“You’re done!” the ref shouts. “You’re out of here!”
Damien’s on the ice with a broken nose. I’m breathing so hard that my vision blurs at the edges.
I skate toward the tunnel as the arena buzzes with shock. My teammates stare at me like they don’t recognize me, and honestly, I don’t recognize myself either.
The locker room is empty, and I sit in my stall with my head in my hands while Damien’s blood dries on my knuckles.
My phone buzzes, and I don’t look at it before I turn it off.
I hit the showers, staying under the scalding water until my skin is raw. By the time I’m dressed and heading to the car that’s waiting for me, the game is over. We won. I lost. I don’t care.
I don’t even remember the drive to The Park. I’m let out in front of the building with my game bag in my hand. When I walk into my penthouse, I don’t turn on any lights. I pour myself a whiskey and sit on my couch in the dark. My mind replays the Kiss Cam until I want to put my fist through the wall.
An hour later, a knock comes, but I don’t move.
It’s quickly followed by another one.
29
KENDALL
I’ve only been to his penthouse twice because The Park on Billionaires’ Row has doormen who notice things and security cameras that catch everything. Recently, someone in the building has been sharing things withLuxLeaks, one of the most honest gossip blogs on the internet, so I’ve tried to avoid being seen. A month ago, Patterson added me to the guest list and gave me the code to his door, but I’ve barely used it. I’ve been careful not to blow our cover, but after what I witnessed tonight at that game, I don’t care. Nothing matters but me finding him.
“Patterson,” I say, knocking again. “Please open the door.”
The silence creeps up on me as I punch in the code and let myself in. The penthouse, with its high ceilings and windows, is dark other than the glittering lights of Manhattan. My eyes focus on it because I rarely see the city like this. When my eyes adjust, I notice he’s sitting on the couch with a glass in his hand.
I move forward. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“Why are you standing in my penthouse?” His voice is flat and empty and nothing like the man who kissed me in the tunnel four hours ago.
I find the light switch and flip it. His knuckles are swollen and crusted with blood. His jaw is already bruised where Damien caught him.
“You look like shit,” I tell him, crossing the room.
I sit on the coffee table in front of him, reaching for his hands, but he pulls them away.
“Don’t touch me.” His tone isn’t harsh, but it still hurts.
I stare at him, trying to understand what happened—because this isn’t anger. This is him shutting me out.
“Why are you doing this?”
He stares at the near-empty glass in his hand like it’s the most interesting thing in the room. Eventually, he sighs.
“You’re pushing me away, and I’mnotletting you do that.” I wait for him to say something, anything, but he gives me nothing. “Talk to me.Please.”
He drains the last drops of his whiskey and stands, walking to the window with his back to me. The city spreads out below us, and he stares at it as if he’d rather be anywhere else but here.
I watch him, my heart pounding too hard as the distance between us grows.
“Oh, you’re mad at me.” I don’t phrase it as a question because I already know the answer. “At least tell me why.”
He doesn’t move.
“Patterson.” I move to him, twisting him around to look at me.
I see the accusation in his eyes. He’s looking at me like I did something unforgivable.
