Chapter 8 - Henry
EIGHT
HENRY
CAN YOU PLEASE CALL ME DADDY AGAIN?
Having Kennedy at my apartment was strange, but somehow still a perfect fit. Though I was pretty sure I had already put my foot in my mouth, and she hadn’t even had a chance to settle in yet.
I couldn’t help it. Flirting with her came naturally to me. But now we were roommates, so it probably wasn’t the greatest idea. The keyword was probably—because it was too fun, and I didn’t want to stop.
Kennedy sat on the bed and crossed one leg over the other. The fabric of her leggings hugged every bit of her toned legs perfectly. I had never looked at a piece of fabric with so much hatred, wishing it would somehow disappear like a magic trick so I could admire the smoothness of her skin.
“How much rent am I paying?” she asked again.
“You’re not paying rent, Jonesy.”
Her steady gaze met mine in a challenge, and by the look she had on her face, I suspected she’d love nothing more than to wrap her delicate hands around my neck and choke me if she had the opportunity to get away with it.
Was it crazy to think I would have gladly let her under “fun” circumstances? Probably. Didn’t mean I was thinking about it any less.
“I’m paying rent one way or another, Anderson.”
I raised an eyebrow at her with a cheeky grin.
It took a moment for her words to register, but when they did, she grabbed one of the pillows and threw it at me. “Get your head out of your ass.”
I caught it with ease. “Too slow.”
“Stupid athletic reflexes,” she muttered.
“Already getting sick of me? That must be some sort of record,” I taunted as I tossed the pillow on the bed. “What a shame.”
Her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath.
“I know this must be very amusing to you, knowing I’m in your debt and all, but know this—I hate when people try to have something over me.
I will be paying rent, end of discussion.
” Her eyes bored into me, and while most people would have said this was her menacing side coming out, there was a certain vulnerability underneath that shocked me to my core.
“Kennedy.” Her eyes sparkled with surprise. It was rare when I used her full name. But I wanted to drive the point home and make sure she understood how serious I was being. “I’m not trying to play any tricks here. I genuinely want to help,” I said softly.
I knew Kennedy didn’t like me very much. And what happened with Holt certainly hadn’t won me any points with her, either. But there was this need in me that wanted nothing more than to help.
When she avoided my gaze as her bottom lip quivered, my resolve started to crumble quicker than sand.
“I don’t mean to offend you, but I need to do this. For myself,” she managed to say.
I pulled on the back of my neck with a reluctant nod. I could hold out against a stubborn and confident Kennedy, but this was new territory. “Fine. How does five hundred a month sound?”
She tilted her head with furrowed brows. “Does that even cover any of your bills?”
Nope. But I wasn’t about to admit it.
“Don’t push it, Jonesy. I’m already charging you rent against my will. I’m willing to lend a hand, so take it.” I gulped, my eyes meeting hers. “Use me.”
Could you have sounded any more desperate? my brain mocked.
I’m sure I could have if I tried.
A beat of silence stretched between us as she kept staring at me. All she had to do was orbit around me for my heart to want to skip a whole fucking beat.
Kennedy was breathtakingly beautiful. She had no makeup on, and freckles danced across her brown skin like hundreds of tiny stars kissing her face. I loved how chestnut curls framed her soft jawline, and how the light brown of her eyes looked almost like honey melting in sunlight, warm and golden.
I wondered if she knew how beautiful she was.
What was I thinking? Of course, she did. Kennedy was the kind of woman who walked into a room and grabbed everyone’s attention like it was her natural calling.
“Thank you,” she replied, her voice taking a surprisingly soft edge.
With a triumphant smile, I nodded. “Give me your car keys and I’ll get your stuff while you get settled.”
“I can go with you. I parked at a meter.”
I shook my head and made a grabbing motion with my hands. “The keys, Jonesy.”
She sighed while she reached for her purse and grabbed the keys. “I need you to stop calling me that.”
“Call me by my first name a few more times and maybe I’ll stop,” I quipped, grabbed her keys, and turned around.
“I have a—”
“A blue Honda Civic. I know,” I replied without glancing back.
When was she going to figure out I knew everything about her?
True to her word, Kennedy only had two small boxes.
I struggled for a good thirty minutes to get in her tiny car and move it to the parking spot I rented for her.
Her parking at a meter didn’t sit right with me.
The deeper we got into the season, the more I was going to travel, and I needed to make sure she was safe for my peace of mind.
Kennedy spent the rest of the day in her room, so I took up the living room to watch some game tapes.
We were going up against some pretty strong teams, and I was ready to combust after two and a half weeks without playing.
But bench or no bench, I always studied my opponents.
It was fun for me to try to find their weak spots.
This season was too important to us, and I was desperate to get back on the ice as soon as possible to help us get another chance at The Cup.
I trusted my teammates, and I knew they would fight tooth and nail, but I also knew they needed me.
We all complemented each other on the ice, like a puzzle.
And every time a piece was missing, it inevitably messed with the flow of the team.
I wanted, more than anything, to find a way to control my anger. But there was a part of me that believed it was easier to fall into these bad habits people expected from me. This bullshit media persona I had perfected was an armor to protect the true scars I carried.
I knew better than anyone that no one ever expected me to make it this far. Most people thought I only made it because of my father’s legacy.
It was a big, disgusting lie.
I fought for a chance with everything I had. I poured blood, sweat, and tears to get to where I was. But that didn’t stop people from discrediting my work. The pressure of it all got to me at the worst of times.
Sometimes I wished I had changed my last name.
Maybe even erased part of my DNA. Anything to forget the fact I came from…
him. But God forbid people let me forget I was Vincent Anderson’s son, the legendary hockey star from the ’90s who was still loved by many.
It was as shitty as it was frustrating. If they knew what their favorite former center from Vancouver was really like, I was sure they would have been singing a different tune real fucking quick.
The words from one of my former therapists rang loudly in the back of my head. You’re responsible to love and believe in yourself. You can’t blame people when they don’t know the full truth. You can’t blame yourself for things that are out of your control.
I’d repeated those words more times than I could count, and it worked, for the most part. But little by little, they started to lose their strength. It pissed me off knowing people didn’t know the truth. It was unfair.
But out of your control. Always remember that.
As if thinking of him summoned the man himself from the depths of hell, my phone pinged with a few texts.
Deadbeat (DO NOT ANSWER)
When are you getting back on the ice? Seriously, son, what the fuck was that? I taught you better than that.
I snorted a disbelieving laugh at the text. The delusion of this man held no bounds. Taught me better, my ass. And the audacity to call me son when I couldn’t remember the last time he’d acted like an actual father.
Deadbeat (DO NOT ANSWER)
Staining our name? What are you even thinking? And for your sister, no less. Don’t think I don’t know Olivia was dating Jack Holt.
Deadbeat (DO NOT ANSWER)
Are you ever going to answer me?
“Nope,” I murmured to myself and placed the phone upside down on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary.
My father had always been the type of man who wanted to have the last word. He’d do just about anything to have it. But my mind wasn’t in the right place, and I didn’t have the energy to talk to him.
Captain Sushi purred as he got comfortable against one of my thighs and closed his eyes to take his late afternoon nap. He was settling fairly well. The cat, strangely, acted too much like a dog sometimes. He was weird, but the companionship was surprisingly nice.
I heard keys rattle on my front door, and a second later, Hayes shouted, “Anderson, you in here?”
“Of course, I’m in here. It’s my fucking house.” I stood from the couch, and Captain Sushi let out an irritated meow because I took his made-up pillow away. “Do you ever knock?”
He rolled his eyes. “Since when do I gotta knock?”
I lowered my voice. “Thanks to you, I have a roommate now. So, you know what?” Before he could react to my question, I grabbed my apartment key from his hands. “You’ve lost your key privileges.”
He gave me a cheeky, knowing grin. “You love having her here, don’t lie to yourself.”
Before I could give Hayes a retort, the door to Kennedy’s room cracked open, and she slowly came out.
“Hey, Kenny,” Hayes said as he strode over to her to give her a side hug.
The move, unsurprisingly, instantly pissed me the fuck off.
Though I knew he didn’t mean anything by it.
My best friend was a natural flirt when it came to women, and the guy couldn’t take anything seriously, even if his life depended on it.
As hockey players, we weren’t strangers to random hookups, but Hayes was on another level.
The guy adored being on the road and enjoyed that life too much to ever be the relationship type.