Chapter 5
PATTERSON
Kendall’s words have been rattling around my skull for the past four hours, and I’ve tried everything to shake them.
A nap that I really needed turned into me staring at the ceiling for an hour, and the pregame meal I’d planned tasted like cardboard.
Right now, not even the music blasting through my headphones is loud enough to drown out my own thoughts.
Nothing fucking works. It never does with her.
I shut off my music because I’m too annoyed and frustrated.
“Your team needs you locked in.”
She walked past me, brushing my arm, wearing that smug expression. My hands twitched with the urge to pull her back to me. That would have ruined everything I worked so hard to build.
I’m in the locker room now, lacing up my skates while the guys bounce around me, hyping each other up the way we always do before we play.
Music pumps through the speakers, and Smiley is doing his ridiculous pregame dance routine that makes everyone laugh.
Wyatt looks like he might throw up, which is normal for him.
Mason drops onto the bench beside me and mimics my posture, hunched over his skates. “You planning to strangle those laces or tie them?”
“Mind your damn business.”
“Oh, someone’s moody tonight.” He nudges my shoulder. “Channel that into the game, yeah? Philly’s goalie has been a brick wall lately. We need you, Cross. Whatever’s bugging you, forget it.”
I grunt in response because I don’t trust myself to say anything else. If I open my mouth, I might admit that I’m wound up because of Kendall fucking Hart. I’d rather skate naked through Times Square than confess that to anyone.
The Philadelphia Falcons are a good team. They’re hovering around the middle of the standings, hungry for a playoff spot and desperate for wins. Their defense is physical, and their new goalie has been hot. This won’t be easy, but we’re stronger players. Now we have to prove it.
The roar of the crowd hits me as we take the ice for warm-ups.
Madison Square Garden is packed with eighteen thousand fans screaming for blood, and I push through my stretches before taking a few laps to let the cold air fill my lungs.
This is supposed to be where everything else fades away, but my mind keeps circling back to her eyes sliding down my body like she was cataloging every inch of me.
Pattycakes.
My stick cracks against the ice as I take a shot on goal. It goes wide.
“Save some of that aggression for the game, Patty,” Jacob says while skating past, and I roll my eyes without breaking stride.
By the time we take the ice to start, my blood is pumping.
We win the opening face-off, and Callan sends the puck back to Mason, who fires it up the boards.
I chase it down with my muscles burning as I cut around Mason.
When Hunter gets open on my left, I hesitate a half-second too long, and the pass gets picked off.
Their center takes it the other way, and we’re stuck scrambling back on defense.
The first period is a disaster. Not for the team, but for me. I’m playing angry, which usually benefits me, but tonight, I’m being too fucking sloppy. I’m a half-second late on passes, taking shots I shouldn’t, checking guys harder than necessary, and drawing warnings from the refs.
We’re up 1 to 0, thanks to a goal from Wyatt, but I’ve contributed nothing.
Every time I touch the puck, I hear her voice in my head. “How about you not suck tonight on the ice and actually win the damn game?”
If she cared about what this team needed, she’d get the fuck out of the city.
During the TV time-out, Callan moves beside me without saying a word. He doesn’t ask if I’m okay or tell me to get my head right. He stands there, watching the Jumbotron replay Wyatt’s goal while letting the silence stretch between us.
“I’m fine,” I say, even though he didn’t ask.
“Never said you weren’t.”
“You were thinking it.”
He shrugs. “The only thing I was thinking about was that Wyatt’s form on that shot was garbage, and he still scored. How?”
I snort.
“Whatever’s eating at you,” Callan says, “use it. Don’t let it use you. You’re in control of this.”
He skates away before I can respond.
The second period starts, and I’m on the bench, watching the Falcons tie it up, 1 to 1. Coach is full of disappointment, but it’s mixed with expectation. We can turn it around. Every single person in this building knows what I’m capable of, and right now, I’m giving them half of that.
I scan the crowd—a habit I’ve developed over the years to check the energy of the arena. My eyes drift toward the section where my family and friends usually sit.
And I see her. Brown hair, sitting in the stands, with her eyes fixed on the ice.
The anger doesn’t disappear, but it focuses into an emotion I can use. If she’s here to watch me fail, I’ll make damn sure she leaves wrong. If she wants a show, I’ll give her one she’ll never fucking forget.
Coach sends me back out, and I hit the ice with different energy. The sloppiness and desperation are gone. I’m reading the defense, anticipating passes before they happen, while finding the open lanes.
Coopers feeds me a cross-ice pass, and I don’t hesitate. I wind up and bury it in the top corner so fast that the goalie doesn’t even flinch. The red light flashes, and the crowd erupts as my teammates crash into me.
“There he is!” Smiley shouts while slapping my helmet. “Where has that been hiding?”
I shake off the celebration and glance toward the stands, searching for Kendall. I want to know if she watched me score. But when I find the spot where she was sitting, there’s a blonde woman in a Falcons jersey instead.
It’s not Kendall. Not even close.
I scan around, realizing I imagined her. It should throw me off, but it makes me angrier. She’s probably at home painting, not giving a single thought to this game or me, and yet I played the best shift because of her.
I’m so fucked.
I channel the frustration into the rest of the game.
Hunter scores midway through the second to put us up 3 to 1, and Jacob adds another early in the third after a beautiful assist from Callan.
The Falcons manage one more, but it doesn’t matter because I bury two more goals in the final ten minutes to complete my first hat trick of the season.
The crowd loses its mind, throwing hats onto the ice as my teammates surround me. We win 5 to 2, and it’s not even close by the end.
In the locker room afterward, the energy is electric. Guys are shouting, and music is blasting, and Coopers has already popped a bottle of champagne even though we usually save that for playoff wins.
“Put that away,” Callan says, but he’s grinning. “We have a lot more work to do.”
“Patty had a hat trick!” Coopers sprays champagne in Wyatt’s direction, and the rookie acts like he’s being murdered.
Coach steps into the locker room, and the volume drops slightly. His eyes find mine across the room, and he gives me a single nod. “That’s the player we signed. More of that.”
He disappears before I can respond, but the words stick with me. Not a great job, or I’m proud of you, but a reminder of expectations. I wonder if he raised Kendall the same way. Probably. Could explain why she’s not intimidated by me or anyone.
Mason throws an arm around my shoulders. “Three goals, Cross. What flipped the switch out there?”
“Found my rhythm.”
Hunter laughs from his locker. “You were sleepwalking in the first period, and then you turned into an assassin. Seriously.”
Cap catches my eye from across the room and gives me a small nod like he understands something the others don’t. I nod back.
“Bottle service tonight,” Jacob announces. “Someone has a bet to fulfill.”
“Dammit.” Smiley throws his head back. “I really thought you’d miss that shot.”
“You bet against me with my eyes closed. That’s on you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Where are we going?” Mason asks. “Somewhere Smiley can find love?”
“Hardy har har.”
Hunter snorts. “Last week, you thought the woman you spoke to for five minutes was your soulmate.”
“She had really nice eyes! Mesmerizing.”
“Bro, she was wearing colored contacts.”
“Love is love.”
“We should go to Diamond,” Jacob suggests. “Private section, strong drinks.”
“You pick bars for the cocktail menu?” Hunter asks.
“I’m a man of refined taste.”
“You ate gas-station sushi last week.”
“That was rock bottom, and I’ve grown since then.”
I head for the showers without committing to anything.
The hot water pounds against my sore muscles, and I look over the damage I got tonight.
My shoulder aches from a hit I took in the second period; there’s a bruise forming on my left thigh, and my ribs are tender where a Falcon defenseman caught me with his elbow.
Nothing serious, but I’ll feel it tomorrow.
After I dry off, I catch my reflection. I look tired, which makes sense because I haven’t slept well since the first of January. I run a hand through my damp hair and grab my clothes from my locker.
The dark shirt goes on first, then some slacks. I slide a jacket over the top because February in New York is brutal.
Tomorrow is a recovery day, and I need it because my shoulder is already stiff and my legs are heavy. But being alone tonight means thinking, and I’ve done enough of that already.
“You coming or what?” Hunter yells from across the locker room.
“Yeah. I’ll be there,” I say, knowing I need to be surrounded by my friends.
The SUV is warm as we pile in, and Jacob immediately connects his phone to the Bluetooth to play some terrible music that makes Hunter groan.
“This is garbage,” Hunter says.
“This is art,” Jacob counters.
They go back and forth.
“This is why you’re single.”
“I’m single by choice.”
“That’s what all single people say.”
Mason leans forward from the back seat. “So, Cross, you ever going to tell us what actually happened out there? One minute, you were playing like you’d never seen a puck before, and the next, you were unstoppable.”
“Callan’s pep talk.”
“Not buying it. They’re not that good,” Smiley says, and everyone laughs.
“That’s the only excuse I’ve got.” I stare out the window at the city lights blurring past and think about brown hair and gold-flecked eyes. I scored three goals because I imagined her watching.
We pull up at Diamond and security waves us through.
The place is dark and sleek, with crystal chandeliers and black marble everywhere.
This is a bar where models, actors, and athletes come to be seen.
Normally, I hate places like this, but tonight, I don’t care because I’m not at my empty penthouse.
Jacob heads straight for it while the rest of us follow. The music is prominent, but not deafening, and the crowd parts as we move through the room. Being a New York Angel has its perks, especially after a win like tonight.
I’m taking in the scene when my eyes land on a familiar figure at the bar.
I’m not imagining her this time.
Kendall Hart is holding a drink and laughing with my sister.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
I stop walking, and Callan crashes into my back.
“What the—” He follows my gaze, and his expression shifts. “Well, that’s interesting.”
“I need to leave.”
“After a hat trick? Not a fucking chance.” He grabs my arm before I can turn around. “Sit down, order a drink, and pretend she’s not there.”
He’s right, and I hate it.
I let him steer me toward the booth and slide in next to Hunter.
“Three bottles of Dom to start,” Smiley tells the server. “Actually, make it five bottles. We’re celebrating properly tonight.”
I grab the whiskey as Jacob slides toward me. I take a long sip, trying to focus on the burn instead of the woman who’s haunting me at the bar. I refuse to acknowledge her. I focus on my teammates and celebration because I had one of the best games of my season. Funny, considering how it started.
But as I drink more, my eyes drift toward the bar.
I watch her lean toward Addison to say something that makes my sister throw her head back.
Every time she moves, her hair falls loose around her shoulders.
Maybe I can get through this night without another confrontation.
Hopefully, I can finish my drinks, celebrate with my team, and leave without her ever realizing I was here.
Smiley follows my gaze and grins. “Yikes.”
“Shut up.”
He laughs and raises his glass. “To Cross and his hat trick.”
The guys echo the toast, and I drink, but I barely taste it.
My eyes find Kendall, and this time, she turns her head just enough that our gazes collide. The smile drops from her face, and her grip tightens on her glass.
She knows I’m here now.
And from the change in her demeanor, she’s no happier about it than I am.