Page 6 of False Play
The room fell into complete silence at Holt’s comment. Anderson’s nostrils flared, and I waved my hands as I tried to catch his attention. But it was no use. His eyes were unfocused, almost like he had lost himself inside his head.
“I mean, who’s surprised? He has been causing issues since he started playing professionally. We all know he thinks he’s the king of the ice.” Holt kept sputtering bullshit, and I wished I could have grabbed a mic and hit him in the head with itrepeatedly. He was such a fucking asshole and a professional shit-talker. Definitely missed his true life calling.
After a few beats of silence so charged you could cut the tension with a knife, the reporter prompted, “Anderson, any comments?”
His expression remained enigmatic, but his gaze was lost on another planet. He casually grabbed the mic and stood without a word. My heart stammered, and I unintentionally held my breath, bracing for impact.
Holt smirked knowingly and rose from his chair, too. “Aw,shucks, did I hit a nerve?”
Anderson was impossibly tall and easily towered over Holt’s frame, and Holt wasn’t a small guy by any means. But Anderson was over 240 pounds of pure,rawmuscle. I had seen him without a shirt more times than I could count, so I knew what lay underneath all those layers.
He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and a plaid gray suit that on any other man would have looked horrible, but he rocked it. It hugged his broad, strong shoulders and arms and his stone-muscled thighs perfectly. His black hair was soft and perfectly styled, a rare but beautiful contrast to his intense blue-gray eyes and pale skin. His nose was a bit crooked with the number of hits he’d received over the years, and his jaw was strong and chiseled. Countless freckles dusted his cheeks, nose, and forehead, giving him this boyish, innocent look.
That was until he opened his mouth and his cocky personality made an appearance.
His eyes found mine, and a flicker of regret passed through them. In that moment, right before he opened his mouth, I knew the organization was about to spiral into chaos because he couldn’t keep his temper in check.
“If any of you are expecting me to apologize for what happened tonight, that will not be happening.” His eyes zeroedin on Holt, and a smug grin spread across his lips as he stepped even closer. “And Holt?” He threw out a humorless laugh that made every muscle in my body tense. “Let’s make one thing straight—I don’t have to believeanything. IknowI’m the king of the ice. When I step on it, it’s mine—always has been, and always will be. And don’t youeverforget it.” His voice was rough, with an unmistakable angry edge.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
It was worse than I could have ever imagined. There was cocky, and then there was…this.
Holt let out a long, low whistle. “Damn, no wonder your sister?—”
He couldn’t finish his sentence, because Anderson threw a solid punch to his already swollen nose. Holt began to fall onto his back, but Anderson was quick to grab him by the collar to continue his assault. The room became a total zoo as both coaches tried to pull them apart. Their attempts were futile as both players fell over the tables. Every photographer started taking pictures as reporters fired off questions, because if there was one thing about them that was certain, theylovedthe drama.
The coaches were finally able to pull the men apart, and before they could all leave the room, Anderson shouted, “Watch your back on the ice next time, because I’m going to fuckingkillyou.” His eyes were manic and a few darker shades of blue as he threw the words at Holt with venom. I’d never seen Anderson so distraught. Pure, raw, unrelenting anger practically flowed out of him in heat waves, suffocating the room.
“Looking forward to it,dick,” Holt said as he flipped Anderson off, then his coach pushed him out the door and they were finally out of sight.
“Enough!” Coach Sloane shouted. “Let’s go,now.” He pushed Anderson to the backroom exit that led to ouroffices.
“Get everyone out of here,” I said to one of our media interns through gritted teeth. She quickly nodded and got to work.
With the throbbing pain in my chest tightening and my breathing becoming choppier, I quickened my steps toward the same exit Coach Sloane and Anderson used to escape.
The room was still loud as reporters started to rapid-fire questions my way.
“What does the Strikers GM think about Anderson’s attitude?”
“How can we be sure Anderson will keep his head straight during this season?”
I took a sharp turn to address the room. The onslaught of questions died down, and they all stared at me expectantly. I didn’t know if my chest was going to be able to handle it, but it didn’t matter. This was part of my job.
There’s nothing else you can do except for damage control. Take a breather, Kennedy. You got this.
“There will be no comments at this time. Thank you.”
Questions started firing at a rapid pace again, but I turned around and made a quick escape.
“What does this mean for the team?” Was the last question I heard as I shut the door with more force than necessary. I was desperate for the thick piece of wood to drown out the chaos on the other side of the room.
I shut my eyes and took a few deep inhales, but it was impossible to breathe.
The only thing grounding me in the moment was the quiet taps of my heels as I strode toward my office. I needed someplace quiet tothink. Toplan. To calm myself down before I had to face Anderson again.
And to deal with the inevitable.
