Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kaden
What to Expect When You’re Faking It
“You know if we don’t get off this phone, you’re going to be late for your flight tomorrow morning.” Valentina laughs, her voice light and teasing, but it hits me in a way I can’t ignore. “Once you’re back, we can . . . try to see if we can come up with a schedule to see each other and not just for image purposes.”
That sultry voice she uses makes my cock stiffen in my pants for the dozenth time since we started this call. We’ve been on the phone since I got home, and every time I hear her laugh, it feels like a punch to my gut—equal parts need and frustration.
This has become our new ritual since I hired her to handle my PR. Every night, we start with business—how to salvage my image, what I need to do next—but somewhere along the way, the lines blur. We end up talking about things that have nothing to do with hockey or media or damage control. It’s personal. Intimate in a way I didn’t expect.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a girlfriend—if I can even call her that. Sure, we agreed to this “relationship” for the sake of the media, but it doesn’t feel fake anymore. Not when she knows exactly how to push my buttons, calm my nerves, and make me laugh like no one else can. These nightly calls? They’re quickly becoming the highlight of my day. Hell, they’re probably the most real thing I’ve got going right now.
“I know, I know,” I say, finally dragging myself toward the bed. My body is exhausted from practice, but my mind is wide awake, hanging on to every word she says. “I think I can manage to drag myself out of bed in the morning.”
“You better. Did you think any more about what we discussed last night? Maybe invite the team to your place for some bonding time?”
I groan, running a hand through my hair. “I’ll see, but I don’t think they’re going to want to hang out with me.”
“You never know, Kaden. From what I can see, it looks like they’re starting to warm up to you.” Her tone is encouraging, but it stirs something complicated in me.
They are—little by little. I can see it in the way Linus doesn’t flinch when I call for the puck, or how the rookies don’t look like they’re bracing for impact when I give feedback. It’s not because I’ve softened or started sugarcoating shit. It’s because they’ve realized I’m not on their asses to be an asshole; I’m on their asses because I want to teach them what I know.
And yeah, maybe I’ve changed the way I deliver those lessons. They’re not kids taking their first steps on the ice, but I’ve been too fucking harsh on them. It’s something I’ve been working on—not just with them but with myself.
This little trick I’m learning? It’s from my therapist. Yeah, I’ve been going for a while now. We’re talking about the fear I’ve carried since I was eight. And the way I don’t have patience for anyone, including myself. Getting out of my own head? Stopping the assumptions I make about people and their intentions? It’s fucking hard.
But it’s worth it, because the way I’ve been doing things? It’s not sustainable. I want to be more than just a good player—I want to be someone they respect off the ice too. And if that means unlearning decades of bad habits, so be it.
“You’re doing better than you think, Kaden,” Val says softly. “And it shows.”
Her words sink into me, not overwhelming, but offering a quiet reassurance I didn’t realize I was craving.
“Maybe,” I mutter. “But don’t think I’m suddenly some fucking saint. I’m still me—short-tempered-as-fuck and ready to call out anyone who’s slacking.”
Valentina laughs, and it’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to my chest. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She pauses, and I know she’s about to wrap up the call. I don’t want her to. I want to keep listening to her talk, to the sound of her breathing as she gets ready for bed.
“You’re going to be fine, Kade. Just keep doing the work,” she says finally
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back against the pillows, letting her words settle into the corners of my mind. “Thanks, Val, for everything you’ve done.”
“Goodnight, Kade.”
“Goodnight,” I reply, but I don’t hang up right away. Instead, I stare at the ceiling, replaying every word she said, her voice still echoing faintly in my head.
The next morning, I drag myself out of bed, my limbs feeling like lead, and shuffle to practice. By the time I’m lacing up my skates, I catch a few of the guys throwing me friendly nods and the occasional smile. Maybe Val’s right. Maybe they’re warming up to me. Or maybe they’re just buttering me up before I’m traded.
Practice is its usual brand of grueling—sprints that burn like hell and drills that leave me dripping—but the ice feels like home. It’s the one place where shit actually makes sense, where my brain can shut up for a minute. But today, there’s something different. Something lighter. After practice, the guys invite me to grab lunch.
I hesitate because, let’s face it, group outings haven’t exactly been my thing lately. But Val’s voice worms its way into my brain, and before I know it, I’m nodding.
Lunch feels easy, shockingly so. The banter flows naturally, like it used to before everything went to shit. For the first time in forever, it doesn’t feel like I’m dragging myself uphill to connect with them.
When I get back to my room, pleasantly full and honestly kind of hopeful, my phone starts buzzing like it’s on fire. Valentina. Of course.
“Hey,” I answer, unable to fight the small grin creeping onto my face.
“I knew it,” she exclaims, her voice practically bouncing through the phone. “You went to lunch with the team after practice, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, they invited me,” I admit, chuckling.
“I told you they’re warming up to you,” she gloats, clearly pleased with herself.
I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see it. “Alright, psychic, don’t let it go to your head.”
“It’s not psychic. Actually, it was the team’s social media director gossiping.”
“Of course it was her.” Val’s cockiness pulls a genuine laugh out of me. It always does. Everything about her puts me at ease in a way I can’t explain.
Still, something nags at me. Is this ease between us just part of our arrangement, or is there more to it? Only one way to find out: see how she handles herself in my world, away from the cameras and PR bullshit.
“So, I’ve got something I want to ask you,” I say, clearing my throat. My voice comes out a little gruffer than I intended. Damn nerves.
“Is it an organ? Because I’m sort of attached to all of mine,” she quips, laughter bubbling on the other end of the line.
Her ridiculousness disarms me completely, and I can’t stop the smirk stretching across my face.
“No, not an organ. Jesus, Val,” I reply, shaking my head. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about the Bright Futures Benefit coming up next weekend. My parents are big sponsors, so I have to go.”
Her end of the line goes silent. Just for a second. “Okay . . .” she says cautiously, clearly waiting for the catch.
“I was wondering if you’d come with me,” I continue. “It’s not part of your PR duties. There’s no media. Just people who actually want to make the world a better place.”
“No media? Ha, yeah right. There’s always media,” she says, though her laugh carries a nervous edge.
“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” I add quickly, second-guessing myself for even asking.
“It’s not that,” she says after a beat. “It’s just . . . I’ve seen photos of that gala. I don’t exactly have anything to wear to something like that.”
And there it is. I don’t want to assume anything about her financial situation, but I know I’m in a very different tax bracket. “If it’s about the dress, I’ll buy it for you. No big deal.”
“No way, Kade. I’m a big girl. I can get my own damn dress. It’s more like, I wouldn’t know where to start. I’ve been living in Boston for several months, but it’s still new to me,” she explains, her tone light but honest. And I love that about her—how easy it is to communicate with her. No hidden agendas, no games, no fake smiles or sidestepping the truth. She’s all heart, even when she’s deflecting, and it’s disarming as hell.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, even though I hate feeling like I’ve stepped on a landmine.
“You didn’t,” she replies. “I just have this thing about not owing people.”
“Well, consider this me trying to make your life easier, not adding to your list of debts.”
“That’s sweet, but unnecessary. I can ask Noelle to come with me and trust me, shopping with my sister is an Olympic sport. It’ll be a bonding experience. Besides, don’t you know anything about women? I have to try on all my options first. It takes time.”
“You’ve clearly never been to practice with me. I’m very good with time management.”
“Oh, is that what you call standing around with a stick while your goalie does all the real work?” she teases, her voice lighter now.
I groan, letting the playful jab roll off me. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“And yet, you still asked me to the gala. Who’s the real sucker here?”
“You,” I deadpan. “For agreeing. What you don’t know is that I’ll be figuring out ways to fuck you in a fancy dress around the ballroom and the hotel.”
She lets out a scandalized laugh, her voice pitching higher. “Kaden, you can’t just say that. What if someone overheard you?”
I smirk, leaning back against the headboard, savoring her reaction. “We’re on the phone, Val. Who’s going to overhear me? Your potted plant?”
“Don’t disrespect Fern like that,” she shoots back, trying to sound serious, but I can hear the grin in her voice. “And for the record, you wouldn’t dare. Not at some hoity-toity gala.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” I counter, my voice dropping lower, teasing. “You’ve clearly underestimated my ability to find dark corners and distractions.”
“Dark corners? What is this, a Victorian romance? Are you going to ravish me behind the garden?” she teases, but there’s a breathy quality to her words that tells me I’m getting under her skin.
“Careful, Val. Keep talking like that, and I might just do it. You in a fancy dress, hair up, looking all proper. It’d be a shame not to mess you up a little.”
She groans. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, you’re still agreeing to go with me. What does that say about you?”
“That I’m clearly making questionable life choices,” she retorts, her laugh softening the blow.
“Questionable? Please. You’re lucky I even asked you. I could’ve gone solo and left you wondering what I was up to.”
“Oh, I already know what you’d be up to. Standing in a corner, glaring at people like you’re auditioning to be the next James Bond.”
“Wrong. I’d be standing in a corner, glaring at people while imagining you in that dress, except it’s hiked up around your hips.”
She gasps dramatically. “You’re insufferable. Do you think about anything else?”
“Not when it comes to you.” My voice drops into something softer, more sincere, but still with an edge of mischief. “You make it damn hard to focus on anything else.”
There’s a pause, just long enough to let her words settle. “You really need to work on your priorities.”
“Trust me, Val. You are my priority.”
Another pause, this one filled with a tension that’s thick enough to taste. “You’re trouble,” she finally says, her voice quieter but no less playful.
“Only for you, sweetheart. And only if you’re lucky.”
“Fair enough,” she says with a laugh. “Okay, I’ve really got to go. My sister’s gonna kill me if I don’t call her back.”
“Fine. But don’t blame me when you’re stuck in traffic looking for parking.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll just call you to complain.”
“And I’ll hang up.”
“Liar.”
And she’s right.
“Okay, Kaden. Bye.”
I don’t hang up right away, holding the phone to my ear for a beat longer than necessary. The sound of her voice lingers, warm and teasing, and I can’t help but grin to myself. Yeah, she’s going to be on my arm at that ball—and maybe, just maybe, this is more than a ploy after all.