Page 13

CHAPTER 13

IRREFRAGABLY

KAYDEN

"You don't have to come with me." I try one last time to get Brant to turn around. He's acting like I've never dealt with the press before. "Besides, you know they'll all just want to talk to me. I bet they won't have a single question for you."

He shakes his head and sighs. "That's exactly why I'm coming with you. You know the types of questions they'll ask."

"Questions like 'how did you get so awesome, Bouchard?' Or maybe 'what advice do you have for all the kids out there who want to grow up to be just like you?' I think I can handle those without you." I pause with my hand on the door to the press room. "What's it like knowing no one wants to be you when they grow up, Branny? Does it hurt?"

From the time I was traded to Salt Lake City, Brant and I have been more than best friends. We've been the brother that neither of us had growing up. That means we're always there for each other, but more importantly, it means we talk trash to each other every opportunity we get.

"Very funny, fuckhole."

"Isn't every hole a potential fuckhole? "

Brant holds the door closed just as I start to open it. "And that's exactly why I'm worried about you in here."

I can't help my grin. "You don't have to be. I've got it taken care of."

"Oh Christ, now I'm so scared I'm pissing myself. What the fuck does that mean?"

"I'll tell you afterward. Don't be mad, okay?"

"Mad?"

I yank the door open far enough that he has to let go or cause a scene in front of the press. Brant hates when the spotlight is on him. And as the best goalie in the league, the spotlight is on him almost as much as it is me. But, unlike him, I embrace it. I slip under his arm and into the press room.

"Kay? What does that mean?" he calls out behind me.

I give him a wink over my shoulder and turn my attention to the people gathered and waiting for us. We're the favorites to win the cup this year, so that means the room is nearly full. I've never seen anything like it in the eight years I've been in the league.

"Sorry. The man you all wanted to see couldn't be here," I announce. "But Sammy Roy wanted me to tell you all that, yes that sliding block he made in the second period really was as spectacular as it seemed, and Brant here owes him at least two rounds because he really saved his butt."

A few reporters around the room chuckle. Probably the ones who know Sammy and know he would never say anything like that. At least not to the press. I have no doubt that he's going to tease Brant about it for at least a week. Just like I have no doubt that Brant would have stopped the shot even if Sammy didn't lay out on the ice to block it first.

Brant just shrugs as he sits next to me at the table. He used to hate doing press availabilities. He would be so tense up here in front of the reporters that they'd be lucky if he said three words, all of which were some variation of fuck. But now he's different—more relaxed, more himself. Because of Lily.

At times, I wonder what it would be like to have someone like that in my life. Someone there when I come home. When I wake up. Someone who has my back even when I don't think I deserve it.

But those thoughts are pointless. That life isn't for me. I'm not boyfriend material. I know how any relationship of mine will end. I've seen it. Tears and screaming. Breaking.

"Oh," I make myself smile as I look back up at the press. "I guess I did pretty alright too, so I think Branny owes me a couple of rounds just for being my spectacular self." I turn to my friend beside me. "I've always been curious—when you're in net watching me, is the game boring because you know I've got your back if you let a couple shots sneak through? Or is it exciting because you get a chance to watch me up close and personal every night?"

Brant rolls his eyes. Another way Lily is rubbing off on him. "It's actually really hard to even see the game around that massive ego of yours. I end up missing most of the action."

A laugh bursts out of me, and I slap him on the shoulder. "We should probably see if these people have any questions. That's why we're here, after all." I spin back in my seat to face the reporters and find a room full of raised hands. Just to the right of the stage, our sports information director points to the first reporter on her list.

After a few minutes of easy questions, I notice that new reporter from The Post, Dave, in the back of the room. His grin is just a little too big as he talks to the person sitting next to him. Dave shows the other reporter something on his phone, and then his eyes flash up to me for a fraction of a second.

A surge of energy rolls through me, just like when I see the other team's top defender rushing to guard me. I stare at him, my lip curled up, as Brant finishes answering a question about his last save of the game. When he's done, the reporter next to Dave—the one he was just talking to—stands up. Do they honestly think I'm going to fall for the fake out? I wasn't prepared last time. I am today.

"My question is for Kayden. Your… proclivities aren't exactly a secret." Our sports information director glares at the man, then looks at me. I give her a quick nod, telling her that this is fine. "But the new owners of the Sting are famous for their family-first image. There are some sources who say this has led to clashes between you and management. Any comment about those rumors?"

I lean into the microphone and then chuckle, so everyone can hear exactly what I think of this question. "I can tell you, irrefragably, those rumors are not true."

The room full of reporters all look at each other. Brant silently mouths the word before covering the mic with his hand. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Too much?" I ask him. "I'm on an email list that sends a new word every morning. That one was from last month. I've been waiting to use it."

He nods. "Too much."

"It means impossible to refute," I tell the reporters once Brant pulls his hand from the mic. "There have been no clashes between me and management because of what I may or may not do in my free time, and I can assure you that there will be no issues in the future either. The new owners and I share the same belief in the importance of family."

Which is why I can never trust myself to have one.

I just planted the seed for the moment Emory and I are ready to go public with our pretend relationship. Every reporter in here is now wondering how I can be sure the owners won't have a problem with me in the future. Maybe I'll plant another seed or two at the next press conference.

Then all Emory and I will have to do is make an appearance somewhere public. The gossiping reporters will do the work for me. They'll fall all over themselves to be the first to tell the sports world that Kayden Bouchard has settled down with one woman, and when I refuse to comment, they'll think that's all the confirmation they need. The story will get out there, and I won't even have to say the word "girlfriend."

Maybe I should go into PR once I retire .

I look up and find Dave with the mic in his hand now, studying me as if he's about to cross-examine me. "You say the owners won't have any issues with you in the future. Does that mean they won't have a problem with your latest puck bunny of the week?" His eyes almost glow as he asks the question. Is he really so determined to make a name for himself that he's just going to make things up now?

I make a show of shaking my head as I lean closer to the microphone on the table in front of me. "I can't police what you say when I'm not around, but please don't use that term when I am. It's derogatory and shames women for having a sex life. Just to be clear, there is no latest woman of the week for me. There hasn't been for a while." Not since January, but no one in this room would believe I've gone nearly ten months without dating.

"So the woman on your arm in this photo—the one you seem to be very, uh, familiar with—I suppose you want us to believe that she's just your long-lost sister?" He holds up his phone, but he's too far away and the harsh glare of the overhead lights makes it impossible to see.

"Without seeing it, I really can't say. Maybe it's an old photo. Or a fake. People can photoshop anything these days."

One of the reporters in the front row slides her phone onto the table in front of me, and my cheeks flare. The picture of Emory and me blazes on the screen. My arm is around her, and I'm kissing her cheek, nearly her mouth. For a second, I forget about the press and wonder what it would feel like to brush my lips over hers. Incredible. The answer comes to me before I finish asking myself the question. Kissing Emory Hopkins would feel incredible. And dangerous.

"Now that you've seen the photo, care to give us your comment?" Dave asks from the back of the room. His grin is back and even bigger than it was before.

I take a quick breath to steady myself. This is fine. Being seen with Emory is all part of the plan. This doesn't change a thing except our timing. "I can tell you that I'm an only child, and even if I had a sister, I would not kiss her like this." Most of the room laughs at my joke.

"So, you admit that this woman is the latest in a long line of women you just date and dump. Do the owners of the Sting know about her? I'd love to schedule an interview with them to see if they have a problem with their star player's behavior."

He seriously can't just put two and two together? "That might have been the mistaken perception of me in the past, but I promise that?—"

"That you've changed." His words are loaded with sarcasm. "Haven't we heard that from every famous man who gets caught misbehaving?"

The sports information director motions to have the reporter's microphone silenced, but it's too late. There's a murmur spreading around the room now, and I have to cut it off before this gets out of hand. "We've been trying to keep things private, but that woman is my girlfriend."

The reporters laugh—all of them—and it sounds so condescending. "Your girlfriend?" One of them yells out. "For this week?"

"No, you don't understand?—"

"Does she know that she's just temporary?" someone else asks.

Brant leans over. "What the fuck is going on, Kay? Is that Emory in that picture?"

I ignore him. "She's not temporary. It's not like?—"

"She's not like the other girls?" It's Dave again. The rest of the room goes dark for me. All I can see is his smirk. "I bet that's what you tell them all."

I stand, pressing my hands flat against the top of the table so no one can see how badly I'm shaking. This man is not going to make me lose my family. I refuse to lose to someone like him.

I just hope Emory will forgive me for this.

"She's not like the other girls because she's my fiancée. She's a very private person, so we tried to keep this quiet. But now the truth is out." My heart beats so hard I wouldn't be surprised if the microphone in front of me picks it up.

"Kay?" Brant's eyes are wide.

I force myself to smile as I look down at him. This man is my brother, and I am not letting some moralistic new owners or a hyena of a reporter take that away from me. I clench my fists. I will not lose this.

"We should go now," I whisper.

He and I walk out, letting the door slam closed behind us as the reporters continue to throw questions at me.

"You really need to tell me what the fuck's going on before we get on that plane."

"I will." I lean against the wall and let my body go limp. "Just as soon as I tell my fiancée. Can you give me her number?"