Chapter 22
Juliet
I wake up to silence. Again.
It’s been a week since Hunter left for the road trip, and I thought I’d love having the apartment to myself.
For the first few days, I did. I could eat cereal for dinner without judgment, watch trashy reality TV without him making sarcastic comments, and work in complete quiet without the sound of him clanking around in the kitchen or grunting through his workouts.
But now? The silence feels heavy. Oppressive. Like it’s pressing down on my chest every time I walk through the living room and see the couch where we’ve been spending our evenings, pretending to be a couple who actually likes each other.
I hate him. I hate the stupid way he invades my space, my life, my head. But somehow I hate the silence without him even more. Ugh. He’s the worst.
I grab my phone from the nightstand, scrolling through the usual morning notifications. Three texts from my mom about LSAT prep courses, two emails about potential job interviews that probably won’t pan out, and one Instagram notification that makes my stomach twist.
It’s a photo of Hunter and some of the other Havoc players at dinner last night. He’s laughing at something Silas is saying, his face relaxed in a way that makes something ache in my chest.
Oh, I definitely have a crush. And that thought terrifies me.
The caption is just a bunch of hockey stick emojis, but there are already dozens of comments from women telling him how hot he looks. Making a face, I screenshot it for our fake relationship Instagram account, then immediately feel pathetic for caring enough to do that.
My phone buzzes with another text from my mom: Have you given any more thought to the December LSAT? Registration closes soon.
I stare at the message, a familiar knot of anxiety forming in my stomach. Law school. The plan I’ve had since I was sixteen. The safe, respectable path that will prove I’m not just a hockey player’s arm candy or some man’s convenient girlfriend.
But sitting here in Hunter’s apartment, wearing one of his old team shirts that I definitely didn’t steal from his laundry, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe I don’t want to be safe anymore.
Maybe I want this. Whatever this is.
I type out a response to my mom about needing more time to think, then delete it. Instead, I scroll to Hunter’s contact.
Me: How’s the road trip going?
I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then immediately regret it. We don’t text each other when he’s away. We’re not actually together. This is all fake, and I need to remember that.
My phone buzzes almost immediately.
Hunter: Exhausting. I can’t wait to get home.
Home. He called it home.
I stare at the message, reading way too much into three simple words. He probably just meant home, not specifically here, not specifically to me.
Me: When do you get back?
Hunter: Tonight. The flight lands at 6.
Me: Cool. I’ll probably be here.
It’s not true. I have no plans except sitting on this couch and pretending I’m not waiting for him to walk through the door.
Hunter: I’ll see you soon, Firecracker.
Firecracker. The nickname that should annoy me, but it makes my stomach flip-flop. I’m definitely losing my mind.
Wanting my day to be productive, I apply for three more jobs, none of which I actually want. I clean the apartment even though it’s already spotless. Then I reorganize my closet and do laundry. Basically, anything to keep myself busy.
By five-thirty, I’m pacing.
By six, I’m refreshing the flight tracker app I definitely didn’t download just to see when his plane landed.
By six-fifteen, I’m sitting on the couch pretending to read a book while listening for his key in the lock.
When I finally hear footsteps in the hallway, my heart does a stupid little jump. I force myself to stay on the couch, eyes on my book, like I’m not hanging on every sound.
The key turns in the lock. The door opens.
“Juliet?”
“In here,” I call, not looking up from my book. Playing it cool. Totally normal and not at all pathetically excited that he’s home.
I hear his bag hit the floor, his footsteps crossing the hardwood.
Then he’s standing at the back of the couch, hair messy from travel.
I try not to seem like I’m checking him out while I pretend that I’m reading.
He’s still in his team tracksuit, looking tired but somehow still annoyingly attractive.
“Hey,” he says. There’s something soft in his voice that makes me actually look up.
I smile. “Hey yourself. How was the trip?”
He shrugs, moving into the room and dropping onto the other end of the couch. “Long. We lost two out of three, so everyone’s in a shit mood.”
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault.” He stretches his legs out. I try not to notice the way his tracksuit pants pull across his thighs. “What’d you do while I was gone? Paint your nails? Have a pillow fight with the girls?”
I roll my eyes. “Hilarious. I worked. Applied for a few PR gigs. You know, responsible adult things.”
“Right. Any luck?”
“Define luck.”
He studies my face. I hate how easily he seems to read me these days. “That bad, huh?”
I close my book with more force than necessary. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t push, which is worse than if he’d demanded details. It makes me want to tell him everything.
We sit in silence for a moment. I can feel the weird tension that’s been building between us for weeks crackling in the air.
“I’m going out with the girls tonight,” I say suddenly, remembering my lie from earlier.
His face does something subtle. A flicker of disappointment, maybe? “Where?”
“Just drinks. Probably start at Ivy’s place, then hit a few bars.”
“Want me to come? We should… uh… probably make an appearance together.”
The offer catches me off guard. Hunter voluntarily spending time with my friends is not exactly his favorite activity. “You don’t have to. You look exhausted.”
“I am exhausted.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But if you want company...”
There’s something in his voice, something that makes me think he doesn’t want to be alone tonight either. Like maybe he missed this too. Missed me.
“The girls would love that,” I say, which is true. Not telling him my actual feelings, which are ecstatic.
“Give me twenty minutes to shower and change?”
I nod, and he pushes himself off the couch with a groan. As he passes behind me, his hand briefly touches my shoulder, and I have to fight not to lean into the contact.
“Juliet?”
I turn to look at him. “Yeah?”
“I’m glad to be back.”
He disappears down the hallway before I can respond, leaving me staring after him and wondering what the hell that meant.
Twenty minutes later, he emerges from his room looking completely different.
Gone is the travel-rumpled hockey player, replaced by Hunter in dark jeans and a black henley that fits him in ways that should be illegal.
His hair is still damp from the shower. He smells like a combination of soap, pine scent, and something distinctly him that makes my brain go fuzzy.
“Ready?” he asks.
I am so not ready. For any of this.
We start at Ivy’s apartment, where the Coven is already two drinks in and gossiping about a scandal involving a local influencer and a married city councilman. Hunter endures their interrogation about the road trip with surprising grace, even laughing when Jessa asks if he brought me back anything.
“Shit,” he says, a smile on his lips. “I knew I forgot something.”
“You were supposed to bring her a souvenir?” Ivy asks, clearly delighted by this development. “How romantic.”
“No,” I blurt. “He wasn’t. We don’t do that.”
“Why not?” Wren demands. “Ryan always brings me something when he travels.”
“Because we’re not...” I catch myself before I say actually together. “Because we’re not cheesy like that.”
Hunter gives me a look I can’t quite read. “I’ll remember next time.”
Somehow, the idea of there being a next time makes my chest tight. Three and a half more months. There should be plenty of opportunities, I guess.
We migrate to The Secret History around ten, claiming the back room like we own it.
Most of the team is there, celebrating being home, and the energy is loose despite their recent losses.
I end up in a corner with Silas and Jett, who are apparently determined to entertain me with increasingly ridiculous stories about their teammates.
“So there’s Hunter,” Jett is saying, gesturing wildly with his beer, “standing in the hotel lobby in nothing but a towel because Shane thought it would be funny to steal his room key and all his clothes while he was in the shower.”
“What did he do?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Walked right up to the front desk like nothing was wrong,” Silas chimes in. “He was basically naked when he asked for a new key in the politest voice I’ve ever heard out of him. The poor desk clerk didn’t know where to look.”
I laugh, picturing Hunter’s face in that situation. “He’s got more confidence than shame, I’ll give him that.”
“That’s Hunter in a nutshell,” Jett agrees. “Zero shame, maximum chaos.”
Across the room, I catch Hunter watching us, and there’s something possessive in his frown that makes my skin buzz. It says that he doesn’t love seeing me laugh with his teammates, even though they’re just being friendly.
The thought shouldn’t thrill me as much as it does.
Ivy appears at my elbow with a tray of shots. “Courtesy of Etienne,” she announces. “He says they’re called ‘Havoc Bombs’ and I’m not allowed to ask what’s in them.”
I take one of the small glasses, which contains something blue and ominous-looking. “This seems like a terrible idea.”
“The best kind,” Wren agrees, grabbing her own shot.
We count down from three and throw them back in unison. The liquid burns going down, but there’s a sweet aftertaste that hits immediately. Whatever’s in these things, it’s strong and fast-acting.