Chapter 28
PATTERSON
Her shower has seventeen bottles in it, and I don’t understand how one person needs this many products.
“This one’s for my hair.” She catches me staring at the lineup while water runs down her back. “That’s for my face. This one’s body wash. Exfoliating and—”
“That’s four. What about the other thirteen?”
She flicks water at me. “We call that self-care.”
“Excuse me, ma’am. I have no room,” I say, threading my fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp.
“Yes,” she says, but she’s laughing when she says it. “Do more of that.”
She pulls me under the spray with her, and I go willingly because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
This is what I’ve always wanted, but she did too. Before the walls fell, she told me that she wanted slow mornings, shared showers, and someone who stayed. I filed it away because I want to make her happy.
Without me asking, she tips her head back. My fingers work through her hair, scratching gently against her scalp, and she makes this sound that I want to hear for the rest of my life.
“If hockey doesn’t work out for you,” she murmurs, “you could charge for this.”
“Oh, babe, if hockey doesn’t work out, I’ll become your shadow, but we know that won’t be a problem. I’m the best in the league.”
“And so damn humble about it too.”
I smirk as I rinse the soap from her hair, and she turns to face me, water streaming down her shoulders.
It catches on her collarbone, sliding between her perfect breasts.
Her eyes meet mine, and it’s like the world around us disappears.
This version of Kendall, the one without armor, feels like a gift I don’t deserve. But somehow, I have.
“Jamie’s flying in this morning,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I know.”
“We talked yesterday.” She reaches for the conditioner and works it through her ends. “He knows the deal. Look like a couple; don’t act like one.”
“Good.”
She glances up at me, something careful in her expression. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I can go sit by my dad. Addy would understand. Whatever you want. You have to be at your best tonight. Okay?”
“I know how my brother is.”
“What are you worried about?” she says with a smile, grabbing my cheeks and playfully kissing me, but I don’t smile.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head.
“Do you trust me?” she asks.
“Yes, I do. I don’t trust Jamie.”
“After everything?” she asks with a lifted brow.
“You’re right. Maybe it’s nothing. I’m really glad you’ll be there tonight to see it go down. Supposed to be a close game.”
“Can’t wait to see you kick ass. Protect this face for me,” she says, kissing me sweetly. Her wet body presses against mine, and I melt into her. “Don’t get soft on me, Pattycakes.”
“I won’t,” I tell her, stealing another kiss as we wash one another.
We stay in the shower until the water runs cold, and then I wrap her in a towel. She makes coffee while I get dressed. By the time I’m pulling on my jacket, she’s holding out a travel mug with that smile that still catches me off guard.
“I’ll see you tonight,” she says.
“Can’t fucking wait.”
“And don’t let Damien get in your head. Don’t. He’ll make low blows.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
I take the coffee and steal a kiss before I leave.
She’s wearing my shirt and nothing else.
It takes everything I have to walk out that door instead of carrying her back to bed.
But the day is too important. Right now, I’m three points away from breaking my own single-season record during a rivalry game against the Cobras.
Tonight, there will be a sold-out crowd, and while I live for this, I have to get my head right.
“I’ll see you after,” I tell her.
“I’ll be the one in the Cross jersey.”
“Which Cross? Choose wisely.”
She grins. “You know I’d never root for the Ice Slytherins.”
That makes me chuckle. “Perfect way to describe them. Evil fucks.”
“Be careful out there. You know they play dirty.”
“I will,” I say.
“Love you,” she singsongs.
“Love you more,” I say, shutting the door with a smile, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world.
Some days, I wonder how I did it. I’m living my dream life.
The drive to the arena takes forty minutes, and I spend it visualizing plays, running through defensive matchups, and working on my mindset.
The city flashes past my window, and I think about how much has changed.
Three months ago, I was miserable, going through the motions of being a professional athlete.
Now the woman of my dreams is mine; at this rate, we’re going to the playoffs, and I’m about to beat records.
I never knew life could be like this, and I didn’t think I was capable of ever loving so deeply.
I meet with every coach before the game, and we talk out plays in the locker room as we get ready.
Eventually, the arena will smell like popcorn with twenty thousand bodies packed into the seats.
The ice gleams under the lights, fresh from the Zamboni, perfect and unmarked and waiting for me to tear it apart.
I start my pregame routine, same as always.
Tape my stick. Stretch my legs. Visualize the goals I’m going to score.
I imagine us winning. For weeks, we’ve been undefeated.
Callan appears beside me while I’m rolling out my shoulders. “You ready?”
“Please. I was born ready.”
He studies me with that gaze that doesn’t miss anything. “You seem lighter. Happier. Like you’re getting laid regularly.”
“Focus on the game, Cap.”
He grins. “That’s a confirmation. You and Mila?”
“That’s me telling you to mind the business that pays you, which isn’t me.” I give him a smirk. “I just make you look good.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know it’s not her,” he says, fucking with me.
“Yeah? Then who?” I ask, knowing he doesn’t know anything. We’ve been careful.
He skates off, laughing, and I finish my stretches, bouncing on my toes, feeling the energy build.
The crowd is already loud, chanting something I can’t make out from down here.
The bass from the sound system vibrates through the concrete and into my bones.
Tonight is going to be a good night. I can feel it.
Twenty minutes before puck drop, I’m in the tunnel, doing my final stretches, when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Have you seen Jameson?” Her voice echoes off the concrete. “He’s about this tall, really boring, and looks like you?”
I turn, and she’s there in jeans and my jersey. Hair falls around her shoulders, and the sight of her stirs up something primal inside me.
“Nope.” I glance left, then right, and she pulls me away around the shadow of a concrete pillar. “But I can take a message.”
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi.” I cup her face and kiss her because I can’t not kiss her. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”
“I have connections.”
“Dangerous ones.”
“I wanted to come wish you luck.” She grins against my mouth. “Stay in your head. And tell Damien Blackwell to fuck himself.”
“In that order?”
“Any order you want. Repeat them if you need to.”
I kiss her again, tasting the coffee she must have had. Her fingers curl into the front of my jersey.
“I love you,” I tell her when we break apart. “Now go sit with my brother and try not to have too much fun.”
“No promises.” She steals one more kiss, then pulls away. “Go get your record.”
I watch her disappear down the tunnel, hips swaying, my jersey hanging to mid-thigh, and when I skate out onto the ice ten minutes later, I feel like I could fly.
That quickly ends.
The first period is a war. Damien is on me from the opening face-off, chirping nonstop, hooking my stick, slashing at my ankles when the refs aren’t looking.
I tune him out and focus on the puck, on my positioning, on the beautiful simplicity of this game I’ve been playing since I was four years old.
The ice is fast tonight, and the boards are alive with the loud crack of bodies slamming against them.
The crowd roars every time we cross into the offensive zone.
I can hear individual voices screaming my name.
The smell of hot dogs and beer drifts from the concession stands. I try to ground myself to this moment.
Midway through the first period, I get the puck on a breakout pass from Callan, and I’m flying, legs burning, wind biting my face.
The Cobras’ defenseman tries to angle me off, but I’m faster, and I blow past him like he’s standing still.
Their goalie comes out to challenge, and I fake left, go right, roof it over his glove.
The horn blares, and the crowd explodes.
My teammates crowd around me against the boards. I’m one point closer to the record.
“That’s one!” Hunter screams in my ear, and we give each other a high five.
I’m grinning so hard that my face hurts as I skate back to the bench. I scan the stands until I find her, on her feet and cheering. Jamie’s beside her with his arm slung casually over her shoulders. Our eyes meet across the arena, and she blows me a kiss that no one else would notice.
I’m on top of the fucking world.
In the second period, I assist on a goal from Wyatt.
It’s one of the most beautiful cross-ice setups that he easily buries.
The kid is beaming when he glides past me.
I tap his helmet because I remember what it felt like to score like that, back when everything was new, and the league still felt like a miracle.
I only need two points now. One away from tying the record. Another one, and I beat it.
Damien slams me into the boards after a whistle, and I laugh in his face because nothing can touch me tonight.
“That all you got? Small-dick energy.”
“Fuck you, Cross.”
“Maybe later. But you’re not my type. Not sure you could get me off,” I throw his way so he knows that Kendall talked to me. If he wants to threaten my girlfriend, fuck him. No secret is safe.
His face goes red, and I skate away, still laughing.