Chapter 35 #2
The other Havoc players take up the slack that their enforcer leaves.
Silas goes after Patrick in the second period, giving a nasty bloody nose.
Beck gets him with a perfectly legal but bone-rattling hit that makes me wince.
Thorne and Grayson start a brutal onslaught, attacking the puck and any Stars player that gets in their way.
The Stars are so distracted that they don’t have the resources to fight Patrick’s battle.
The team leaders don’t let up for a second, fighting and not taking an inch of shit, leaving Huxley open to score twice.
Connor and Shane even get in on the action, both taking cheap shots at Patrick while everyone else is busy knee-deep in battle.
By the third period, Patrick’s on the bench nursing a bruised ego and what looks like a sore shoulder.
The trainers haul Patrick off the ice. What a man-baby.
I couldn’t care less, though. I turn to watch Hunter like he’s the only person on the ice. During a break in play, Hux looks up into the stands and catches my gaze. I make a heart with my hands and he nods, almost imperceptibly, before turning away.
Is it truthful? Maybe not totally. But it’ll grind Patrick’s gears. Plus, Hux is playing like a hockey god tonight. He deserves to have a girl doting on him and screaming his name in the stands.
When the final buzzer goes off, the Havoc win 3-1. I can’t help jumping up and down and yelling for Huxley, although it makes me feel a little dizzy. Maybe not the greatest idea, but I have to let him know I’m excited for his win.
Hunter coasts off the ice at the end of his shift, chest heaving. The bench is buzzing. No fights, no penalties. Just clean, brutal hockey and a scoreboard to prove it.
Cross meets him at the boards, smacking his shoulder. “That’s it, Huxley. That’s how we win.”
Even Thorne nods, sharp approval in his eyes. “Good work.”
Hunter’s head jerks like he doesn’t know what to do with the words. His mouth tightens, but I catch the flicker in his eyes. Pride. Maybe even hope.
It’s gone a second later, buried under his scowl. But I saw it. And it makes my chest ache, knowing how starved he is for that kind of praise.
The locker room is electric afterward. I can hear the celebration through the walls as I wait in the family area.
“You get a girlfriend and suddenly you’re not threatening to break kneecaps every ten minutes,” I hear Shane saying as the guys filter out.
“Still threatening,” Jett adds. “Just quieter. Polished threats.”
“Fuck off,” Hunter mutters, but he doesn’t sound angry. “She’s my fiancée.”
The word hits me harder than it should. Even though it’s fake. Even though it’s all for show.
I’m Hunter Huxley’s fiancée. At least I can pretend it’s real.
Hunter stays close to me as we board the plane. I’m trying to hide how awful I feel, but my legs are shaking and my vision keeps going fuzzy around the edges.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks as we walk down the aisle.
“Just tired,” I lie.
He keeps a hand on my waist the whole way to our seats, steady and warm and grounding. When we find our seats, I promptly pass out. I have the vaguest recollection of Huxley buckling my seatbelt for me, but everything else is an exhausting haze.
By the time we land in Seattle, I can barely stand. The fever has spiked again, and everything hurts. Hunter helps me off the plane.
He makes a frustrated sound. “Monroe, you can’t even walk by yourself.”
I mumble something about catching a cab to the hotel, take two steps, and stumble.
Hunter catches me instantly, his voice sharp with concern. “That’s it. We’re going to the ER.”
“No,” I manage. “I probably just caught that flu that’s been going around the team. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re barely making sense.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Then I vomit all over the tarmac and go down hard.
When I wake up, I’m back in our apartment, in Hunter’s bedroom. I would recognize the scent anywhere. Everything’s blurry, like I’m looking through frosted glass. The sheets are cool against my burning skin. The lights are dim. Hunter is beside me, holding a cold compress to my forehead.
“Hey,” he whispers when he sees my eyes open. “How are you feeling?”
“Like death.”
“The team doctor came by. She says it’s just a case of the flu. Nothing serious, but you’re burning up.”
I try to sit up and immediately regret it. My head feels like it’s full of bees, and the room spins violently. Hunter’s there immediately, easing me back down.
“Don’t get up, Monroe. Just rest.”
I drift in and out of sleep for what feels like days.
Fever dreams where Patrick and Hunter are fighting and I can’t stop them.
Nightmares where I’m back in Patrick’s apartment and he’s telling me again that no man will ever choose me.
I shake so hard my teeth chatter despite the blankets Hunter keeps piling on me.
But every time I wake up, he’s still there. Bringing me water when I can keep it down. Changing my sheets when I soak them with sweat. Wiping my face with a cool cloth when the fever spikes. Never once looking disgusted or tired even though I’m sure I look disgusting.
He’s just… here.
Two days pass in a blur of misery.
Finally, I stir for real. Everything still hurts, but the fever has broken. I can think clearly for the first time since Houston. I look around and spot Hunter scribbling in his notebook. He looks up when I move.
“What time is it?”
“You’re awake,” he says, relief clear in his voice. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a truck, but better.”
He feeds me a few sips of Gatorade, then some broth, then actual toast when it becomes clear I can keep food down. He changes the sheets one last time and climbs into bed beside me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He turns on old sitcom reruns and gently strokes my hair while I lie there, wrecked but finally on the mend.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I whisper, my voice still weak.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Hunter.”
“What?” He kisses my forehead, soft and careful. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be useful to somebody.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. This man, who seems so confident, so sure of himself, is just as terrified of not being enough as I am of being too much.
I lie there, stunned by the realization.
This started as a favor. A stunt. Now I’m losing sleep over a man who isn’t really mine.
And that’s the problem.
“What are you thinking about?” Hunter asks quietly.
“You,” I admit before I can stop myself.
“Yeah?”
“You took care of me. For two days. You could have gotten sick too.”
“Worth the risk.”
“Why?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, his fingers still moving through my hair. “Because you matter to me. Because when you went down at the airport, I thought...” He stops, swallows hard. “I thought about losing you, and it scared the shit out of me.”
His mouth softens into the smile I know he doesn’t give the world. It’s unguarded, like it belongs only to me. He’s trying so hard to be what I need.
“I thought I was the only one terrified of being too much,” I say. “Of being a burden.”
“You’re not a burden, Juliet.”
“What I’m saying is,” I prop myself on my elbow. “Maybe you’re just as scared of not being enough.”
He goes still. “Maybe.”
Vulnerability isn’t weakness, I realize. It’s trust. And I’m not sure I’ve ever trusted anyone like this before. Not even Patrick, who I was supposed to marry.
“Thank you for taking care of me. For staying.”
“Thank you for letting me.”
We lie there in comfortable silence, watching terrible sitcoms and not talking about the fact that everything has changed between us. That this isn’t fake anymore, hasn’t been fake for a while.
That we’re both falling for each other and trying to pretend we’re not.
“Hunter?”
“Mmm?”
“What happens when this is over? When the five months are up?”
He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. Then he says, “I don’t know. What do you want to happen?”
It’s the question I’ve been avoiding. The one that keeps me awake at night when I should plan my next career move.
“I don’t know either,” I admit.
Lying here in his arms, feeling safer and more cared for than I have in years, I’m thinking I want to find out.
I’m thinking this man, who fixed my sink and held my hair while I was sick and played the cleanest game of hockey I’ve ever seen, might be worth the risk of believing in something real.
Even if it scares me.
Especially because it scares me.
“We don’t have to figure it out tonight,” Hunter says softly.
“No. We don’t.”
But as I drift back to sleep in his arms, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re both already in too deep to pretend this is just business anymore.
And maybe that’s not such a terrible thing after all.