Page 7 of False Play
I knew it was too late to stop the asthma attack that wasstarting to form in the center of my chest, but I always tried my best. The inhaler made my mouth dry and caused bad breath, so I used it as a last resort.
In total honesty—and kind of a trauma-dumping moment—it also made me feel…weak. Like there was something fundamentally wrong with me. The thought itself was insane, because this was a condition I was born with and something I had no power over, but I hated things that were out of my control.
With slumped shoulders and a small, resigned sigh, I entered my office, found my purse, and grabbed my trusty inhaler. I brought it to my mouth and took one puff. The pressure in my chest started to ease slightly after a minute. So, I kept doing puffs every forty-five to sixty seconds until, by the fourth puff, my chest finally felt completely light.
I sat on my desk and shut my eyes as I tilted my head backward with a long, tired sigh.
If those questions were any indication of the narrative the media was about to push, I had my work cut out for me.
THREE
HENRY
BIG, DUMB JOCK WHO COULDN’T KEEP HIS COOL ONCE AGAIN.
The airin Coach Sloane’s office crackled with tension as anger pumped through my veins. I sat in one of the guest chairs as I inhaled and exhaled through my nose slowly. Calming myself down for the second time in the same night was my top priority.
“What the fuck was that!?” Coach Sloane barked as he slammed his fist against his desk with such force the pens rattled.
I knew how this looked. Big, dumb jock who couldn’t keep his cool once again. But the reality was so different. Yet, I couldn’t—didn’t—tell a soul why I had such a drastic reaction.
One single text from my fatherwas all it took for me to allow anger to push me over the cliff and lose myself. Holt certainly didn’t help. But ultimately, I was the only one to blame.
The office door opened, and I looked over my shoulder as Anthony and Kennedy strode into the room quietly.
She took a seat next to me, with brows furrowed and lips thinned as she refused to even cast me a glance. I was utterlyand royally fucked.I could take an annoyed and mean Kennedy any day. But a quiet one? I knew I was in deep shit and it was going to be impossible for me to get off her bad side.
“In my twenty years of coaching, I haveneverhad to deal with such an ill-tempered, manchild!” Coach Sloane roared, his voice echoing off the walls. The vein in his forehead—the one that only made an appearance when he was livid—pulsated visibly.
Most of the guys, myself included, were a bit terrified of Coach Sloane. He was awesome at his job, don’t get me wrong. There was a reason we were all strong and well-rounded players. He worked hard, so we worked twice as hard to prove we deserved a spot on the team. But when his temper made an appearance, the best thing to do was to get on our knees and pray to all the gods known to man for a quick, painless death.
But that quick death was unfortunately not coming to save me.
Anthony leaned against the desk and crossed his arms with a disapproving look plastered all over his face. I honestly couldn’t give much of a fuck about Anthony’s opinion of me at the moment.
Anger simmered beneath my skin at the reminder of Holt’s words.And that fucking text.
My father was a sensitive topic for many reasons. The pedestal people put him on, even twenty years later, was annoying, to say the least. If they knew the truth about the “great” Vincent Anderson, I doubted the throne they put him on would have lasted much longer.
But it was my secret to bear. For the sake of me and my family. Though, if I were being honest, I cared very little about myself.
“What’s the plan, Kennedy?” Anthony asked.
“I strongly advise not having Anderson make any sort ofstatement for now. At this point, we need to show the world with actions rather than words that he’s not a violent man. We can schedule a few photo ops with the charities he donates to. Having him be more involved with the community will help.”
“The last thing I want people to think is that I’m playing nice with these charities for my image. I actually care about these organizations,” I snapped with a cross of my arms.
“You’re in no position to complain when I’m trying to fix the mess you created,” she retorted as she mirrored my pose.
We gave each other a deadly glare. My chest heaved, and my pulse beat against my ear almost too painfully.
Fucking hell, Kennedy was frustrating. I knew she had a point. But I didn’t want to fucking hear it. I wanted to lick my wounds. I wanted to be alone and soak in the consequences of my actions.
A glimmer of irritation crossed her brown eyes. Her stare was so intense, I decided to give in and look away. I was afraid my emotions were going to show more than I wanted to. I’d take any punishment the organization deemed acceptable. As long as I kept the real reasons close to my chest, everything was going to be fine.
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Maybe we can even have him assist with the learn-to-skate kids program at our training rinks some weekends. I think the media would love to see that, and it will help soften his image, too.”
I scoffed. “How exactly do you suppose I do that? The weekends we don’t have games, I have to train.”
