Chapter 21
Hunter
Practice is brutal today. Coach is in rare form, running us into the ground with herbies, those suicide sprints that leave your lungs burning and your legs feeling like jelly.
Skate from the goal line to the blue line and back, then to center ice and back.
The far blue line and back, then to the far goal line and back.
Repeat until someone pukes or passes out.
You’ll get no complaints from me. I need the punishment. The noise in my head needs to be drowned out by physical exhaustion. My body has to hurt more than my brain does.
Thorne’s been speaking up more during practices lately, directing lines mid-drill.
As the new team captain, he’s slowly growing more comfortable calling out what he sees and praising players when they do something right.
It’s not perfect, but I’m seeing flashes of the captain he might become.
Coach Ryan too, snapping at guys about spacing and redirecting body position with clipped gestures that somehow work better than yelling.
I haven’t thrown a punch all week. Not even once. Which is probably some kind of record for me.
During a water break, Thorne skates over, looking me up and down. “You’re taking this engagement awfully seriously.”
I grunt and squirt some water into my mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Living with Juliet is supposed to make your life easier, but all I see when I look at you is a man under stress.” Then, after a pause, he adds, “You okay, Hux?”
I shrug it off. “Don’t start getting feelings on me.”
But the question digs in anyway, finds a soft spot I didn’t know was there. Is this engagement taking up a larger portion of my mind than it should? Probably yes.
“Get out here and run the drill again or we’re doing bag skates!” Coach Ryan barks from center ice. Groaning, we all get back to work.
Later, in the locker room, Jett and I are the last ones left. Everyone else has cleared out for lunch or whatever they do with their afternoons. I’m sitting in my stall, still in my gear, not ready to face the real world yet.
“Mom showed up again,” I mutter, just loud enough for him to hear.
Jett sits down on the bench beside me, frowning. “Yeah?”
He doesn’t push for more information. He just listens while he unlaces his skates.
“She grabbed Juliet,” I add. “Pulled her hair.”
That gets his attention. His hands hover over his laces. “Mom hurt her?”
“Not really. But she scared her. It made me see red.”
“Mom’s vile.” Jett finishes with his skates and looks at me. “You’re not alone in this. And you’re not her.”
“I know.” I scrub a hand over my face. “Seeing Juliet scared by my mom doesn’t make me feel good, though.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “It doesn’t matter what Mom says or does. You know who you are. You know Juliet likes you.”
I give him a skeptical look. “Juliet Monroe hates me.”
“Is that what you call it when Juliet keeps sneaking looks at you when you’re not paying attention, biting her lip like she’s eyeballing some dessert she wants?”
“She doesn’t do that,” I snap. A prickle of irritation runs across my skin. “Mind your own business, Jett.”
“Okay.” His smirk speaks volumes, though. “Maybe she looks at all the men she agreed to pretend to be engaged to that way.”
“Fuck off.”
I leave the rink feeling unsettled. Grateful for my brother’s support, but I don’t need him poking his nose into my affairs.
Juliet hates me. I hate her right back. So why the hell do I catch myself thinking about her when I’m supposed to be focusing on the drive home?
Back at the condo, I walk in still damp from the shower, towel around my neck, hair wet and dripping onto my t-shirt. I expect silence, maybe Juliet buried in her laptop responding to emails and avoiding me like she has been since our encounter in the hallway.
Instead, the kitchen’s warm and filled with music playing low. It smells incredible. Garlic, lemon, something roasting in the oven that makes my stomach remind me I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
Juliet’s barefoot, hair up in a messy twist that’s falling apart, wearing one of my old Havoc shirts. It hangs off her shoulder, exposing her throat and collarbone. She’s humming along to whatever song is playing, moving around the kitchen like she belongs there.
I’m caught off-guard, standing as still as a statue, staring at Juliet.
Sometimes I want to tell her everything. The letters I write but never send. I still see my mother’s face when I close my eyes too long. Hear the echo of her voice making promises she never intended to keep.
But what would that do? Juliet would look at me differently. She’d see me like I’m fragile or broken. Or worse, like I’m someone she could fix if she just tried hard enough.
And that’s not what I want. I want to be seen for who I really am and still be desired. And that’s probably too much to ask from anyone, especially someone like Juliet, who has her whole life planned out.
I stand in the doorway and watch her. She bends to pull a pan from the oven, and the shirt rides up. She’s wearing a short skirt underneath, and I glimpse bare skin that makes my mouth go dry.
For the umpteenth time, I hazard a guess that Juliet isn’t wearing any panties. Again. It’s obvious from the lack of panty lines.
My body goes tight, blood rushing south before I can stop it. God, she’s so fucking hot.
Juliet looks over, notices me standing there, and blushes. “Oh. Hey. I figured you’d be hungry after practice.”
She gestures to the counter where two plates are waiting. Salmon with an herb crust, salad, dressing on the side, roasted potatoes, even a small cupcake for dessert. It’s too much. It’s perfect.
“You made me lunch?”
She shrugs as though it’s no big deal. “You’ve been going hard lately. Thought you might want something real before the guys drag you out tonight. The Coven mentioned you all have plans.”
She turns back to the fridge, licking a smear of dressing off her fingertip, and something inside me snaps.
I cross the kitchen in three steps and kiss her. No warning, no buildup. Just my mouth on hers, hands curling around her waist to pull her closer.
Touching her, sweeping my tongue against hers, my body sings with rightness. As if this is what’s supposed to happen.
At first, Juliet melts into it. Her hands come up to grip my shoulders, and she makes this quiet whimper when I lick into her mouth that nearly undoes me.
Fuck, she’s so damn responsive. Immediately, images of her splayed out on the kitchen counter, legs parted as I lick her pussy, come into my head. The sounds she would make, guiding my movements, making me slow down or speed up, make me shudder with want.
I bet Juliet would come all over my chin, her citrus-scented perfume crowding the air around me, her muscles clenched and spasming. I could just push her up on the counter, right here and now, and claim her like I want to.
I think I’m starting to need her.
But Juliet soon pulls back, breathless. “We can’t.”
I press my forehead to hers, trying to catch my breath. “I know.”
She’s breathing fast, looking up at me, her pupils dilated. “This will blow up everything. My maybe-job with the team. Your reputation. We can’t afford that kind of risk.”
I nod, even though every part of me wants to argue. “Fake fiancée. PR stunt. I know.”
“Also...” She closes her eyes like she’s trying to gather herself. “You’re you.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah. I’m a fucking disaster.”
“I’m trying to build something here, Hunter. Something that matters.”
“I know.”
But then our mouths crash together again anyway. This time it’s hungrier, more desperate. My hand slides under the hem of her shirt, fingertips finding the warm skin of her hip. She gasps when I touch her, arching into me.
Needing to satisfy my curiosity, I skim my fingertips up her thigh, underneath her skirt. My fingers run across her outer hip and I’m right, of course. She’s not wearing any panties.
Fuck me. My kisses turn possessive, needing to devour her.
She pulls back again, shaking. “Hunter—”
“I know.” My voice comes out raw. “I know it’s a mistake. I just... I’ve never had anyone do this before.”
“Do what?”
“Make me food. Take the time to know what I want without my having to ask. Just be kind.”
She blinks up at me, eyes wide and confused. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“You didn’t have to try. That’s what makes it matter.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. The way her fingers curl into my shirt leave it rumpled. Her eyes search mine, and for once I don’t look away.
“You keep saying this will ruin everything,” she whispers. “Why?”
I step back just enough to breathe. “Because I’m not good at this. Any of it. Relationships. Trust. Letting someone close.”
She tilts her head. “You’ve had girlfriends before.”
“Not really.” My laugh is short and bitter.
“A few women, here and there. It never sticks. I don’t let it.
” I rake a hand through my damp hair, still tasting her on my lips.
“Every time I let someone in, I end up on my ass. People leave, or they want more than I can give. I’ve gotten good at making sure no one sticks around long enough to hurt me. ”
Juliet studies me, her brow drawn tight. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It’s easier than the alternative,” I say. “On the ice, I know who I am. Off it… I don’t. If hockey disappeared tomorrow, I wouldn’t know what the hell to do with myself. That terrifies me.”
Her breath hitches. “You really think there’s nothing else?”
“Nothing that matters the same way,” I admit. My chest feels raw, scraped clean. “The game is all I’ve got.”
Silence stretches, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then she lifts her chin. “So you stay where you know who you are. I get that.”
I narrow my eyes. “What about you? Why’d you stay with a guy who didn’t respect you?”
The words hit her like a slap. She stiffens, then forces herself not to look away.