Chapter 8 #2
My eyes scan down the list of people I still need to paint. Professionally, Patterson is the most compelling member of the team with a fierce fan club. I’d rather skip him even though he has a raw intensity that’s impossible to ignore. I close my eyes, contemplating my next move.
Right now, he has power over me. I’m in control of this project, and he can’t do anything about it.
Patterson Cross—February 16, 2:00 p.m.
Patterson Cross—February 18, 2:00 p.m.
Patterson Cross—February 21, 2:00 p.m.
This is more than enough to make him lose his shit. No one else has had three sessions. I print the schedule and walk it to the bulletin board outside the locker room. The hallway is empty as I take my time pinning it in place. Each pushpin feels like a small act of revenge.
I step back and look at his name printed in black ink, not once, or twice, but three glorious times. A slow smile spreads across my face.
As if I timed it, the guys leave the locker room, chatting about the game on Thursday. I immediately turn to walk toward the doors at the opposite end of the hall.
I hear a loud, “Fuck,” that’s followed by chuckling from others.
I make it to the next hallway and pick up my pace.
“Kendall,” Patterson hollers. His voice barely contains his rage.
I keep walking, pretending I don’t hear him.
His footsteps come quicker, and he catches up to me. “We need to talk about this bullshit.”
“Nothing to talk about,” I say, holding the strap of my bag tight.
“Three fucking sessions this week?” His voice echoes off the walls as he closes the distance between us. “Why are you doing this?”
I turn slowly, letting him see how unbothered I am, even though my pulse is racing. “You’re the face of the franchise with top merch sales in the league and your own fan club, so it only makes sense that you’d need more time.”
“This is payback, and we both know it.”
“For what exactly?” I play dumb, blinking up at him. “That mistake?”
His jaw tightens because we both know he can’t mention the kiss.
“Change the schedule,” he demands.
“No.”
“I’m serious!”
“So am I.” I take a step closer, refusing to let him tower over me.
“You don’t get to dictate my schedule, and you don’t get to corner me in hallways and bark orders because you’re uncomfortable.
This is my project and my damn timeline, which means I make the rules.
Ones that you’ll fucking follow whether you like it or not. ”
“I’ll talk to Coach about this.”
“Aw.” I make a face at him as a laugh escapes me. The idea of him running to my father over portrait sessions is genuinely pathetic. “You’re going to tell my daddy that his daughter is being mean? That’s really the move you want to make? Get real, Pattycakes.”
His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t back down. “If that’s what it takes to not have to deal with you so much, yeah.”
“Then go ahead. Be my guest. Let me know how that works out for you.” I gesture toward the administrative wing, where my father’s office sits at the end of the hall. “I’m sure he’ll be very sympathetic to your concerns.”
We stare at each other, and the air between us crackles with electricity. I feel the sparks, and I wonder if he does too.
“You’re too used to people backing down from you. I’m not one of your teammates or your puck bunnies. I don’t give a fuck that you’re Patterson Cross. Got it?”
“You’re making a huge mistake,” he says, his voice dripping with venom.
“The only mistake I made was thinking there was something between us.” I hold his gaze. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do.”
I turn and walk away. When he says my name, I don’t stop. The opposite door slams closed, and instead of leaving, I loop back around through the side corridor that connects to the administrative wing. My father’s office is at the end of the hallway, and the door is half open.
I stroll toward it and hear Patterson.
“Coach, you have a second?” His voice is more on edge than usual.
I hear the creak of my father’s chair as he shifts.
“What’s on your mind?”
“It’s about the portrait schedule your daughter posted.”
“And?”
“She scheduled me for three sessions next week, and I’ve got practice and games and media obligations. Three sessions is a lot of time to carve out while also practicing.”
I press my back against the wall and realize I’m holding my breath.
“Patterson.” His chair creaks again, like he’s leaning back to study him. “My daughter has painted for galleries across Europe and for influential people across the world. If she believes she needs three sessions with you, then you’ll give her that.”
“But—”
“This isn’t up for discussion. Now, it’s time for me to have a talk with you. Sit.”
I hear a few footsteps.
“This rivalry you two have needs to stop.”
I have to press my hand over my mouth to keep from saying something.
“Sir, with all due respect, she broke my brother’s heart,” Patterson manages.
“And what does your brother have to do with you? Can you not think freely or have your own opinions outside of his?” my dad asks.
I’m not sure anyone has ever asked Patterson that. The silence drags on.
“We don’t get along,” Patterson says.
“Try,” my father tells him.
“I have.”
“Then try harder,” my dad says. “The team is talking about it. I’ve noticed how tense you get when she’s around. That stops right now.”
“Yes, sir,” he says.
“When it comes to your sessions, you’ll show up and do whatever she asks without one complaint. If Kendall tells me you’re giving her issues, I’m going to be your problem.” My father’s voice hardens. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now get out of my office because I have actual work to do.”
Footsteps approach the door, and I duck into an open conference room as Patterson storms by with barely contained anger, mumbling under his breath. He doesn’t see me, but I see him, and I let myself enjoy every second of watching him seethe.
I wait until my heart has settled and he disappears before I do a little victory dance. Patterson will have sessions with me, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. Dad made sure of that.
As I move through the doors to the sidewalk outside, I grin.
I’m playing the game. And I’ll win.