The Hockey Situation (Billionaire Situation #6)

Chapter 1

PATTERSON

The New York Angels’ practice facility smells like sweat and ambition.

Early morning light filters through the windows, catching the frost on the rink’s surface while the cold bites through my gear.

I push off, feeling the burn in my thighs as I speed down the boards.

My legs are strong, and my shots have been dialed in.

I carve a sharp turn around the goal and spray ice at Wyatt King, our rookie winger, who’s trying way too hard to keep up with me.

This is the only place where I feel untouchable.

“Cross!” Wyatt shouts. “What the hell?”

“Trying to teach you how to skate, kid,” I call over my shoulder as I circle back toward center ice.

Hunter Matthews, our smart-ass left winger, laughs from the blue line. “Leave the rookie alone, Patty. He’s still recovering from that bottle-service girl you set him up with last night.”

“Nah, wasn’t a setup. I just made the introduction because she was into him.”

“Thanks for that,” Wyatt says with a smirk. “I owe you one.”

Smiley, also known as Ryan Brady, glides past us with his million-dollar smile, living up to the nickname. “Speaking of introductions, I saw a photo of you leaving some club with that influencer chick last weekend.”

“That was three weeks ago,” I tell him. “It’s old news at this point.”

“Coach catch wind of it?” Hunter asks.

“Yeah. It’s almost like one of you assholes is delivering stories to him on a silver platter,” I mutter with no actual concern.

My off-ice antics have never affected my game because I always show up, perform, and win.

Being cocky doesn’t matter when you’re as good as you act.

The more I’m talked about, the more people are magnetized toward me, and this season, I have the top merch sales in the entire fucking league.

I’m exactly what the owners want these days.

I have virality. A fan club. Brand deals.

Nobody does it like I do. I’m in a category of my own, on a path I forged myself.

Callan Riddick, the team captain, approaches, and everyone shuts their mouths.

He is older than us, has been in the league longer, and carries a no-bullshit energy that keeps this team from imploding.

After Nick Banks retired because of an injury, Callan took over.

He’s no Banks, but he’s a great captain, and nothing gets past him.

“You done showing off?” Callan asks.

“Me? Never.” I flash a smile. “I’m building morale, Cap. Setting a high standard.”

“Or maybe you like being a gigantic pain in my ass?” He taps his blade against mine. “Let’s run the drill one more time. Coach wants to see it again.”

I fall into line with adrenaline humming through my veins because my body knows exactly what to do without thinking.

We’re locked in and focused as Callan feeds me a pass, and after a quick maneuver, I bury it in the top corner without hesitation.

The sound of the puck hitting the back of the net is satisfying as hell.

“Beautiful,” Hunter says. “I don’t know how you consistently do that.”

“Practice and putting the sport over my personal life.” False modesty isn’t my style.

Hockey is the only thing that matters to me, but even playing this game is temporary, like everything else in my life.

That’s why when I’m on the ice, I perform like it could be my last time out here.

At least when I’m at the end of my days, I’ll be able to say with my full chest that I have no regrets.

Wyatt pulls up beside me. “You think Coach is gonna let me get more ice time before the season ends?”

“Depends. Can you stop falling on your ass every time someone breathes on you?” I give him a playful shove. “You’ve got potential, kid. Stop overthinking it. My stats were the same as yours, my first year.”

“I’m gonna beat your records, Cross.”

“Yeah? I’m gonna beat your ass,” I throw back at him.

I like Wyatt.

He reminds me of myself when I first got signed, hungry and desperate to prove I belonged among players who’d become legends.

Except I was better at hiding my insecurities and talked shit with the rest of them.

The older guys made me better because they constantly pushed me.

I try to return the favor to the younger generation.

“Cross!” Smiley calls out. “Twenty bucks, you can’t make that same shot from center ice.”

“Twenty bucks?” I scoff. “Make it interesting. A hundred.”

“Five hundred,” he quips.

Our teammates let out a harmonized, “Ooh.”

“Bottle service next time we go out,” I counter, knowing it could run into the thousands. He’s good for it though.

“Deal,” Smiley says. “Hope you miss.”

I position myself at center ice and line up the shot.

Everyone is watching now, and I think some are placing their own side bets. This is the shit I live for.

“Should I close my eyes?” I ask, doing it to be an asshole.

I blindly whack the puck, then open my eyes in time to watch it sail through the air in a perfect arc before it buries itself in the top corner of the net.

“Fucking unreal,” Wyatt breathes out.

Smiley groans.

“Stop betting me,” I warn while gliding over to pat him on the shoulder. “You know I’m ordering the expensive shit.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“Bring it in.” Coach Hart blows the whistle, and we head toward him.

He’s standing with his arms crossed, wearing his trademark scowl under his bushy gray mustache. He’s a hard-ass with a temper, but he’s fair. This man is the reason our team went from mediocre to dominant.

“Good work,” Coach says, which is his version of a standing ovation. “Power play was great. Keep that energy alive for our next game. I need everyone dialed in. If you can keep doing that, we’re going to the playoffs. Focus. Get your minds right.”

I nod along with the rest of the team while my mind wanders to tonight. Maybe I’ll hit up that new bar in Tribeca, or maybe I’ll go home and rot in my penthouse alone.

That thought lasts about three seconds.

“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath when I see Kendall Hart, Coach’s only daughter, enter like she owns the place.

My jaw locks before I can stop it, and my entire mood changes. Her brown eyes sweep the rink, land on me for two seconds, then move on like I’m not worth the effort.

I fucking hate her, and it has nothing to do with my brother.

On New Year’s Eve, she was at the same party as me, hanging on the arm of my biggest rival, Damien Blackwell.

That image burned itself into my brain, and I wish she’d disappear again.

It’s what that despicable woman is good at.

I loved it when she was in Europe with an ocean between us because it meant running into her would be impossible. The things she’s done are unforgivable.

Today, she’s wearing dark jeans and a cream sweater, thin enough to show the black bra underneath. Her brown hair is clipped back, revealing the curve of her neck.

She walks in, knowing that she could date any man in this room. Feeling my body respond to her in any way makes me want to put my fist through the boards.

“Shit,” Smiley says.

Most of my teammates know how much I hate Kendall Hart. It’s not a secret.

When I first saw her walk into this facility seven years ago, there was a spark between us.

I did nothing about it because she was Coach’s daughter, and I was too much of a coward to risk my career with the Angels.

When my identical twin brother, Jameson, saw her, he didn’t hesitate, but he also played on another team.

I never admitted how I felt. For a year, I watched my brother date the woman I wanted and kept my big fucking mouth shut. Then he proposed to her.

Even after things between them ended, I said and did nothing. Now it feels like it’s too late.

Kendall sits beside her father and crosses one leg over the other, while I stand here with anger rising in my chest. I hate that she still does this to me, that I lose control when she’s in the same room.

In the middle of Coach’s speech, I drop my stick, and it clatters against the ice.

Wyatt bends down and picks it up. “You okay?”

His voice cuts through the fog as he elbows me.

I blink and force myself to answer, “What do you think?”

Everyone’s watching me now, even Coach Hart. Even he knows I can’t fucking stand his kid.

“Want to share with the class?” Coach asks, tilting his head.

“Nah.” I risk another glance toward the stands, and she’s staring right at me, her expression unreadable.

“Anyway, that was good maneuvering, Cross. Play like you have a chip on your shoulder in the game. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. Always do.” It’s permanently attached at this point.

“Now, I have a final announcement to make before I release you. As you know, this year marks the fiftieth anniversary of the franchise.”

I barely process his words as winter light catches Kendall just right, making her glow. This time, she glances away, which feels like a small victory that I shouldn’t care about.

“The owner wanted to do something special to commemorate the occasion,” Coach continues. “He commissioned an artist to create a series of portraits that will be displayed in the arena, and a few special pieces will be auctioned for charity.”

“Ridiculous,” I mutter.

“What was that?” Coach asks, scanning the group. “Someone got something to say?”

Everyone stays quiet. I already know where this is going.

“The artist who was hired is extremely talented,” Coach says, and there’s unmistakable pride in his voice that only a father could have.

“She’s been featured in galleries across Europe and has returned to New York for this project, but I’m hoping she stays for good.

” He gestures toward her. “I’m thrilled to announce that my daughter, Kendall, will be painting your portraits. ”

She rises with a perfect smile and waves. “Hi, Angels.”

Kendall’s poised and professional, radiating kindness that makes people trust her.

She’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Several of my teammates straighten their stances, already imagining a chance with her.

They can get fucked though because Coach has threatened to trade guys for less.

When it comes to his daughter, he’s ruthless.

“She’ll be scheduling individual sessions with every one of you until the end of the season,” Coach says. “You’ll make time for this project with zero excuses. If your name is on the schedule, you show up.”

I can’t be in the same room as her. Not without losing my mind or my career.

“This is some nepo baby bullshit,” I say under my breath, loud enough for the guys beside me to hear.

Hunter snorts. Smiley chokes on a laugh. Even Wyatt’s mouth twitches before he catches himself.

Coach’s head snaps toward us with flared nostrils. “What’s so damn funny?”

Silence crashes over the rink, and the laughter dies.

Kendall’s staring down at me, and maybe I didn’t say it as low as I thought. Her expression stays neutral, but I catch the flicker of frustration in her eyes.

She heard me. Good. I want her to know exactly what I think of her waltzing back into my space like this. She chose to take this job. She could’ve said no and done something else. Instead, she chose this, probably to antagonize me. It’s her MO.

“Let me make one thing very clear.” Coach’s voice drops to a growl.

“This is a professional commission. Kendall is here to do a job, and you will treat her with the same respect that you have for me.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words seep into my bones.

“And while we’re at it, my daughter is off-limits. Are we clear?”

“Dad,” Kendall whispers, but he ignores her.

A few guys nod.

Callan clears his throat. “Yes, Coach.”

I say nothing.

“Any questions?”

Silence.

“Okay then. Dismissed.”

I take off toward the gate, blades carving hard into the surface.

Callan shouts my name, and Coach barks something I don’t bother hearing.

Once I’m in the locker room, I rip off my helmet and hurl it against the lockers.

It crashes and then clanks to the floor.

I grab my shit and slip out before anyone can catch up to talk or before I run into Kendall.

Right now, I need to be alone, need to get my head straight before I do something I’ll regret.

I guess it’s official. Kendall is back, and she’s staying until the end of the season. There’s not a damn thing I can do about it except stay the hell away from her.

Because if I don’t, I’ll burn her to the ground, like she deserves.