Chapter 24
Nick
I woke to the soft haze of morning light slipping through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the room. Kennedy’s body was curled into mine, her breath steady, warm against my skin. Her hair spread over my chest like silk, and I didn’t move. Not right away.
There was something sacred about moments like this—quiet, real. My arm rested heavy over her waist, like my body already knew what my mind hadn’t fully admitted: I wasn’t letting her go. Not now. Not ever.
But the world didn’t give a damn about quiet or sacred. And eventually, reality came knocking.
I slid out from under the sheets carefully, untangling from her like it physically hurt to pull away. Even the rumpled fabric clinging to my legs felt like a reminder of everything we shared last night—heat, tension, connection. I wanted to stay in that bed, buried in her, shut off the noise.
Instead, I padded to the kitchen and grabbed my phone.
Big mistake.
The moment the screen lit up, I saw them—notifications stacked like bricks in a wall I already knew I’d have to punch through.
Tabloid alerts. Gossip blogs. Headlines that made my stomach twist.
“Kennedy Hathaway: From NHL Scandal to Maddox’s Bed?”
“Nick Maddox’s Girl: Rebound or Real Deal?”
My jaw locked.
Scrolling was a bad idea, but I couldn’t stop. There we were—photos from last night. Us dancing, laughing, her body tucked against mine like she belonged there. Because she fucking did. And now those moments were plastered across screens for vultures to pick apart like meat off bone.
Comments bled in under the photos like rot:
“Didn’t she date Gary Delgado? Guess she’s quick to bounce.”
“Nick’s just her next upgrade.”
“Can’t believe he’s falling for that.”
I clenched my phone so hard my knuckles cracked.
These people didn’t know her. Didn’t know us. They didn’t see the way she looked at me when she thought no one was watching, or how she calmed the chaos in my head just by being close. They weren’t there for the quiet talks. The breakdowns. The truth.
Kennedy had already been dragged through enough shit—public betrayal, ridicule, whispers behind her back. She didn’t need this. Not again. Not because of me.
I exhaled through my nose, trying to calm the fire building in my chest. I wasn’t going to let them get to her. Not like last time.
My eyes drifted back to the bedroom.
She was still asleep, wrapped in our sheets, her face soft in sleep. Peaceful. Untouched by the noise I now carried in my hands.
I hated that I had to be the one to tell her.
But more than that, I hated that anyone thought they had the right to reduce her to a fucking headline. That they thought they could touch her name without consequence.
Because from this point forward? Anyone who came for her—anyone—would have to go through me.
I slid back into bed; the mattress dipping beneath my weight as I curled around Kennedy, pulling her close again like the world outside hadn’t already clawed at our door.
Her scent hit me instantly—cinnamon, warmth, and something I could never name but would recognize blind.
It wrapped around me, grounding me in a way that no game, no win, ever had.
My fingers brushed lightly along her waist as she stirred, instinctively tucking herself against my chest like she belonged there.
She did.
“Hey,” I whispered against the shell of her ear, letting my voice be the thing that called her back gently.
Her lashes fluttered, a moment of confusion flickering in her gaze before her eyes met mine. “Morning,” she said, her voice sleep-soft and a little rough. That smile—small, drowsy, real—spread across her face like sunlight breaking over snow.
I didn’t deserve that look. Not when I knew what waited for her.
But hell, I wanted to earn it. Over and over.
For a beat, I just looked at her. Like maybe if I memorized the curve of her smile or the way she fit against me, it would shield us both from everything coming.
But the silence pressed in.
It wasn’t enough to lie here and pretend the outside world hadn’t already taken aim. I couldn’t shield her from it if we weren’t honest about what was coming. I didn’t want to break the peace—we’d had so little of it—but the storm was already circling, and she needed to know I saw it too.
“Can we talk?” I asked quietly, threading my fingers through hers where they rested between us.
She blinked, propping herself up slightly on her elbow. Concern edged her features, but she didn’t pull away. “About what?”
About the headlines. The noise. The people who thought they could reduce her to clickbait and our relationship to some fucking publicity stunt.
About how I would go to war for her if I had to.
But more than anything?
About how we couldn’t let any of it shake what we were building here.
“Everything,” I said, voice low and steady. “You. Me. Them. What happens when we stop pretending they aren’t already watching.”
She didn’t answer right away.
But she didn’t look away either. And that? That was enough—for now.
I yanked my phone from my pocket, my thumb flying across the screen as I scrolled through the endless stream of headlines that had made us their favorite circus act overnight.
Nick Maddox’s Girl: Rebound or Real Deal?
I didn’t even flinch anymore. The bullshit didn’t surprise me. But it still hit low. I held the phone out toward her like it was proof of the war waiting outside these walls.
“I’m showing you this not because I care what they think,” I said, my voice even, clipped. “But because I don’t want you going in blind.”
She leaned in, reading the headline, and I watched it land—the flare of hurt behind her eyes, the tightening of her jaw. That anger in her? It was justified. But it also twisted something in me. Made me want to break something just to feel like I was doing something.
“Nick,” she said, voice rough. “They’re questioning your play.”
“Fuck what they think.” It came out too sharp, too fast. I tried to school my tone, but I could feel my muscles tensing, my heart pounding like it was still game time. I didn’t want her to see the way it was already getting under my skin. But she did.
Her voice dropped. “Nick, I don’t want—”
“Don’t,” I snapped, softer this time but with steel beneath it. I looked her straight in the eye. “You’re not a martyr. Don’t start now.”
Her arms folded. That familiar fire sparked in her gaze—the kind that always managed to both piss me off and turn me inside out. “If they’re going to tear me down,” she said, steady, like she’d already made peace with the fallout, “I won’t let you come down with me.”
I saw red for a second.
“This isn’t about you being some goddamn sacrifice,” I ground out, fighting to keep my voice level. “This is about protecting you from the vultures picking at us.”
“I can handle it,” she bit back, every line of her body rigid and ready for war.
“No.” The word shot out before I could catch it. “You can’t handle everything on your own.”
“Neither can you!” she fired back, stepping in closer, heat rolling off her like a livewire. “You think I don’t see what this is doing to you? They’re calling you unfocused. Weak. Saying you’ve gone soft since we got married.”
I stared at her, chest heaving. Every word was a blow I’d already taken—but hearing her say them made it real in a way nothing else had.
“That’s exactly why I need you to be careful,” I said, my voice rough, breaking through gritted teeth. “I won’t watch them ruin you just to get to me.”
She paused. Her eyes softened, just for a second. But then her chin lifted again, defiance stamped across every beautiful inch of her.
“I’m not backing down from this fight, Nick. Not for them. And sure as hell not for you.”
“Damn it, Kennedy,” I muttered, my hands flexing at my sides. I wanted to pull her in and protect her from the world—but she wouldn’t let me stand in front of the bullets unless I let her fire back too.
She was fire. Stubborn, reckless, blinding fire.
And even if it drove me insane, I loved her for it.
“We both know what this world is like.” Her voice was steady, but I saw the glint of unshed tears threatening to spill. Still, she didn’t break. She never did. “I refuse to be just another headline—or worse, let them think you’re just another player who’ll toss me aside when things get rough.”
My chest tightened. The fury clawed its way up my throat before I could stop it.
“You’re not just some headline!” The words exploded out of me, raw and rough, echoing off the walls like a shot.
I stepped toward her, fast, needing her to hear it—feel it.
“You’re so much more than that. And if anyone tries to drag you down because of what we have?
They’ll have to fucking go through me first.”
She blinked up at me, her breath catching like I’d knocked the wind out of her. For a moment, the fire in her eyes flickered, giving way to something softer. Something more unsure.
And that—that—gutted me more than the headlines ever could.
I let out a slow breath, trying to ground myself before I shattered whatever this was between us. My voice dropped as I reached for her hand, letting the heat of her skin tether me.
“Just promise me,” I murmured, my thumb brushing over her knuckles, “you won’t fight this battle alone.”
Her eyes met mine—clear, fierce, vulnerable—and in that second, I knew. Whatever storm was coming, whatever the world tried to twist us into, I’d burn it all down before I let it take her from me.
I barely got the words out before she surged up and kissed me—hard, fierce, like she needed to prove something. Her lips moved against mine with a desperation that matched the fire roaring inside me. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, refusing to let go.
And I lost it.
With a growl, I flipped her onto the bed, my hands gripping her hips as I settled above her. Her eyes were wild, daring me to do what we both knew we needed. There was no hesitation, no holding back.