Chapter 27
Hunter
The ice feels different tonight. Not the surface itself, that’s perfect as always, but something in the air. Electric. Like the building knows this game matters more than the others.
We’re facing Sacramento again, the same team that made me lose my shit before. The same enforcer, Marcus Kane, who knows exactly which buttons to push. I can see him warming up on the other end of the rink, throwing glances my way like he’s already planning his next psychological warfare campaign.
Asshole.
The difference is, I’m not the same player I was the last time we played. I’m better. Stronger. The team knows I have their back, and I’m going to have to trust that they have mine.
I promise myself that this game will be different.
I glide through warm-ups, my mind clear and focused. The anger’s still there; it always will be, but it’s controlled now. Channeled. I’m not a bomb waiting to explode anymore. I’m a weapon that knows when and how to strike.
“You good?” Jett asks as he skates past, his golden hair catching the arena lights.
“Yeah,” I tell him, and I mean it. “I’m good.”
Silas appears on my other side, silent as always, but I can feel his presence like an anchor. My brothers. My constants. No matter how fucked up everything else gets, they’re there.
“Kane’s been chirping our rookies during warm-ups,” Silas says quietly.
I look over at the other team’s bench. Sure enough, Kane’s running his mouth at Connor and some of the other young guys. Their faces are tight, nervous.
If this were the last month, I would have skated over there and introduced Kane’s face to the glass. Tonight, I have an alternate plan. I’m gonna trust my boys more to protect themselves. Not to jump the fucking gun and come in slinging fists.
“Let him chirp,” I say. “We’ll answer on the scoreboard.”
Silas gives me a look that might be surprise, might be approval. With my brother, it’s always been hard to tell what he’s thinking.
The anthem plays and we line up on the blue line. I stand between my brothers, feeling that familiar pre-game buzz building in my chest. Not rage this time. Anticipation.
Coach Cross and Coach Ryan have been working us hard, drilling the same systems over and over until they become instinct. Pass, support, move. Trust your line mates. Play as a team.
It’s clicking. Finally.
The puck drops and we’re off.
First shift, I’m out there with Thorne and Grayson.
We forecheck hard but smart, forcing turnovers without taking stupid penalties.
When their defenseman tries to clear the puck up the boards, I’m there to cut him off.
But instead of crushing him into the glass like I normally would, I just take the puck away and feed it to Thorne for a quick shot.
No unnecessary contact. No wasted energy. Just hockey.
“Nice play,” Thorne mutters as we skate back for the line change.
I grunt in acknowledgment. It was a nice play. Clean and effective.
Kane tries his first move eight minutes into the period. A late hit after the whistle, nothing the refs will call but enough to get my attention. He grins at me, waiting for the explosion.
I just skate away.
His face twists with confusion and annoyance. Good. Let him wonder what’s changed.
We’re outshooting them two to one by the midway point of the first. Our forechecking is relentless but disciplined. When they try to make plays, we’re there to break them up. When we have the puck, we’re flying, making them chase.
We’re going to crush this game and grind them into dust.
Grayson scores first on a beautiful feed from Thorne, burying a one-timer that the goalie never sees. The crowd explodes; I genuinely smile as we celebrate. Not the savage grin of violence, but actual joy.
Playing well feels good. I’d almost forgotten.
By the end of the first period, we’re up 2-0. Jett added another goal on a power play where our puck movement was so crisp it looked choreographed. Even Beck’s barking orders with something that sounds like pride in his voice.
“That’s hockey!” Coach Cross shouts in the locker room during intermission. “That’s what happens when you trust each other! When you play as a team!”
He’s right. This feels different from our usual wins. Those were grinding affairs, ugly victories built on individual efforts and lucky bounces. This feels earned. Collective.
In the second period is where Kane gets desperate.
He tries everything. Slashing Grayson behind the play. Crosschecking Thorne in front of the net. Running his mouth at anyone within earshot about their mothers, their girlfriends, their hockey skills.
Each time, our guys handle it themselves. Grayson just skates away, letting Kane waste energy chasing him. Thorne gives Kane a look that could freeze the Niagara Falls and goes back to screening the goalie. The rookies ignore the chirping as best they can and keep playing their systems.
I’m fucking proud of them. That shit’s hard.
Kane scores midway through the period on a lucky bounce off Jett’s pad. It’s their first real scoring chance of the game. You can see the frustration boiling over on their bench. They’re being outplayed by a team they thought they could intimidate.
That’s when Kane targets Silas.
It starts small. A little crosscheck here, an elbow there. Nothing the refs will call, but enough to throw my brother off his timing. Silas is a huge guy, taller even than me. Because of his size, anyone can trip him up more easily.
Which makes him a perfect target for someone like Kane.
I watch it happen from the bench, my hands gripping my stick tighter with each cheap shot. The old Hunter would have hopped over the boards already. But I need to make my violence count when it matters most.
Then Kane goes too far.
Silas is chasing a loose puck in the corner when Kane comes in late and low, catching him flush in the ribs with his shoulder. It’s a dirty hit, the kind that can break bones or worse. Silas goes down hard, gasping for breath and cursing. Kane just skates away laughing.
That’s when I see red.
I’m over the boards before my brain catches up to my body, but I’m not alone this time. Thorne’s right behind me, then Jett from the crease, then half the team. We converge on Kane like a pack of wolves who’ve found something threatening their den.
“You got a problem with my brother?” I ask, getting right in Kane’s face.
He grins that same shit-eating grin from last time. “Just playing hockey, princess. Maybe your brother should toughen up.”
But this time, he’s not just facing me. Thorne’s on my right, all six-foot-four of controlled menace. Jett’s on my left, golden hair and dangerous smiles. Even Beck’s here, our captain backing his players. The rookies are behind us, no longer looking nervous or intimidated.
For the first time in my career, I’m not fighting alone.
“Here’s the thing,” I tell Kane, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You want to go after someone, you go after me. But you touch Silas again, and you’ll answer to all of us.”
Kane looks around, suddenly realizing he’s outnumbered. His teammates are there, but they don’t look as eager for this fight as they did when it was just me alone and stupid with rage.
“What, you need your full bench to fight your battles now?” Kane sneers, but there’s uncertainty in his voice.
“Nah,” I say, and I can feel my grin turning savage. “I just wanted them to see this.”
That’s when I drop my gloves.
The fight is brutal but quick. Kane’s tough, I’ll give him that, but he’s not ready for the version of me that’s been channeling anger into my training for weeks. Every punch lands clean and calculated. Every move has a purpose behind it.
I catch him with a right cross that snaps his head back. He tries to tie me up, but I break free and land two more shots to his ribs. When he goes down, I don’t keep hitting. The job’s done.
The linesmen pull us apart, Kane’s nose streaming blood, his jersey torn. He won’t meet my eyes as they escort us both to the penalty boxes.
“Anyone else got something to say?” I call out to their bench.
A quiet, “Fuck you, Huxley!” comes from one of their rookies. Somebody looking to get their ass beat the next time we’re on the ice at the same time. I flip the bird as I hit the sin bin.
For the rest of the game, Sacramento is toast. With Kane nursing his wounded pride in the penalty box, our guys play with complete freedom.
Grayson scores twice more, both goals coming off beautiful passing plays that showcase everything we’ve been working on in practice.
Thorne adds another on a power play, a laser from the point that beats the goalie clean.
Even the fourth line gets in on it. Connor, who’s been struggling with confidence all season, buries a rebound for his first NHL goal. The celebration is worth the price of admission, guys mobbing him like he just won the Cup.
Jett’s perfect in net, turning aside everything they throw at him.
He’s not just making saves, he’s controlling rebounds, starting breakouts.
Beck’s everywhere, blocking shots, winning faceoffs, leading by example.
When one of their forwards tries to run at him, Thorne steps in immediately.
No fighting, just a hard, clean hit that sends a message.
We protect each other now. That’s what teams do.
Final score: 6-1. It’s not even close.
In the locker room afterward, the energy is electric. Guys are laughing, sharing stories from the game, celebrating like we just accomplished something special. And maybe we did.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Beck shouts, still buzzing with adrenaline. “This is how we protect each other! How we play as a team!”
Silas finds me by my stall, working the kinks out of his shoulder where Kane caught him.
“Thanks,” he mutters.
“Don’t mention it.”
“No, I’m serious. You could have just fought him right away, like you usually do. But you waited. You made it about the team, not just your temper.”
I look at my brother, this thoughtful guy who sees everything and says little. His approval means more than any highlight or stat sheet.
“You’re my brother,” I tell him. “Nobody fucks with family. Nobody fucks with my team.”
He nods. Jett appears, still in full gear except for his mask. “Did you see Kane’s face when he realized the team was ready to go? Beautiful.”
“We’re getting better at this,” I say.
“Yeah. We are.”
We come off the ice, stripping down and debriefing with the trainers. The mood in the locker room is jubilant. It’s contagious. I pad into the media area, and they want to talk about the fight, of course. They always do. They cluster around me, microphones waiting impatiently.
“Hunter, you showed a lot of restraint tonight before that altercation. Can you talk about your mindset?”
“Just playing hockey,” I tell them. “Protecting my teammates when I need to. That’s what this team’s about.”
“Do you feel you’re finding your role within this group?”
I think about it for a second. “Yeah. I think I am.”
Thorne and Beck come in, relieving me and attracting scrums. I move away, spotting Juliet tucked away just outside the press pit. I head toward her eagerly. Even though I know it’s bad, I’m hungry for her after my team’s big win.
I’m still sweaty in my base layers. I know I fucking reek. Waving a hand to stop her, I smirk. “Keep your distance if you don’t want to smell–”
She ignores me, flinging her arms around my neck and kissing me with an intensity that surprises me. When she pulls back half an inch, she looks up at me. “Hell of a game, Hux.”
Holy hell. If I wasn’t hard for her when she kissed me, I was fully erect now. It’s more than a little uncomfortable because I’m wearing a cup, but I ignore that. I cup her face, wanting to drink her in, consume her, any way I could get her.
“You’re so fucking hot,” I breathe. “I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight you won’t walk right for a week.”
Juliet laughs. “Is that a threat, Hunter Huxley?”
“Nope.” I kiss her lips again because she’s so mouth-watering. “A promise. I can’t wait to find out what color panties you’re wearing.”
She flushes. “Who says I’m wearing any?”
Fuck me. “Don’t toy with me, Firecracker.”
“You’ll just have to wait and see if I’m telling the truth.” She hesitates, then changes the subject. “You didn’t take the bait tonight. Kane was all over you for two periods and you just... played hockey. Until he went after Silas.”
“He’s my brother.”
“I know.” She reaches up, her small hands smoothing over my chest. “That’s what made it perfect. You weren’t fighting because you lost control. You were fighting to protect someone you care about.”
Before I can respond, she pulls me down and kisses me. Fast, intense, full of passion. This is real, hungry, like she didn’t get enough of me a minute ago. When we break apart, I’m breathing harder than I was after the fight.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“Because I wanted to.”
I glance around the tunnel. It’s mostly empty now, just a few equipment guys wheeling carts toward the loading dock. No photographers lurking in corners. There won’t be reporters with their phones out. No reason for her to be here except that she wanted it.
That hits me harder than Kane’s best shot ever could.
“There’s nobody watching,” I say, the realization making my chest tight.
“No,” she agrees, her thumb brushing across my bottom lip. “There isn’t.”
She kisses me again, softer this time. I pull her closer and taste something that might be a promise.