Chapter 1 #2
I liked to think I was a decent guy. Granted, being the one who started the fight didn’t exactly put me in the best light, but I still had my good traits.
I may have been a cocky son of a bitch—I’d never deny it—but there was more underneath.
I was a son, a brother, and a good friend.
I was the kind of man who would put his life on the line for the people I cared about.
And that’s exactly what I was doing.
I’d promised my twin sister, Olivia, that I wouldn’t meddle in her business and told her she had nothing to worry about. I could be a little overprotective when it came to her. And if you ever met Olivia, you’d know she didn’t need protecting, but I didn’t give a fuck.
In my eyes, she’d always be my little sister. That’s the curse she got for being born two minutes later.
Still, I had every intention of keeping my word. But then Holt had to open his big, fat, stupid mouth and say some pretty nasty shit about her—stuff I refused to even voice out loud.
He was needling me, and I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.
So, I broke his nose. And his jaw, too, I think. The details were…somewhat hazy. All I knew was I saw red, and not even God himself could have pulled me off the prick. I still don’t know how the refs and my teammates managed to push me back. It was all a blur.
Was I proud of what I had done? People who thought they knew me probably thought I was.
But deep down? No. I wasn’t. Far from it.
“Holt said some pretty nasty shit, so I hit him.”
“What did he exactly say?” she pressed.
I shrugged, opting for silence. Details were a whole other thing I didn’t need—or want—to get into.
“Anderson,” she groaned. “Players talk shit on the ice all the time. Especially Holt.”
I scoffed. I knew that. Hell, every team in the league knew that. “So?”
“What do you mean so?” she asked, aggravated.
“We’re in this situation because you couldn’t keep your head cool, so now you have to fix it.
” She let out a long, tired sigh. “This is what we’re going to do, when the reporters ask you what happened, you’re going to say you were having an off night, and then you’re going to apologize. ”
I threw my head back with a sharp laugh. “Good one.”
“Does it look like I’m joking?”
“I’m not publicly apologizing to anyone. I have a reputation to maintain, need I remind you,” I quipped.
“Oh.” She snorted a dry laugh as she settled her eyes on me with an exasperated look. “Trust me, I know. God forbid you taint the reputation you’ve worked so hard for.”
She wasn’t wrong. My early years were all about proving I belonged, with a cocky smirk plastered on my face and a fistfight or two to seal the deal. Back then, they called me the young, wild rookie. Now? They had rebranded me as the pretty-as-sin bad boy. It was catchy, I’d give them that.
And just so we’re clear, this wasn’t me having some sort of god complex. Those were the exact words from Sports Illustrated when they crowned me as one of the hottest hockey players the previous year.
God, I sound like such an asshole right now, don’t I? Let me just go ahead and shut the fuck up before I dig this hole any deeper.
This was all to say, I’d done a great job feeding people this bullshit persona, though I was growing tired of it for many reasons I didn’t want to think about or admit to myself.
What was that famous saying? Oh, yes. Ignorance is bliss.
I found joy in not facing the ugly truths. Sue me.
I waved my hand dismissively. “I’ll pay whatever fine they want to give me.”
“This is more than that. Anthony is livid with you right now.”
I grimaced. “Fuck.”
Having the general manager pissed at me was dangerous territory.
It didn’t matter if I brought them millions of dollars in revenue every year, or if my stats kept getting better, I still took a big chunk of their payroll.
I struggled a lot with the knowledge. I’d only been playing for this team for three years, but I strongly believed Anthony only put up with my shit because I was a big, shiny dollar sign for the organization.
It didn’t matter how much of a well-rounded player I was. All I was good for was putting on a good show. That was the only value I had going for me.
“Yeah, fuck indeed,” she retorted. “You created this mess, and now you have to clean it up, pretty boy. You know how this works.”
“Calling me pretty twice in one day?” I fanned my face with an exhale. “God, Jonesy. You sure know how to make a man blush.” I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back my grin.
She stood abruptly with a clasp of her hands.
“Listen, Anderson,” she snapped. Oh, she was pissed alright.
“I know you love to be the clown of the team and give everyone this I’m-cool-as-fuck vibe or whatever.
” She accentuated the words with air quotes.
“But the fact is this—you fucked up. I don’t know if this is registering in that brain of yours or not, but…
” She sighed then nipped her bottom lip for the briefest moment.
The movement was so irrationally sensual, I had to urge my body to calm itself down and not do something stupid like reach for her and run my thumb across her lip, followed by my tongue.
Yikes. That thought escalated quickly.
“All I know is you have thirty minutes to figure out how to swallow your pride and change your tune. For the sake of this organization and your career.” She fixed me with a stern stare. “So, what’s it going to be?”
I rubbed the back of my neck in contemplation.
How exactly was I supposed to do that? I didn’t play nice with outsiders, especially with guys as shitty as fucking Holt.
But the way Kennedy was looking at me, with a fierce determination and an if-you-don’t-cooperate-I-will-murder-you-in-your-sleep look, had me painfully shoving my pride down my throat.
Swallowing a big, fat rock would have been an easier task, but I still tried, for the sake of the team. For me. Hell, because Kennedy asked me, too.
“Fine,” I groaned. “I’ll play nice.”
“Great.” Her smile was wide, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t fuck it up.”