract with the Rogues, we found a local school we were both happy for her to attend.

“Beckett!”

The GM’s sharp voice pulls me out of my head .

“What’s our official line?”

“No comment.”

She draws in a breath and I know the argument is coming but I can’t think right now. I need to see Whitney. See that she’s okay. Then I can get my head straight and work out what to do.

Before the GM can get a word out, I’m speaking. “I need a few minutes. It’s not going to change anything to rush this.” I swallow. “I need to see Whit.”

She eyes me for long seconds, her gaze softening before she nods. “Okay. Give me a minute and I’ll get you there or her here.” She barely steps away when the door behind her swings open and Whitney races in.

“Daddy.”

I spread my arms wide and lock them closed around my daughter’s body the second she crashes into me. I do what I’ve done her whole life. I hold her tight and rock.

“It’s okay, baby,” I murmur into her coconut-scented curls. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about it because I’ve never posted anything like that about you before,” she speaks in a rush against my chest where she’s burrowed her face like she’s done a million times before.

“Shh…” I stroke my hands up and down her back. “It’ll be fine. I’ll fix it.”

Whit pulls back but I keep her in my arms, can’t bear to let her go. “But that’s just it, Daddy, it won’t be. I’m already getting messages from my friends. It’s all over the internet. I’ve ruined everything.” The last word hitches and tears fill her eyes.

My heart clutches. If there is one thing guaranteed to bring me to my knees, it’s my daughter’s tears. I release my hold on her and bring my hands up to cradle her cheeks, lowering my face close to hers I say, “Whitbee, you gotta trust me on this. It will be fine.”

When she gives me a small nod I drop a kiss on her forehead, my eyes closing briefly, as once again I suck in the sweet scent of her hair.

“Beckett, we need to get on this.”

I look up to find Oakley James and… “What the fuck?” I let go of Whit’s face and shove her behind me. “What the hell is she doing in here?”

I glare at the woman beside the team owner. I have no idea why Oakley thinks it’s okay to have that woman in here, but she’s gone. Now.

“Get out. I’ve got nothing to say to you or your kind.” Every inch of me is vibrating with anger. This woman—this reporter—is the reason I’m in this mess. The reason everything I’ve worked toward my whole life is being threatened.

She doesn’t budge. Just pops one slender eyebrow and eyes me with amusement. Like she knows a secret that I’m not privy to.

“Didn’t you hear me?” I growl.

“Oh, I heard you. But it’s not your call whether I’m here or not.”

I glance at Oakley. “Why would you think bringing her in here is a good idea? She’s the reason this shit is happening.”

“Actually, I’m not personally the reason your secret is out but I can see why you might think that.” She steps forward, ignoring the scowl on my face, and extends her hand. “Cami Nelson.”

Her even tone and calm make me want to yell at her—shake her. But Mama Dot raised a gentlemen and those well-honed manners have me extending my own hand without thought. “Beckett Higgison.”

One side of her mouth kicks up. “I know,” she said with a firm shake.

I don’t acknowledge the heat of her hand in mine, the smoothness of her skin as it slides over mine.

And I’m definitely not going to take notice of the zip of electricity either.

Good looking women are a dime a dozen in the world of professional hockey, and I’ve never succumbed to a fleeting flash of attraction. I won’t be giving in to this one.

But I’m not dumb either. I’ll accept it later—when I’m alone—then let it go. It’s the only way to keep Whitney safe.

“Cami, how should we deal with this?”

My gaze darts to Oakley. Why is she deferring to this woman? She’s the owner, it’s her call, probably more than mine, and that thought grates already raw nerves.

Oakley knows where I stand on the subject of my daughter but now that the secret is out, I’m going to have to give the press something other than my usual ‘no comment’ or refusal to speak about my personal life at all. Not that I’ve faced this particular question before.

“You need to control the narrative.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I demand. I hate that this reporter’s words confuse me. This is my life, not some article.

“It means you’ve got no choice but to publicly acknowledge you have a daughter. You can’t keep Whitney a secret any longer and if you want to get back to the peaceful life you had before tonight you need to tell the world about her?—”

“No! No fucking way. Not happening. I’m not giving those vultures anything.”

Cami shoots me a dismissive smile before facing Oakley again. “It’s the only way to control this.”

“Okay, so he does what? Gives an exclusive interview?”

“That would work.”

“I’m not giving squat. Whitney is off limits. Period.”

Both women sigh but it’s Oakley who speaks. “You don’t really have a choice, Beckett. It’s the only way to keep things under control.” She nods at Cami. “Tell him.”

“Beckett, I understand your need to protect Whitney but if you don’t give them what they want to know, and believe me, after years of knowing nothing about you having a child, they’ll want to know everything about her, about you. They’ll dig. And dig. They’ll dig so deep and so far they’ll find the nurse who was there when she was born, the girl she was friends with at day-care, the next door neighbor of the woman who cleans your house, the guy who delivers your pizza, the checkout clerk who serves you at the grocery store to find out what Whitney eats.”

Cold sweat breaks out along my spine. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Unfortunately, I can tell you from experience, it’s not. But if you give them something to talk about, what you want them to talk about, you take the mystery out of it because Whitney’s no longer a secret. And without a juicy secret to uncover, you stop the digging. Why dig when they’re being handed what they want?”

“And what do they want?” I know. Of course I know. They’ll want to know how I ended up a single father at sixteen, where Whitney’s mother is and why I’ve kept my daughter hidden her entire life.

“Besides the basics, name and age, they’ll want to know why you chose to hide her away.”

I close my eyes and drag in a breath. “How?” I don’t expand. Everyone knows what I’m asking.

“An interview, preferably on camera, not paper.”

I glance at Whitney. “On camera. With Whit?”

“That would be wise. If you let them see her, they won’t go hunting for her,” Cami explains.

Fuck.

The thought of cameramen lying in wait for Whitney drenches my entire body in cold sweat. “When?”

“I’d think as soon as possible,” Oakley answers. “But I’m wondering… Cami, what if we did a series of interviews with every player on the team? Coaches, management, the families of those who moved to join the team…”

Cami’s eyes light up, I can almost see the idea developing in those dark blue orbs.

Shit.

This isn’t going to be over quickly. If I’m reading these two correctly, and I make my living reading people, then we’re about to be splashed across screens countrywide for more than a few minutes.

“Okay, okay, give me a second.” Cami paces. Two steps, spin, two steps. It’s the tightest pacing track I’ve ever seen but it’s her facial expressions that have me mesmerized. “We can start tonight. Do the exclusive reveal of Whitney Higgison and the lead-in to the series of ten, fifteen minute interviews that we will air every night throughout the pre-season.”

“That’s only a couple of weeks’ worth of airtime. If we agree to this, and Nat, weigh in on this please, then I think we would want far more than that in publicity. We’re giving full, exclusive access to the entire team. Something we haven’t allowed to date.”

Oakley’s brain is turning as fast as the reporter’s and I’m not ashamed to admit that watching these women plot and negotiate is fascinating.

“Full season.” The GM joins the discussion. “Pre and regular season as well as playoffs.”

Cami holds up her hands. “It’s not me you should be negotiating with. I’m not the head of the network’s sports department. Or the paper’s.”

The GM holds out her phone. “Get me whoever I have to talk to then.”

“You’ll need to call Fenton Barnes.”

“You don’t want to call him?” Oakley asks as the GM says, “We’re going right to the top?” and my head is swiveling back and forth like I’m at some weird three-way tennis match.

Shaking her head, Cami says, “He’ll want to negotiate this.”

“What about Derrick Whitehall?” the GM asks.

“He’ll be who you get after you negotiate the terms with Barnes.”

With each new name my skin pulls tighter and the lead in my gut grows heavier. If I’m doing this, and god help me I’ll admit I’m out of options, then I’m doing it on my terms. “I want you to do it,” I say, my gaze on Cami.

“What?” she asks, her eyes wide when she turns to look at me .

“You.” The more I think about this, the more I’m getting comfortable with the idea. “If I’m going on camera with Whitney, I want you across from us.”

“But—”

“No buts. Either you’re asking the questions or I’ll release a statement giving basic facts and a single photo of the two of us.” I turn to the GM as I pull Whit close. “Take a pic now, with your phone.”

“Jesus. You’re going to be a pain in my ass, aren’t you, Beckett?” Oakley shakes her head. “Fine. Cami does the interviews.”

“Oakley! I can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You know why.”

Oakley shrugs. “We’ll worry about that later.”

I have no idea what passes between the team owner and reporter but the stare-down lasts almost a minute before Cami gives in with a shoulder deflating sigh. “Fine. But when it blows up in our faces, I’m saying I told you so and I want your mesh lace-up booties.”

“My Gianvito Rossi boots?” Oakley asks with a frown. “Brown or black?”

“Both.”

“Shit. Fine. Deal.” Oakley sticks out a hand. “But I want borrow rights.”