Chapter 35
Juliet
Today is a turnaround trip. We fly into Houston, play a game, fly back. It works best with our schedule. Plus, who wants to be in the middle of a Houston ice storm if they don’t have to be?
Calls, scheduling, and trying to wrangle players into media appearances they hate eat my whole day alive.
But I love it. I love shaping a story, showing people the best version of this team, of myself.
I’m still new here, still proving I’m not just Patrick’s ex, and every success is another brick in the future I’m building for myself.
The second I step off the plane in Houston, Hunter is on me like glue. His hand finds my lower back as we walk through the terminal, then my shoulder when we’re waiting for our bags. He even grips my hand when he thinks no one’s looking.
When an airport employee makes the mistake of asking if I need help to find transportation, Hux appears like magic, growling, putting his arm around me as if he’s pulling me out of the way of a speeding train.
“Sorry about him.” I blush and roll my eyes, squeezing Hunter’s biceps. “We’re completely fine. I’m with an enormous group and a shuttle is going to pick us up.”
The guy nods, wide eyed, and disappears. I feel giddy inside at how possessive Hux acts, but I can’t let him see that. Schooling my face, I give him a mock stern look.
“You nearly gave that guy a heart attack.”
Hunter looks down at me, his hand tightening on my waist. “He’s not allowed to hit on you, Monroe.”
“Get a hold of yourself. He was just doing his job.”
“He was about to ask you out. And he was standing too close to begin with.”
“Watch this over the top eye roll to get my reaction to that, Hux.” I roll my eyes all the way back, making sure he sees that I think he’s being silly.
“You’re too nice to random people.” He shrugs a shoulder and puts his arm around my neck. “Stick with me. I’ll keep them all at bay.”
When he flashes a grin afterward, it’s pure lizard brain satisfaction. But I know that grin doesn’t exist for anyone else.
“Yeah, I can see that, caveman.”
He flashes a smile at me, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Asshole.
When the shuttle picks up the team, I sink into a seat, sighing as I look out at the Houston skyline. I took countless shuttles here when I flew back and forth from Seattle to Houston. I’ve never had anybody waiting at the airport for me, though.
Airport pickups were never Patrick’s cup of tea. Can’t say I blame him; the Houston airport is only about 20 minutes from downtown, but we’ll pass nothing but gas stations, grocery stores, and Waffle Houses until we’re practically downtown.
“You okay?” Hux nudges me.
Honestly? I’ve felt better before. I feel weirdly hot; I’ve felt over-warm since we hit the tarmac at Sea-Tac. I think it’s nerves from heading back to Houston and knowing I’m going to have to face Patrick tonight. But I don’t tell Hunter any of that.
“Fine.” I lean my head against his shoulder. “Tired.”
Hux puts his arm around me without comment. I know he’s trying to be supportive. The other players seem to handle me with kid gloves, too. They’ve been treating me like I’m made of glass ever since we got on the plane.
Hunter probably said something to make them act this way. I wish he wouldn’t. Or I wish that he didn’t have to, I guess.
It would be easier if Hunter were cruel. If he mocked me the way Patrick did when I got overwhelmed or anxious, rolled his eyes and told me to get over it.
But he listens. He notices. He remembers the scent I wear and what brand of coffee I like and how I always check a mirror before I speak to make sure my lipstick hasn’t smudged.
And that makes it worse. Because kindness is more seductive than cruelty ever was. It makes me want something more between us, even though it’s insane. Wanting Hunter is like asking someone to put another hole in my head.
Hunter insists on taking selfies with my phone on the drive. He’s never even cared about social media before, but now he’s posing for pictures and making sure our Instagram story shows us together in Houston.
Silently telling Patrick to back off, I think.
“Smile like you actually like me,” he says. He tugs me onto his lap for another shot and hands his arm around my neck.
“I do like you,” I say with a laugh. Suddenly, I realize I mean it more than I should. I really, really like him.
How dare Huxley make me care about him?
He posts them with captions about away games and supporting each other, and I watch the likes and comments roll in. Our fake relationship is so convincing that sometimes I forget it’s fake.
“You okay?” he asks quietly as we’re unloading at the arena. “For someone whose job it is to talk, you’ve been really silent.”
“Fine. I promise.”
He studies my face like he’s cataloging every detail. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” I poke him with a finger. “Stop trying to take care of me, you big brute.”
Hunter grabs our bags, shaking his head, and guides me toward the building.
I can feel a headache creeping in and feel chills that have nothing to do with the air conditioning. Every sound feels louder than it should.
Of all the days for me to come down with something, I swear.
By the time we get to the arena for pre-game activities, I feel like a truck has hit me.
My fever is climbing, my whole body aches, and the fluorescent lights feel like they’re drilling into my skull.
Hux is in the locker room, presumably getting changed or getting some kind of pep talk from Coach Cross.
I walk into the press room, dreading seeing my ex.
The Houston Stars players are just filing in, their press conference before the Havoc’s.
I lift my chin and make hard eye contact with him as he enters the room, tall, dark-haired, and rotten inside.
A sharklike smile breaks out across his face as he heads to the conference table.
He’s smirking like a villain, all confidence and calculated charm. I can’t believe I ever thought that I was in love with him. He’s revolting. When a reporter asks about the dynamics of tonight’s game, he mentions his ex-fiancée, who’s here with the opposing team.
I want to sink into the floor and cease to be, but that’s not a choice I get. I have a very public-facing job. Part of it is going to be dealing with my shit choice in ex boyfriends.
“Juliet’s doing well for herself,” Patrick says. He grins, using the same smile that used to make me feel special. Now it makes my gut churn. “Good for her. Though if she ever wants something real again, she knows she can call me. We all know that what she has with Hunter Huxley is a sham.”
God, I loathe him with every fiber of my being. I roll my eyes, but don’t respond. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But it shakes me more than I want to admit, hearing him dismiss what I have with Hunter as fake. Even though it is fake.
Patrick can’t know that. He can’t see the weakness in me, even if it means trying to hide the symptoms of a brewing illness.
I mop sweat from my brow. My fever climbs higher.
I need to tell someone, but none of the women I would normally confide in are around.
I can’t both Hunter with this either, not when he needs to focus in order to dominate in this game.
So I find Coach Ryan in the hallway outside the press room, looking calm and professional as always.
Sliding up beside him, I rest on the cool wall.
“I need your help.” Hesitating, I decide to give him the short version. “I think Patrick is going to do something hurtful. Someone needs to know in case something weird happens tonight. I… I don’t want Hunter to see him giving me shit and lose his mind.”
Coach Ryan nods, his expression serious. “Say no more. You need anything, you let me know.”
True to his word, when Patrick tries to approach me later near the press area, it’s Ryan who intercepts him. He just points right at Patrick and then beckons to him. “You! Come here.”
Patrick pales slightly. “I’m just trying to talk to Juliet.”
“The fuck you are.” He grabs Patrick’s arm and yanks him close, then murmurs something in his ear. Patrick’s eyes slide to me, but he shakes his head.
Calm and firm, Coach Ryan steers Patrick away without making a scene, physically forcing Patrick to back off.
It’s a good thing, too. I keep stealing glances at Hunter throughout warm-ups. He looks like he’s vibrating under the surface, always one second away from exploding. His movements are too sharp, too controlled, like he’s holding himself back by sheer force of will.
The entire team lines up, grimacing. Something in the Seattle Havoc’s water definitely makes them angry. Not a wonderful sign going into a game where I’m hoping Hux doesn’t demolish anyone. By the time the whistle blows, I’m shivering, my eyes never leaving #47.
Patrick is gunning for him from the first shift. Chirping him, shoving him after every whistle, trying to bait him into a fight. I watch every second, my heart in my throat, bracing for Hunter to snap the way he always does.
But he doesn’t.
He stays calm.
When Patrick shoves him in front of the net, Hunter just shoves back and keeps skating. When Patrick tries to get under his skin with whatever garbage he’s saying, Hunter ignores him completely.
No retaliation. No outburst. He plays clean, focused, and deadly.
And when his eyes flick up to the stands, the tiniest smirk appears. It’s directed at me and no one else. I feel it piece me like an arrow, notched and aimed straight for my heart.
I feel… proud of him. Hunter and I may have started off as the worst enemies, but we’ve both grown. Become something more. Now my heart races at the sight of Hunter making a logical decision not to go after his antagonist.
I don’t know what we are, but we are definitely not enemies.