Chapter 35
PATTERSON
Itold Kendall the media would move on, and that they’d find something new to obsess over, someone else to tear apart. She was exhausted and scared and needed to hear something hopeful, so I gave us both that, even though the media was unpredictable.
I was too fucking hopeful.
It’s Tuesday morning, three days since our dinner date, and my face is still on every screen in the city. Jameson is pissed because he can’t go anywhere without being bombarded. This is officially a train wreck.
I’m standing in the kitchen before dawn because I couldn’t sleep anymore. I’ve already run five miles on the treadmill and lifted this morning, hoping it would calm my mind, but here I am, scrolling through headlines I know I should ignore.
PUCK BUNNY OR POWER PLAY: THE DEVIL BEHIND THE ANGELS DOWNFALL
They’re coming for Kendall, dissecting her past, her career, and her relationship with Jameson. That’s the part that makes me want to throw my phone against the wall because seeing pictures of them together still takes me back to a time I want to forget.
The team has lost three games without me. I’ve watched every single one from this couch with Kendall against my side, both of us holding our breath like it might change the outcome. It doesn’t.
I set my phone face down on the counter and start the coffee maker because I need to focus on something else.
The penthouse is quiet, and early morning light creeps through the windows.
Kendall is still upstairs, asleep in our bedroom.
She’s been sleeping a lot lately, which worries me.
Because when Kendall’s happy, she paints, she hums, she laughs more. Sleep is how she hides.
The coffee finishes, and I pour a cup, leaving a mug on the counter for her when she wakes. I settle onto the couch with my laptop.
In a few hours, I have an exclusive ESPN interview that my publicist sent over.
She and my agent gave me the talking points I’m supposed to memorize, along with a list of instructions, such as: Stay calm and neutral, and confirm nothing personal.
Pivot back to hockey when possible. I read through them twice and close the laptop, hoping I don’t make matters worse.
Since the spotlight is on me, my words will be twisted and used to continue the feud.
Kendall comes down the stairs around eight, wearing my T-shirt and nothing else. Her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head. She pours coffee into the mug I left for her and blows on it a second before coming to me. Without warning, she moves to my lap, straddling me.
“Morning,” she says.
“Morning.” I kiss her. “How’d you sleep?”
“Okay.”
She’s lying. I can see it in the shadows under her eyes, but I know she’s not ready to talk about what’s bothering her, which is her dad.
“Interview’s at ten,” I tell her. “You don’t have to watch.”
“I want to.” She takes another sip of coffee. “Have you practiced what you’re going to say?”
She rocks against me, and I smile, growing hard under her.
“That your father and I have a difference of opinion. That I respect him as a coach. That my personal life is personal.”
“It’s very personal,” she says.
I pull her closer. “I won’t trash him on national television. Even if part of me wants to.”
She’s quiet for a minute before she sets her coffee down on the small table beside the couch. “My mom’s been calling.”
“You didn’t tell me that.” I place my hands on her hips.
“I haven’t answered.” She runs her hands down my chest. “She keeps texting that we need to work this out as a family. But if he wanted to talk to me, he’d call me himself. He hasn’t.”
“Ken Doll—”
“I can’t listen to her try to fix this when he won’t even pick up the phone”—her voice cracks—“when he’s too proud to reach out to his own daughter.”
I want to tell her that avoiding her mom is only going to make things harder, but I also know that she’s hurt. She deserves the time to process that without being forced to talk.
“I feel guilty,” I say, kissing her. “I’m the reason you’re in this mess. You had more to lose than I did.”
She leans into me, and we sit there, watching the city wake up through the windows.
“Make love to me,” she says, and I lay her back on the couch.
We don’t talk the rest of the morning. Instead, we lose ourselves in each other and in the pleasure. When the clock hits nine, I get dressed and have my driver deliver me to my meeting.
Getting me mic’d up and ready for TV takes fifteen minutes.
I position myself tall, with my shoulders back, because my publicist said it makes me look “accessible but successful”—whatever that means.
At exactly ten o’clock, the interviewer walks in, and I’m face-to-face with Diana Walton, a reporter who’s been covering hockey for twenty years.
She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries, per usual. “Patterson, there’s been a lot of speculation about your suspension. Can you tell us what happened?”
“Coach Hart and I have a difference of opinion. He considers it insubordination.” I keep my voice even. “That’s all I’m prepared to say.”
“Some sources are saying this is about his daughter. Can you confirm that you’re in a relationship with Kendall Hart?”
“I can confirm that my personal life is personal,” I say, and it rolls off the tongue.
“So, you aren’t dating Kendall Hart? But the photos from this weekend—”
“Were taken without our consent by photographers who had followed us from a private dinner. Tell me, Diana, are you dating every person you have dinner with?” I let a hint of edge creep into my voice because I want them to know I’m not a pushover.
Diana pivots smoothly. “What about the team? The Angels have lost three straight without you. Do you feel any responsibility for that?”
The hockey questions are actually harder than I thought. I stare at her. “I’m responsible for being the best player I can be when I’m on the ice. Right now, I’m not on the ice.” I shrug.
“If your team suspension was removed, would you play?”
I think about that for an awkward amount of time. “I’m not sure how I would answer that.”
I hear one of the camera operators gasp, which means everyone will be talking about that one comment.
“Wait, are you retiring? You’re so close to beating your personal record, but also passing up Nick Banks’ league record.”
I smile at the mention of his name. “My decisions about the future are currently up in the air.”
“But you’re in the middle of negotiating a contract renewal.”
“You’re right. And that’s between Dennis and me.”
She watches me for a long moment. “Do you think Coach Hart is making the wrong decision?”
I pause long enough to consider the question. “I think he’s a man who does what he wants, even when it’s costing him. I respect that about him, actually. He sticks by his word. There aren’t many coaches who do that anymore. Even so, doesn’t mean I agree with him.”
The interview wraps up a few minutes later.
“Your media training? Wow,” she says. “No one will trip you up.”
“On or off the ice,” I tell her, standing and stretching.
“Figure it out, kid. Hockey needs a star like you to keep it interesting,” she tells me, then walks away.
They take off the microphone, and I’m escorted out of the building like a cheap thrill.
I make my way home, and Kendall is at her easel, painting something that looks like a mouth and throat.
My mouth. My throat.
It makes me smile as I move to her, admiring her and her artwork.
“Is this for the gallery you and Addison are putting together?”
“Yes, I think I’m going to try to add more to the collection I started. Maybe I’ll be able to fill the room with pieces of you.”
“Love that idea,” I say.
“So, how was it?” she asks.
“I thought you’d watched,” I tell her.
“Oh, I did. But the Patterson on TV isn’t my boyfriend. Don’t know him. I’m asking you how it went.”
“Quick. Annoying. I honestly hate interviewing.”
“But you’re so good at it,” she says.
“I’m good at everything I do,” I tell her, stealing a kiss.
“I don’t disagree.” She sets her paintbrush and paints down.
By the time it hits the sports networks at noon, Kendall has retreated to the spare room to paint, and I’m alone, refreshing social media like an addict. The headlines start rolling in within minutes.
PATTERSON CROSS brEAKS SILENCE ON SUSPENSION
“HE’S A MAN WHO DOES WHAT HE WANTS”: CROSS ON COACH HART
ANGELS STAR REFUSES TO CONFIRM ROMANCE WITH COACH’S DAUGHTER
The comments are split down the middle, half calling me arrogant and entitled, half calling Coach Hart a tyrant who’s sabotaging his own team. Others call Kendall a whore who collects Cross brothers.
A text from Callan pops up, telling me the locker room is tense for tonight’s game and everyone’s walking on eggshells. I send him words of encouragement and toss my phone on the cushion.
This makes me crawl out of my skin. I should go to the gym, burn off some of this restless energy, but instead, I find Kendall.
“I think I need you,” I tell her.
She immediately stops what she’s doing, and we talk about nothing and everything.
Around two o’clock, I get a text from Addison.
Addison
Turn on Sports News. Now.
I show Kendall. “You don’t have to.”
My curiosity gets the best of me, and I grab the remote and flip to the channel. I expect a replay of my interview or another panel of talking heads dissecting my body language. Instead, Damien Blackwell’s face fills the screen, and my whole body goes rigid.
He’s in a studio somewhere, wearing a Cobras hoodie and that self-satisfied grin I’ve wanted to punch off his face for as long as I’ve known him. The bar at the bottom reads: DAMIEN BLACKWELL SPEAKS OUT ON CROSS SUSPENSION.
“… been saying all along that Cross gets special treatment,” Damien says. “And now we know why.”
The interviewer leans forward. “Can you elaborate on that?”