cameron
“Glaringat your phone won’t make it spontaneously burst into flames.”
“If it makes him feel better, let him be,” Jake murmurs.
“I don’t think it’s working,” Logan whispers back in a not at all quiet tone. “If anything, it’s making it?—”
“Logan, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I willmakeyou shut the fuck up.” I take a brief break from glowering at my phone so I can turn the look on him.
He opens his mouth—clearly not ready to—so I growl to shut him up.
“So help me God, if you’re about to tell me you don’t care because you like it rough, I will break your legs while I’m at it. I have a lot of aggression to burn off and the game’s not until eight.”
With that, I turn back to shooting death beams at my phone.
Jake snorts and takes a sip of his Gatorade. The four of us are sprawled out in Sloane’s office, hiding from the slew of reporters who have already camped outside, waiting for a glimpse of me. Or Logan, because they probably know he has a lot to say.
I scroll through the article on my screen, stomach sinking. Shit. It’s exactly as bad as Kennedy predicted—speculative, invasive, and untrue.
Sources close to the couple say Davies’s investment came shortly before Caplan landed the high-profile Ashford-Chen wedding cake commission. Representatives for the bride and groom could not be reached for comment.
“They make it sound like I bought the wedding for her,” I mutter.
“Because they’re assholes who don’t know what they’re talking about.” Cole snatches the phone from my hand and sets it face down on the table. If my friends think the timing between my relationship and the investment is a little too coincidental, none of them say anything. Not even Logan.
“Investments are an integral part of starting businesses and even maintaining them,” Jake adds. “There’s nothing shady about Kennedy accepting an investment from someone who believes in her. Everyone knows how incredible her cakes are.”
Logan nods. “Agreed. If one of you gentleman offered to invest in my energy drink idea, I’d take that money so fast?—”
“Youhave an energy drink idea?” Jake asks, sounding pained.
“Logan’s Lemon Lightning. Patent pending.”
“Please don’t encourage him,” Cole mutters, head hanging. “He has a logo.”
Despite everything, the corner of my mouth twitches. This—this chaos, this ridiculous banter—is why I love my friends. Even in the middle of my personal crisis, they can make me almost smile.
“For what it’s worth, the guys have your back on this,” Cole says, refocusing the group. “Anyone says shit about Kennedy, and they’re dealing with us.”
“Absolutely,” Jake agrees. “Already told a couple of the younger guys to keep their mouths shut if any reporters come sniffing around the locker room.”
With a groan, I sink back into the plush desk chair. “I don’t know what to do that won’t make it worse. Every outlet in Boston is running this story.The Atlanticfalsely connected it to the Ashford-Chen wedding andTMZis probably drafting their ‘NHL Star’s Girlfriend Gets Preferential Treatment’ headline as we speak.”
“TMZalready posted.” Logan whips out his phone. “They titled the article ‘Bobcats’ Goalie Bankrolls Girlfriend’s Bakery.’ Want me to read it?”
“Logan,” Jake warns, massaging his brow. Turning to me he says, “Ignore him. How’s Kennedy doing?”
Loaded question. I almost bailed on the game tonight. Having to leave her gutted me. If it were an away game, I would’ve. I feel utterly helpless knowing she’s in this position because of me.
“She’s okay.” It’s a lame answer but the only one I’ve got. “Her sister offered to drive up from New York, but Kennedy insists she’s fine.”
“Which historical figure?” Jake asks.
“Amelia.”
“Her other sister is Frankie, right?” Logan shakes his head in awe. “She has a really talented family.”
Jake leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his forehead creased in disbelief. “You do know she and her sisters aren’tactuallytheir namesakes, right?”
