Chapter 11
PATTERSON
The rink is empty when I arrive, which is exactly what I expected. Last night, we had a game, which means Saturday is an off day. I volunteered earlier with the kids, then headed straight to the facility to meet Kendall.
This week has been a trap that she strategically designed. The only difference between Monday and now is that Kendall has confirmed she wants me. She showed all her cards when she came on my lap. Just thinking about her breathless moans and how her body trembled against me makes me hard as fuck.
I need to scrub her from my mind before she drives me crazy. I have to stay as far away as I can from Kendall Hart before we do something that can never be undone.
Now I’m wondering how I’ll explain this to my brother or if I should.
I still haven’t told him about the past. And now that he’s mentioning her again, I don’t think it’s a conversation I can have.
If he believes there’s still something between them, I should walk away.
I should take the lick from Coach and skip this session. But I selfishly don’t.
I walk out in full gear with my helmet tucked under one arm and my gloves in the other.
My skate guards click against the rubber mat.
Kendall’s standing at ice level in a light-blue sweater that matches one of the Angels colors.
Her wearing our blue causes something possessive to stir inside me.
Tight jeans cup her ass, and leather boots climb to her knees.
I hate how much I want to peel every layer off her and mark her skin with my mouth. I need to claim her with my tongue.
Kendall’s camera is set up on a tripod, and the cold has turned her cheeks pink.
“You’re early,” she says, amused.
“Thought I’d switch things up. Keep you on your toes.”
“Shocking.” She gestures toward the ice. “Shall we get this over with?”
“Pretty sure that’s my line.”
I grab my gloves, remove my guards, then push off onto the ice.
My body takes over, muscle memory carrying me through long strides until my thighs burn.
I’m tired from playing last night, but this is where everything makes sense.
The world around me falls away, and I don’t think about Kendall or Jameson or the guilt that’s threatening to eat me alive.
I stop hard at center ice and send a spray of crystals into the air. Her camera clicks.
“Now you’re showing off,” she says.
I circle back, skating backward with my eyes locked on hers. “Always for you.”
She rolls her eyes but keeps the camera going.
The next twenty minutes are a performance. I run through drills and tricks while she tracks me through her viewfinder. Every time I glance in her direction, the distance between us does nothing to ease the tension.
“Give me more than hockey player party tricks,” she says. “Something that shows who you are under all the bullshit.”
I skate toward her and stop at the boards. “You want real?”
I pull off my helmet and lift the hem of my jersey to wipe my forehead.
She stares at the tattoo on my chest. The word RUINED sits under my left pec in black script, slightly faded from years of being hidden.
No one has ever asked me about this tattoo.
Not my teammates, not even Jameson. They’ve seen it and looked away because the word makes people uncomfortable, but Kendall stares at it like she’s trying to decode it.
My chest tightens because she’s closer to the truth than anyone has ever been. One word is all it takes. One word exposes my wounds, and it’s proof I’m a shitty brother, and I want things I can never have.
“That’s new,” she says, like she has every inch of me memorized. Maybe she does.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s a fan.
“You’ve been gone for five years, Ken Doll,” I manage. “Lots of things have changed.”
“You haven’t,” she says.
“Oh, I have,” I tell her, and it comes out ruder than I wanted.
I want to say, I’ve changed because of you.
Because you ruined me the moment you walked into this facility, and I’ve never been the same since.
Because I watched my brother date you, propose to you, plan a future with you when it should’ve been me.
Because when you left for Europe, I got drunk and let a stranger carve the only truth I’d never been able to speak into my skin. RUINED.
“What does it mean?” she pushes.
“It’s up for interpretation.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’ll ever fucking get.” I pull my jersey down and feel the nervous energy radiating off of me. “Are we finished?”
She stares at me like she can see through every wall I’ve built.
“Patterson”—she moves past her camera and walks toward me—“I haven’t been able to focus on anything since Wednesday, and I know it’s been the same for you too.”
“Forget it happened.”
“How?” she asks me. “Teach me how to forget you.”
I step off the ice and walk toward her on my blades until we’re inches apart. “What the fuck do you want from me?”
She grabs the front of my jersey and pulls my mouth down to hers.
The kiss catches me off guard, and for half a second, I let it happen, let her tongue slide against mine while the empty arena echoes around us.
But then reality crashes back because we’re standing in the open, where anyone could walk in, where cameras might be recording, where my entire career could end with one photograph.
I grab her shoulders and push her back. “I can’t do this.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Go home, Kendall.”
Something shifts in her expression. She grabs my jersey again and pulls me toward the tunnel that leads to the locker room without another word.
Louis’s voice from that night at Dyson’s penthouse echoes in my head.
“… fuck her out of your system.”
“Make a discreet arrangement.”
I thought it was terrible advice at the time, but now it sounds like the only way I’m going to survive her.
The storage closet is at the end of the hall, and she yanks the door open, pulling me inside.
The door clicks shut, and darkness wraps around us.
The space is small, maybe six by eight feet, and smells like cleaning supplies and old equipment. A faint green glow comes from a charging station in the corner, where battery packs sit plugged in, casting enough light for me to see the shape of her face.
Her hands find my chest, and she looks up into my eyes. “I want to offer you an arrangement.” She says it with confidence.
I tilt my head at her.
“A fuck-buddy arrangement.”
My brow tilts upward, and she has my full attention.
“And how many men have you had an arrangement like this with?”
“You’d be the first,” she admits. “But the truth is, I don’t like you. I actually hate being in your presence. Your attitude grates on my nerves …”
“But?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“But the physical attraction is—”
“Dangerous,” I finish for her.
“Just physical. No feelings, no strings attached. We can help each other.”
I stare at her and wait for her to say she’s joking, but the words never come.
I release a ragged breath. “Your father would never forgive me. And my brother …” I shake my head.
“We tell no one,” she says.
I gently brush her dark hair from her shoulders, noticing the pucker of her lips.
Coach Hart gave me a chance when no one else would.
He saw something in me during tryouts that other coaches missed, and he’s spent years molding me into the player I am today.
He’s the reason I have this career, this life, this beautiful home at The Park.
And his only rule, the one thing he’s ever asked of me, is to stay away from his daughter.
“Don’t think so,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like you. And you’re a terrible liar.”
“I don’t like you either,” she says. “That’s what makes this perfect.”
“So, you want to hate-fuck me?”
“Exactly. I think …” She tucks her bottom lip into her mouth. “We’d have a lot of fun together.”
I stare at her, convinced I’m dreaming. “You’re serious.”
“You know what? Forget it.”
She moves toward the door, and I grab her wrist, pulling her back to me.
Coach trusts me. He defended me when the media dragged my name through the mud. He’s gone to bat for me more times than I can count. And I’m about to betray every ounce of that trust because I can’t keep my hands off his daughter.
But I’ve never been a good man when it comes to her.
“Rules,” I hear myself say. “We need to make them.”
“We text each other when we want to meet up. It needs to stay a secret. I won’t tell Addison, and you can’t tell your teammates, no one.” Her voice is steadier now that we’re negotiating. “Nothing changes in public.”
“Obviously,” I tell her. “We should keep going on dates, like we’re pursuing relationships. This keeps people from asking questions. The paps love me, Kendall. You can never be seen with me,” I tell her. “Ever.”
“Super easy.”
“Now, I need you to understand something.” I step closer until her back hits the wall.
I brush the back of my finger down her cheek.
“You can date whoever you want and kiss whoever you want, but no one else touches you. Your pussy is mine, Kendall. No one else’s.
Not even your own. Every orgasm you have belongs to me. ”
“That goes both ways then.” Her voice wavers, but her eyes stay locked on mine.
“And if one of us finds someone that we want to sleep with or pursue more seriously, this ends. We never discuss it. If you tell anyone, I will publicly call you a liar and humiliate you.”
“Same. But know, at the end of hockey season, I’m considering moving,” she says. “Away from the city.”
“So, I’m your last hurrah before you become a grown-up?” I ask, cockiness dripping from my tone. Knowing she’s considering leaving feels like a punch to the ribs.
That means we have a little over two months. A ticking clock appears in my mind, and it’s counting down to the moment when she’ll disappear again. Instead of feeling relieved, I feel something desperate clawing at my heart.