Spite Crush (Rock Hard #2)

Chapter Three

~Kellen~

“When asked about his beef with Kellen Fox, Dempsey admitted that he didn’t know who the man was but added - People come to hockey games to watch hockey. Not to celebrity gossip-watch the stands. So if rock stars or whatever want to come to the games, great. But have some [expletive] respect for the game and stop pulling the attention. It’s embarrassing. There’s been no response from Kellen Fox or HSF to Dempsey’s statement, but we’ll be watching closely to see if this interaction was a one-off, or if there’s more to this story than each camp would like to admit.”

“He has no idea who I am?” I said coldly, turning away from the Hockey Tonight broadcast to glare at Craig. “And what does she mean no response? This is the first I’m even hearing about it.”

“Relax,” Craig insisted, motioning for the rest of the band to stop snickering at me. “You guys just got out a shout out on HT. This is fantastic. ”

“This is crap,” I argued. “I didn’t go to the game for attention. I didn’t even want to go at all. You need to release a statement.”

“Come on, Kel,” Ford said. “Let it go. We’ve got a sound check in like ten minutes and I don’t want you distracted by this.”

“Really, Ford?” I turned my glare on the drummer, who just rolled his eyes at me. “He’s calling me out. I can’t just do nothing.”

“Yes,” Tim insisted. “You can just do nothing. You are going to just do nothing. We’re in Michigan for God’s sake. You can’t start a media slap fight with their hockey darling.”

“He started it!” I snapped at the bassist.

“ He started it ,” Tim mocked me.

“He did,” I insisted. “He flipped me off. He ranted about me on national television.”

“How do you know he didn’t say that offhand to someone else and it’s this Naomi chick trying to make it a spectacle?” Ford asked.

“Who cares?” I shot back. “It’s a thing now. ”

“Are you pissed that he called you out, or that he’s never heard of you?” Tim asked, his tone thick with humor.

Okay, so…maybe I was a little more upset that he’d acted like he didn’t know who I was. Because come on. Not to be overly full of myself, but I was pretty famous. He might have his ruggedly handsome face on some trading cards, but I was a regular feature in Times Square. Plus, my net worth was considerably higher than his, even though he was the highest paid player in hockey .

Not that I’d spent the previous night researching him or anything. Because I totally hadn’t. Well, not for too long anyway.

“Okay,” I said, throwing my hands up in frustration. “Fine. I’ll let it go. But you should all know that I’m not happy about it.”

“Yeah,” Ford said, shaking his head. “I think we’re all clear on that.” He pushed himself to his feet and let out a sigh. “Let’s head down and get started. ”

“I’m right behind you,” I promised as he, Tim and Craig filed out of the room, leaving me alone for a minute.

I knew they were right. I couldn’t keep fixating on what some jerk hockey player had said about me. I had nothing left to prove. We were a few hours away from playing a sold-out show at the same arena the Inferno hadn’t sold out in years. And tonight, everyone in attendance would be there to see me.

So Zak Dempsey really shouldn’t be on my radar anymore.

“Excuse me, Mr. Fox? ”

I’d just stepped out into the hallway and when I turned around, I honestly wasn’t that surprised to see Naomi Rose standing in the hallway with a wide grin on her pretty face.

“Kellen is fine,” I told her. “I assume you’re stalking me now. How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if you’d seen Zak Dempsey’s remarks about you.”

“I did.” I knew Craig wanted me to let it go. Knew Tim and Ford were worried about dragging HSF into a fight that they wanted nothing to do with. But seriously…I was being am bushed on all fronts now and I wasn’t going to go quietly into the night.

“Would you care to comment?” she pressed.

“Ms. Rose,” I said, taking a step closer and holding her gaze. “I’m in Michigan for a good time, not a long time. We’ve got a sold-out show to play tonight and I don’t think anyone wants to focus on an aging hockey player who seems to be more famous for running his mouth than running up scores. I went to the game for the same reason as everyone else last night. If he thinks I was there to steal attention from him, well…that really sounds like a Dempsey problem, doesn’t it?”

“Can I quote you on that?” she asked, a smirk tugging at her crimson stained lips.

“Lady, I’ll Sign it in Blood ,” I promised her, purposely using the title of our current number-one hit in the hopes that she’d mention it on her next broadcast.

“Have a good show tonight…Kellen.” She blatantly raked her gaze over me as her smile wi dened. “And if you’re sticking around town, I could definitely show you a good time.”

“I have no doubt you could,” I said. “Unfortunately my schedule is pretty tight.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed. “One more question, if I could?”

“Sure.”

“What does HSF stand for?”

“Well, that’s the real question now, isn’t it?” I grinned at her before turning and walking away .

Our band name was created as an inside joke, sitting in Ford’s garage when we were teenagers, never even daring to dream we’d become as big as we had over the past six years. It seriously never occurred to us that international fame was even an option.

Then once we blew up, everyone wanted to know what HSF stood for, and we resolutely refused to tell anyone. Not even Craig knew. But the mystery surrounding our name helped with our intrigue, so at this point I was pretty sure he didn’t even care. As long as people were talking about us, it worked for him.

Plus…it was really stupid and we weren’t eager to tell anyone how incredibly nerdy we were in high school.

“Hey, you want to do this or just keep fucking around?” Tim called as I stepped onto the arena floor.

“I can’t want both?” I yelled back.

It was hard to believe that just the night before this whole place had been covered in ice and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over my shoulder and looking at the place I’d been seated, no longer partitioned with plexiglass, but open and waiting for our fans to sit where Inferno fans had been screaming less than twenty-four hours earlier.

I gave myself a moment to wonder if I’d be angry if a camera threw up a shot of Zak Dempsey during our concert, of hearing people cheer for him instead of for us. And then I decided that no, I wouldn’t care. Because at the end of the day they’d shown up for me, and if they wanted to give a scream for his stupid face, that would be fine. I wouldn’t throw a public tantrum about it .

Hopefully this weird pissing match was over and he and I could both go back to doing what we were best at.

Entertaining the masses.

I’d just taken my place on stage and was strapping my guitar over my shoulder when Craig’s dulcet tones echoed through the arena.

“God damn it, Kellen!”

“Oh, come on!” I blew a heavy sigh into the live mic. “How the heck did she already get it out there? ”

“I told you to let this go,” Craig said as he stormed onto the stage. “Did you call her?”

“No!” I recoiled, taking a step back from him. “She ambushed me outside the green room like twelve seconds ago. What did she do, go live from the parking lot?”

“She posted it on the Hockey Tonight website and it’s already been picked up by fucking everyone.” Craig closed his eyes and I imagined he was counting to ten in his head. “Don’t talk to the press. Don’t say Zak Dempsey’s name. And for the love of fuck, Kellen—”

“Okay,” I said, cutting across him. “I really don’t think I’m at fault here, but I understand. Did she mention our song, though?”

“Oh, she wrote a glowing review of the band,” Craig said. “And of you.”

I snorted. That was going to get under Dempsey’s skin. The darling of the hockey press gushing over me instead of him. What a world we lived in. And here I thought the internet was only useful for music and cyber-stalking stupid hockey players…I me an, researching new and exciting things.

“Okay, it’s over,” Craig said. “We’re all done. I don’t care if he goes on C-SPAN and insults your mother. No more comments. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” I said, just wanting this conversation to end. “Would you please stop yelling at me so we can get this sound check done?”

I slid my fingers over my guitar strings, sending a loud vibration of sound through the room, cutting over anything else he had to say to me. We had a job to do and I couldn’t do it while fighting with our manager.

Craig threw his hands up in clear irritation, but turned and stalked off to do whatever it was he did while we were on stage.

****

“You look like shit,” Ford announced.

I was sure I did. I’d been feeling an attack coming on for the last hour and like I always did, I’d been trying like hell to fight it off. But from the tightening in my chest that was getting worse by the minute, I knew it wasn’t going to work.

I should have known considering fighting it never worked, but for some reason my brain just refuses to accept the fact that I can’t overcome my anxiety disorder, or a panic attack, just because I really, really want to.

“I need to get out of here,” I said.

“Where did you leave your meds?” Craig asked.

“Probably on the bus,” I admitted, the words coming out like a hiss as they slithered through my clenched teeth.

“Of course you did,” Ford snapped as Tim huffed out a sigh behind him.

“The locker room is open for you,” Craig told me, his tone thick with irritation. “End of the hall, turn left, head down the ramp.”

I nodded as I walked quickly out of the room. He drove me crazy, but Craig knew me well enough to know that I might forget to take my medication before the show and would probably need somewhere completely private to calm down. He might not like dealing with my issues, but at least he did deal with them.

The further down I headed, the cooler the air became, and I was so grateful for it because I was starting to sweat through my clothes.

I burst into the locker room and dropped onto the first bench by the door, gripping the wood in my fists as I pitched forward and struggled to catch my breath.

I should have remembered to take my pills. Normally I set an alarm on my phone, but I’d been so distracted by this whole Zak Dempsey thing, that I’d forgotten to do that, too. And it wasn’t up to the band to remind me about my own basic care.

As they loved to remind me.

It was stupid. I was stupid. And stubborn. Every time I did something like this I risked not just my career, but my band mate’s careers and everyone who worked for us. They depended on me to keep myself together and I couldn’t even suck it up before a show.

Pathetic .

I sucked in a shaky breath and tried to force my brain to shut up. It was a familiar argument, a typical mental response of degradation to accompany the physical reaction to the attack. But I didn’t know how to make it stop and I was going to have to let the whole thing play through before I could get over it.

And I needed to get over it quickly. Once I was on solid footing again, I could take my meds and hopefully avoid a complete meltdown on stage. But I couldn’t walk outside to the bus in the condition I was in .

My feet bounced against the floor, causing my legs to shake and I bit the inside of my cheek as I begged my body and my mind to just stop already. Blood rushed through my ears and I squeezed my eyes shut as they filled with tears of shame. This was my fault. I’d done this to myself.

Across the room I heard a door open and I looked up to see Zak Dempsey staring at me from the other side of the locker room. My stomach flipped and for a minute I worried that I was going to barf right there in front of him.

That would certainly give him something to talk about.