Chapter 3
THREE
HENRY
BIG, DUMB JOCK WHO COULDN’T KEEP HIS COOL ONCE AGAIN.
The air in Coach Sloane’s office crackled with tension as anger pumped through my veins. I sat in one of the guest chairs as I inhaled and exhaled through my nose slowly. Calming myself down for the second time in the same night was my top priority.
“What the fuck was that!?” Coach Sloane barked as he slammed his fist against his desk with such force the pens rattled.
I knew how this looked. Big, dumb jock who couldn’t keep his cool once again. But the reality was so different. Yet, I couldn’t—didn’t—tell a soul why I had such a drastic reaction.
One single text from my father was all it took for me to allow anger to push me over the cliff and lose myself. Holt certainly didn’t help. But ultimately, I was the only one to blame.
The office door opened, and I looked over my shoulder as Anthony and Kennedy strode into the room quietly.
She took a seat next to me, with brows furrowed and lips thinned as she refused to even cast me a glance. I was utterly and royally fucked. I could take an annoyed and mean Kennedy any day. But a quiet one? I knew I was in deep shit and it was going to be impossible for me to get off her bad side.
“In my twenty years of coaching, I have never had to deal with such an ill-tempered, manchild!” Coach Sloane roared, his voice echoing off the walls. The vein in his forehead—the one that only made an appearance when he was livid—pulsated visibly.
Most of the guys, myself included, were a bit terrified of Coach Sloane.
He was awesome at his job, don’t get me wrong.
There was a reason we were all strong and well-rounded players.
He worked hard, so we worked twice as hard to prove we deserved a spot on the team.
But when his temper made an appearance, the best thing to do was to get on our knees and pray to all the gods known to man for a quick, painless death.
But that quick death was unfortunately not coming to save me.
Anthony leaned against the desk and crossed his arms with a disapproving look plastered all over his face. I honestly couldn’t give much of a fuck about Anthony’s opinion of me at the moment.
Anger simmered beneath my skin at the reminder of Holt’s words. And that fucking text.
My father was a sensitive topic for many reasons. The pedestal people put him on, even twenty years later, was annoying, to say the least. If they knew the truth about the “great” Vincent Anderson, I doubted the throne they put him on would have lasted much longer.
But it was my secret to bear. For the sake of me and my family. Though, if I were being honest, I cared very little about myself.
“What’s the plan, Kennedy?” Anthony asked.
“I strongly advise not having Anderson make any sort of statement for now. At this point, we need to show the world with actions rather than words that he’s not a violent man.
We can schedule a few photo ops with the charities he donates to.
Having him be more involved with the community will help. ”
“The last thing I want people to think is that I’m playing nice with these charities for my image. I actually care about these organizations,” I snapped with a cross of my arms.
“You’re in no position to complain when I’m trying to fix the mess you created,” she retorted as she mirrored my pose.
We gave each other a deadly glare. My chest heaved, and my pulse beat against my ear almost too painfully.
Fucking hell, Kennedy was frustrating. I knew she had a point. But I didn’t want to fucking hear it. I wanted to lick my wounds. I wanted to be alone and soak in the consequences of my actions.
A glimmer of irritation crossed her brown eyes.
Her stare was so intense, I decided to give in and look away.
I was afraid my emotions were going to show more than I wanted to.
I’d take any punishment the organization deemed acceptable.
As long as I kept the real reasons close to my chest, everything was going to be fine.
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Maybe we can even have him assist with the learn-to-skate kids program at our training rinks some weekends. I think the media would love to see that, and it will help soften his image, too.”
I scoffed. “How exactly do you suppose I do that? The weekends we don’t have games, I have to train.”
I knew I sounded like a grade-A asshole, but my career was the only lifeline I had.
It was the only thing I had going for me.
When I wasn’t training, I was spending my time developing and caring for a non-profit I’d anonymously founded when I started playing and making real money.
Not many knew this information, Kennedy included.
I wasn’t particularly eager to announce to the world what I did in my private time.
It was hard as it was to keep the world out of my life.
And this particular part? I cherished it with my whole fucking heart.
It was too important to me. So I took the necessary measures to keep it a secret.
“Great idea, Kennedy.” Coach nodded, and without missing a beat, he looked at me and said, “You can afford to miss a couple of training sessions, because you’re benched until further notice.”
I stood abruptly in disbelief and raised my arms in a what the fuck? gesture. “Coach, this is bullshit! You need me.”
He shot me a withering glare. “What I need is for my star center to get his shit together. I understand you like to be the joker, to give the people what they want, and I’ve allowed it to happen, but tonight you went too far.
If you don’t fix this attitude of yours, your ass will keep warming the bench for the rest of the season for all I care.
” He scoffed then looked at Kennedy. “I want Henry to participate in any volunteer work you and the marketing department have planned as long as it doesn’t interfere with our away games. ”
Kennedy shifted in her chair uncomfortably but gave him a court nod.
What the fuck? What was actually happening? I could feel my sanity slipping through my fingers as I desperately tried to hold on to it. If they took away from me the only thing that made me happy, the only thing that kept me sane…I honestly didn’t know where I would end up.
“How are we supposed to have a chance at the Cup with me on the bench?” I asked, desperation taking hold of me.
“You’re seriously going to bench me for defending myself when Holt kept sputtering bullshit out of his goddamn mouth?
” Fuck, was I angry. My hands were shaking, so I clenched them—hard.
My nails bit into the flesh of my palms, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
The physical pain numbed a much worse and deeper ache.
Coach smirked, though there was not a trace of humor behind his eyes. “You should have considered this before you decided to fight back, king of the ice,” he replied mockingly.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I’d never been benched—not even during my rookie season. Benching me wasn’t just a mistake; it was reckless.
I’d never been so terrified in my life until that moment. And I’d been through some pretty rough shit during my childhood. But nothing compared to the only thing that made my heart beat being ripped away from me.
My eyes found Anthony’s. He knew damn well the revenue the Strikers were going to lose if they went through with this. There was no way he was going to allow such a rash decision. He was a smart businessman above anything else.
Anthony shook his head. “Don’t look at me. I trust Sloane and what he thinks is best for this team.”
“I’ll do better. I promise.” My voice cracked and my eyes burned, but I held back with the little strength I had left.
“You’re lucky this isn’t turning into something worse.
” Coach scrubbed his face with a resigned sigh.
“We love having you here, Anderson. You know you’re like a son to me, but, buddy, this has gone too fucking far.
Enough is enough,” he added softly, which, if you knew anything about Coach, you’d know he was anything but soft when it came to his players.
His comment made my back straighten real fucking quick. He didn’t need to explicitly say what he meant. I heard him loud and clear.
You’re lucky you’re not being traded.
The thought squeezed my lungs with fear, making it impossible to breathe.
This was the city I wanted to retire in.
I was tired of packing up my shit and starting a new life every so often.
The past three years had been…amazing. I was finally in a place where I belonged.
My friends, the people I considered family, all lived here. Being traded wasn’t an option.
He leveled me with a knowing look. “Prove to me you can keep a cool head, and I will put you back on the ice.” He waved his hand at the door. “You’re dismissed.”
Rage still bubbled inside me. I was frustrated, tired, and I wanted to scream from the top of my lungs for someone to listen to me. I was drowning in the uncertainty of what was to come. But I shut my eyes and gave him a clipped nod before storming out of his office.
And, fuck, I hated this feeling that creeped up on me when I least expected it.
The shame was hard to face, too. My mom was probably so disappointed in me.
There was no way she hadn’t heard what happened.
I didn’t even want to know what Olivia was thinking.
She was probably livid. All I was managing to do at the ripe age of thirty was disappoint people I loved because I couldn’t control my emotions.
I wondered if this was how he felt.
No. Don’t go there. At least you have the decency to feel guilty about it. He never did. I reminded myself of the mantra I came up with years ago, hoping one day it would make me feel slightly better about myself.
Spoiler alert: It didn’t.
The pain in my chest signaled the panic attack that was making its quick way to me, but when I looked up, I found Liam Donovan—right winger and captain of the team—jogging my way.
So with a deep breath and a mental keep-your-shit-together pep talk, I shot him the smile I’d perfected over the years with a nod.
“What did Coach say?”
I shrugged, rubbing the back of my neck. “He benched me until further notice, and I’m basically going to be babysat by Kennedy.”
He pursed his lips as he gave me an exasperated look. The look alone managed to chip at my already fucked-up head. Having the captain of the team I played for disappointed in me stung. I was so sick and tired of upsetting people I cared about.
“What the hell were you thinking, man?”
I wasn’t thinking. That was the root of the problem.
I shot him a glare but chose to stay silent.
Despite my frustration, I had a lot of respect for Donovan—not just because he was our captain, but because he had this wisdom about him.
He was only thirty-five years old, but he was the older brother of the group.
Always steady and watching out for us. Which was very much needed, because most of us were a bunch of overgrown children.
“What the hell am I going to do, Donovan?” I groaned.
“At least you get to spend more time with your favorite girl.” He grinned.
I frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Please. You’re obsessed with Kennedy. Do you think I haven’t noticed?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Oh, yeah? Then why are you always tagging along to whatever photo op Kennedy is in charge of? To be a team player?” He snorted a disbelieving laugh.
Damn. Was I that fucking transparent?
“Whatever,” I mumbled.
He shot me a knowing smirk. “Listen, I know this is probably the last thing you want to do, but we’re going to Tim’s for celebratory drinks. You should come.”
Tim’s was one of our go-to bars to eat and hang out.
It was the only place where there was a lot of crowd control, and we could go in and relax without worrying about crazy fans or paparazzi.
The owner—whose name was, you guessed it, Tim—always kicked them out in a heartbeat.
He was a very fuck-around-and-find-out type of man. We loved the old, grumpy guy.
I knew it wasn’t a good idea to go out. But damn it, we had won our first home game of the season and it deserved to be celebrated.
I was also in some serious need to blow off some steam.
So against my better judgment, I replied, “Fuck it. I’m in.”