Chapter 7
PATTERSON
I’ve barely slept because every time I close my eyes, I imagine Kendall’s mouth on mine and her fingers twisting in my shirt.
That sound she made when my thigh pressed between hers woke me at three in the morning, aroused and furious.
I stared at the ceiling until my alarm went off, and then I dragged myself out of bed.
Today, I’m running on caffeine and spite because Kendall fucking Hart kissed me, and my body won’t let me forget it enough to even rest.
The drive to the Bronx takes longer than I wanted with weekend traffic, but it gives me time to breathe. Every other Saturday, I show up at the Kingsbridge Ice Center and teach a group of eight- to twelve-year-olds how to skate, shoot, and take a hit without crying about it.
The Cross Ice Foundation was started seven years ago when I realized I had more money than I knew what to do with. I also knew that a lot of kids in the city would never touch a hockey stick without someone handing them one first. Now, I’m dedicated to sharing the love of the sport.
Marcus, my assistant coach, is already running warm-up drills when I arrive. A kid named Tommy spots me first and nearly wipes out trying to wave.
“Coach P! You’re late!”
“I’m five minutes early. Maybe you’re impatient?”
“My mom says patience is a virtue. Whatever that means!” He grins and skates off to join the others.
I hit the ice and run them through drills for the next hour.
Hockey isn’t on the radar for most kids, and an ice rink is a thing that’s only seen in movies.
Giving them a place to channel their energy is exactly why I started this program.
Someone did it for my brother and me around this age, and I swore that when I was financially stable, I would pay it forward. I’ll do this until I can’t.
Even here, as I watch a group of kids tease one another, Kendall forces her way into my thoughts. Her face flashes through my mind. That night, her brown eyes darkened before she grabbed me. I push harder on the ice, trying to skate her out of my memory.
Marcus calls for a break, and the kids pile toward the snack table. As I turn my head, that’s when I catch a glimpse of my little sister walking toward me in a cashmere coat and designer boots, wearing a scowl.
“I need to speak to you. Now,” she says when she’s close.
I glance around the room of kids and then make eye contact with Marcus. I lead my sister to the hallway and cross my arms over my chest.
“What?”
She holds up her screen to show me a tabloid photo from Thursday night. It’s one of me leaving Diamond with my arm around a brunette whose name I can’t fully even remember. Was it Caroline?
“Care to explain this?” she asks.
This woman had too much to drink, so I helped her to her car. Nothing happened, but the way she’s looking up at me, holding me, looks damning.
“What’s there to explain?”
“You kissed my best friend Thursday night and then left with another woman right after?”
“No, no, no. I absolutely did not. Kendall kissed me.”
“And you didn’t kiss her back?”
I blink at her, knowing I did, knowing I lost control too. Did Kendall tell her that?
“I told her to leave me the fuck alone. And I’m about to tell you the same thing. I come here to escape, Addison. Don’t bring that shit here.” I shake my head. “I’m not having this conversation.”
“Just trying to figure out why my bestie is so confused by what happened at Diamond. She hasn’t been the same since that night. Why?”
“No idea. Maybe you should ask her that, not me. I don’t control the way she feels.
” It comes out harsh, but I don’t take it back.
“Nothing has changed, Addison. I’ve told you a handful of times I don’t want to be around her.
And I don’t have enough time to list every fucking reason why I don’t like her as a person.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have shit to do today.
I’m not playing these games with you or Kendall. I’m busy.”
Addison shakes her head. “You have no idea who Kendall is because you’ve never given her a fucking chance. She’s the most straightforward person I’ve ever met. She’s kind and caring, and she has a huge heart. You’re a dick.”
“Are you finished?” I ask.
“Stop ruining your reputation.” She turns and walks away, heels clicking across the concrete until she disappears through the doors.
Practice passes by fast, and the ride back to Manhattan is a blur.
Dyson
Having a small get-together. Come over.
Dyson runs a financial firm that helps billionaires figure out what to do with their money.
He’s one of the few people in my life who doesn’t give a shit about hockey, even though he’s Nick Banks’s older brother.
He’s the CEO of one of the largest financial firms that invests for major corporations and other billionaires. I can’t imagine the stress.
Patterson
Maybe.
Dyson
Louis is in town. We’re gonna drink bourbon and shoot some pool.
Louis is the crown prince of Montclaire, a small country in Europe. He’s a charming disaster who makes headlines wherever he goes. When Louis escapes his kingdom, and visits New York, he usually stays with Dyson. I’ve stopped being surprised when he shows up.
Patterson
What time?
Dyson
Now.
Patterson
Need to take a shower, and then I’ll be there.
Once I’m home, I wash away the practice time and then get dressed.
Dyson also lives in The Park, several floors above me.
It’s a high-rise building on Billionaire’s Row, full of luxury lofts and penthouses.
Two security guards flank me as soon as I walk into his foyer.
They give me the once-over before allowing me into Dyson’s place.
As soon as I walk in, I’m handed a glass of expensive bourbon.
“You look like shit,” he says.
“You’re really one to talk,” I tell him, noticing his exhaustion and the dark circles under his eyes.
His luxury two-story home is full of modern art and furniture that looks like it’s never been sat on.
I follow him to the pool table, where Louis is staring out the large windows at the New York skyline.
He’s six-three and lean from years of polo and scandal, with eyes so blue that they’re almost unreal.
“Patterson Cross.” He flashes a smile, equal parts charm and trouble. “You look like a man who’s been going through it.”
Dyson picks up his stick and returns to their game.
“Prince Louis Adrian,” I say, using his entire name because it annoys him.
“How’s life been treating you?” Louis asks in a European accent that’s hard for me to place. It’s not quite British or French. Maybe a mixture of the two?
“Can’t complain,” I tell him as a striped ball sinks into a corner pocket.
“Saw several pics of you posted online,” Dyson says. “Did you hear what they were saying?”
I groan, realizing the photos from Thursday might have been a bigger deal than I thought. “No. I’ve had no time.”
Dyson nods toward his phone on the bar. “TMZ, Page Six, Deadspin. You’re everywhere. ‘Angels Star Spotted Leaving Exclusive Club with Mystery Brunette.’ They’re running with it.”
“Nothing happened with her. She was drunk, and I walked her to her car.”
“Doesn’t matter what happened.” Louis takes his shot and sinks two solids. “Matters what it looks like. And it looks like you took her home and fucked her brains out.”
“Nick called me about it this morning,” Dyson adds. “Said your image will stay intact. Playboy Patterson, living his best life.”
“He could’ve called me directly,” I say.
After Nick retired from hockey, he began working at his sister’s marketing firm as vice president. Now he lives in a small town in Colorado with the love of his life, but he keeps his finger on the pulse when it comes to my reputation. He’s practically like my older brother. So are these two.
Louis sinks the eight ball and ends the game.
I take a long sip of bourbon and let it burn. “Not the first time that narrative has circulated.”
“You sound frustrated.” Dyson tosses me a cue. “Like someone pissed in your cereal.”
I catch the cue and move to the table, sizing up my options. We rack the balls, and he lets me take the first shot. Solids.
I line up an easy shot on the three ball for the corner pocket. It’s something I’ve made a thousand times. The stick connects, and the ball rolls wide, missing by two inches.
Louis whistles low. “That was tragic.”
“Shut up.”
“No, really. That was genuinely painful to watch.” He leans against the wall, swirling his bourbon before grabbing the pool stick. He sinks three balls before missing. “I’ve seen you run a table half drunk. What’s up?”
“Nothing.” I move around the table, looking for another angle, but my head isn’t in it. Every time I try to focus, I see brown eyes and feel fingers twisting in my shirt and hear that sound she made when I pressed her against the wall.
I miss my next shot too.
Dyson and Louis exchange a look that makes me want to break the cue over my knee.
“All right.” Dyson refills his glass. “Who is she?”
“Who’s who?”
“The woman you’re not telling us about. The one who’s got you missing shots a toddler could make. The brunette in the photos?”
I actually laugh at them. “You’re mistaken.”
“Bullshit.” Louis sinks two more balls before straightening up. “I know that look. It’s the one a man wears when he’s losing his mind over someone he can’t have. Trust me, I can recognize it.”
“Or you’re a pompous asshole who’s surrounded by yes men?”
“Oh, I’m that too,” he offers.
Dyson smirks. “I think Louis is onto something. I’ve not seen you like this in a long time.”
I straighten up my stance. “Drop it.”
Dyson’s voice loses the teasing edge. “Don’t insult us by pretending you’re fine.”
I stare at the green felt of the pool table, trying to figure out how much to say. These two are the closest thing I have to friends outside the team, people who don’t give a shit about my stats or my contract or my brand deals. They just know me.
“It’s complicated,” I say.
“It always is.” Louis gestures with his glass. “Spill.”
I take another drink, letting the bourbon settle my nerves. “There’s someone. Someone I’ve wanted for a long time. Someone I can’t have.”
“Why can’t you have her?” Dyson grabs the bottle and refills our glasses like a perfect host.
“Because she’s off-limits. It could ruin my career,” I say, only giving enough information for them to understand the severity of the situation.
Louis lets out a low whistle. “That is complicated.”
“Does she know?” Dyson asks. “About how you feel?”
“No. But Thursday night, she cornered me at Diamond and kissed me.” I stare at the pool table because I can’t look at either of them.
“And I kissed her back. And I’ve been losing my fucking mind ever since because I can’t stop thinking about it, and I can’t do anything about it, and she’s going to be around for the next three months, working on this project, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to be in the same room with her without—” I stop myself before I say too much.
“Without what?” Louis asks, leaning forward. “Without fucking her against the nearest wall?”
“Without ruining everything.”
The words hang in the air, and I hate how true they are. Kendall Hart is a grenade with the pin already pulled, and I’m standing close enough to catch the shrapnel, no matter which direction I run.
“You should fuck her out of your system,” Louis says casually, like he’s suggesting I try a new restaurant. “Usually works for me.”
“Did you hear anything I said?”
“Sure. I heard all of it. Blah, blah, blah.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Here’s the thing, my man: You’re already fucked whether you act on it or not. Having the feelings is almost worse. So, what difference does it make if you actually follow through?”
“The difference is, my entire life could fall apart—very publicly.”
“So, keep it secret.” He moves closer and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Sometimes, the only way through is through. Make a discreet arrangement. Stop pretending you’re strong enough to resist something you’ve clearly already lost to.”
“That’s terrible advice,” I tell him. “Awful.”
“Is it?” He shrugs. “You think I haven’t been in this position before?
You think I don’t know what it’s like to want someone you shouldn’t have?
The wanting doesn’t disappear because you ignore it.
It festers and rots every part of you from the inside out.
It turns you into a miserable bastard who can’t even shoot pool. ”
Dyson snorts.
“You’re both assholes.”
“We’re your friends,” Dyson corrects. “Which means we’ll give you the truth, even when you don’t want it. Whatever you’re doing right now isn’t working. So, maybe try something different? Take the risk.”
I stare at the pool table, at the scattered balls I should’ve sunk by now, at the game I’m losing because I can’t get Kendall Hart out of my head, no matter how hard I try.
The idea is reckless and exactly the sort of thing that I’d say yes to.
Louis is right about the wanting not going away. If anything, it’s getting worse with every passing day. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending I have this under control.
“Another round?” Dyson asks, already reaching for the bottle after Louis shoots circles around me.
“Yeah.” I drain my glass and hold it out for a refill. “Keep them coming.”
We play three more games, and I lose every single one. By the time I leave Dyson’s place, I’m drunk with Louis’s words echoing in my skull like a curse.
The idea follows me into bed, and thoughts of Kendall pull me into restless dreams. I wake up aching, with her name caught in my throat.
She’s going to be present until the end of the season, and I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to survive her.