Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Valentina
The Game Within the Game
The Harbor Ridge Community Center comes into view as I pull into the parking lot. It’s a modest building, the kind you’d drive past without noticing, but the sound of skates slicing across the ice and the hum of excited chatter spilling into the cool afternoon air make it feel alive.
Parents and kids filter through the doors, some clutching hockey sticks, others dragging bags of gear behind them. I grab my bag, straighten my jacket, and take a deep breath. This is just another job. Just another client.
Except it’s not.
The chill of the rink greets me as soon as I step inside, the faint scent of ice and rubber padding filling the air. My eyes land on him immediately. Kaden Crawford. He’s on the ice, crouched slightly as he talks to a group of kids in hockey gear that’s a little too big for them. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends like he’s been skating hard, and his fitted athletic shirt clings to his broad shoulders and defined arms in a way that makes my stomach twist.
My client. My very fuckable client. The same man I definitely shouldn’t have let make me come in his kitchen.
I shake off the thought and force myself to focus. According to Kimmy, this is all about softening his image. A couple of photographers are stationed discreetly in the bleachers, cameras at the ready to capture the heartwarming sight of Kaden coaching kids. The PR strategy is clear: make him relatable, human, the guy people want to root for.
He hasn’t noticed me yet, thank God. It’s been a couple of weeks since we last saw each other. He’s been traveling for games, and I’ve been “working hard from home,” which is a very professional way of saying I’ve been avoiding him like he’s six feet of trouble wrapped in temptation.
It’s not personal. It’s just that: do not fuck with your client is a very essential rule to follow. Even if that client happens to have a dirty mouth and a body carved by the gods.
I step closer to the edge of the rink, trying to blend into the crowd.
“Alright, everyone.” Kaden’s voice booms, gruff but somehow encouraging. “Let’s see those slap shots again. Remember, it’s not about how hard you hit the puck—it’s about control.”
The kids nod earnestly, some of them mimicking his stance as he picks up a stick and demonstrates. My breath catches as I watch him move, all power and precision, his dark brown eyes focused. There’s no arrogance in his expression, just genuine determination to help these kids improve.
And damn it, that’s almost worse.
I lean against the wall, unable to look away. He’s good at this—really good. The kids hang on his every word, lighting up when he gives them a high five or a quick pat on the helmet. He’s patient when one of them misses the puck entirely, crouching down to their level and giving them tips.
My chest tightens. This is a side of Kaden most people don’t get to see. He’s not just a grumpy, foul-mouthed hockey player. He’s someone who gives a shit, even if he pretends he doesn’t.
He glances up suddenly, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on me. For a moment, everything freezes. His eyes lock onto mine, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a small, knowing smirk.
Shit.
I push off the wall, pretending to check my phone like I haven’t been caught ogling him like a teenager with a crush.
When I look back, he’s still watching me. His expression softens, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s daring me to look away first. I don’t.
Instead, I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow, silently daring him back.
He chuckles to himself and turns his attention back to the kids, clapping his hands to get them moving again. But I can feel the heat of his gaze linger, even when he’s not looking directly at me.
This is going to be a long afternoon.
Obviously, college, Kimmy, and all my previous jobs didn’t prepare me for moments like this. The ones where you have to lecture yourself about clients being amazing with children, looking hot, and making it impossible to think straight.
Not for Kaden looking like he’s actually enjoying himself with the kids. Not for the way my chest tightens every time he smiles or pats one of them on the helmet. And definitely not for what happens next.
After the coaching wraps up and the children leave with their parents, I notice a cameraman and a reporter lingering near the rink. I keep an eye on them as I gather my things, but when I see the reporter approaching Kaden with an overly eager stride, every alarm bell in my head goes off.
“Kaden Crawford,” the man calls out, his tone too casual to be genuine. “Can I get a quick word?”
Kaden stops mid-step, his shoulders tightening as he glances back. “Make it quick.”
Big mistake.
The reporter asks some trivial questions at first but then he goes for the jugular. “So, there’s been some talk about your upbringing—how you were raised by two homosexual parents. Some people believe you’re so hard on your teammates because you’re compensating. You fuck women around to prove how ‘manly’ you are.”
My mouth drops open, the shock hitting me like a slap. What the actual fuck? That was below the belt, not just unprofessional—it was vile.
Kaden freezes, then turns slowly to face the reporter. His expression is ice-cold. “Why are you bringing my parents into this conversation?”
The reporter doesn’t even flinch. “Well, it’s no secret that?—”
“Shut up.” Kaden’s voice lowers, dangerously calm. “Let me tell you something about my parents. They love each other. That’s all that matters in a world ruled by bullshit like sex and public perception. I don’t need to prove how much of a man I am to anyone. All I have to do is get on the ice and win games. That’s what I do. If you feel like you have to bring up my family into this conversation, I have no place in here.”
The reporter stumbles over his words, but Kaden doesn’t wait for him to recover. He storms past, his fists clenched, leaving the guy standing there like an idiot.
Before I can even process what just happened, the reporter turns his attention to me, his eyes gleaming with opportunistic malice.
“Are you just a prop?” the reporter demands, pointing his microphone at me. “A part of his PR strategy? Or is there something real between you two?”
Before I can even process the insult, Kaden steps forward, positioning himself between me and the reporter.
“You don’t get to talk to her like that,” Kaden says, his tone cutting through the noise around us. “She’s not a prop. She’s not a part of anyone’s strategy. She’s mine.” His dark eyes lock on the reporter’s, daring him to say another word.
The reporter stammers, retreating slightly under Kaden’s unwavering glare. Without another glance, Kaden guides me away, his grip firm but not rough.
It’s not until we’re safely outside, away from the chaos, that Kaden pulls his hand away and steps back. His calm veneer cracks instantly.
“Kaden, I’m so—” I start, rushing to catch up to him as he storms toward the exit.
He whirls around, his eyes blazing with fury. “What the fuck was that?” he demands, his voice sharp and unyielding. “You put me up to this, didn’t you? Some great PR stunt to humanize the big bad hockey player?”
“No, I—” I begin, but he doesn’t let me finish.
“Don’t,” he snaps, his voice low and bitter. “Don’t stand there and tell me this wasn’t part of the plan. I should’ve known better.”
He turns on his heel, heading toward the locker room. I follow, my chest tightening as he grabs his bag and starts shoving his things inside with jerky, furious movements.
“Kaden, please, just let me explain,” I plead, my voice trembling as I watch him.
He doesn’t even look at me, his words clipped as he zips his bag shut. “There’s nothing to explain, Valentina. I trusted you. I let my guard down. That’s on me.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off, his voice rising, raw and full of anger. “You’re fucking fired,” he snarls, each word hitting like a slap. “You hear me? You’re done. I’ll make sure no one in this business, or any other, hires you again. Not even for a volunteer gig. You’re over.”
The air between us is suffocating. I can’t speak, can’t defend myself. His words hang in the air like a death sentence.
And with that, he turns and storms out toward the parking lot, leaving me standing there, stunned and utterly alone.