COACH’S DAUGHTER CAUGHT WITH PLAYER HE BENCHED
PATTERSON CROSS SPOTTED WITH EX-FIANCÉE OF TWIN BROTHER
ANGELS LOSE FOURTH STRAIGHT GAME AS COACH HART CONTINUES POWER PLAY
SOURCES SAY LOCKER ROOM MORALE AT ALL-TIME LOW
IS PRIDE WORTH A PLAYOFF RUN? INSIDE COACH HART’S CONTROVERSIAL DECISION
I love how they’ve made me out to be the villain. As I continue to scroll, I come across a photo of my dad leaving the facility. He looks upset, and seeing him like that makes me want to scream, cry, or do both.
I’ve spent the last week hiding, watching my father’s career crumble on television, telling myself it wasn’t my fault. But it partly is because I purposely pursued Patterson. Even Patterson told me to leave him alone, but I didn’t listen. This is what I wanted and wished for.
Patterson stirs. “Ken Doll?”
I finish my business in the bathroom, then walk out in a T-shirt and panties. He reaches for me, his hand warm on my hip when I sit on the mattress.
“Come back to bed. Let’s snuggle.”
“I can’t sleep anymore.” I turn to look at him, and he must see it on my face because he shifts. “We need to go to Westchester today.”
“Right now?”
“The sooner, the better. I’m done sitting around and doing nothing about this.”
“Mmm. I love it when you’re feisty.” He throws off the covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Welcome back, babe. Where the fuck ya been?”
The fact that he gets up and starts his day like this was going to happen makes me love him even more.
“I know I haven’t been myself lately,” I tell him as he moves to the bathroom.
“It’s okay to go through some shit. We’ll work through it, always, okay?”
He pulls me into the shower with him, and we wash each other in record time. I put on jeans and a sweater and minimal makeup because I want my father to see that I mean business. Patterson wears slacks and a gray henley. Sexy as hell. When he catches me staring, he raises an eyebrow.
“Ready?”
“Ruined.” I grab my bag and head toward the door.
“Same,” he tells me, picking up his keys.
We head to the parking garage, and I see his Range Rover, the one he drove to my parents’ house. Beside it are several other cars, like a matte-black Porsche 911, a navy Jaguar, a white Mercedes G-Wagon, and a cherry-red Ferrari.
“Are these yours?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he tells me, opening my door, and I climb inside.
“I’m learning there’s a lot I don’t know about you,” I say.
“You know the important things,” he tells me.
The drive takes almost an hour with traffic. Patterson’s hand rests on my thigh, and neither of us talks much, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable.
I run through what I want to say in my head, all the justifications and defenses, but the second I imagine my father’s disappointed face, everything flies out the window.
“Whatever happens in there,” Patterson says as we turn onto my parents’ street, “I’m with you.”
“Not sure I could do this without you.”
