Chapter 40
Juliet
I wake up to my phone buzzing like an angry wasp. Notification after notification, text messages, missed calls. I rub my eyes blearily. That kind of digital chaos means something bad has happened.
I sit up, glancing over to find that Hux is gone. I’m not sure when we started spending the night in the same bed, but the emptiness of what should be his space is eerie. Grabbing my phone, I blink several times.
The first thing I see when I unlock my screen makes my stomach drop to my feet.
It’s a video of Hunter from several years ago.
He’s wearing a purple and gold U of W jersey, so it was probably senior year of college.
Hunter and two other players, both dressed in red and white jerseys, are scuffling.
The guy goes down with Hunter on top of him, swinging.
From this angle, it looks like Hux is a giant and he’s beating up on some scrawny kid from high school.
I watch, tense. The third guy yells something inaudible. Hunter leans into the guy on the ground, the thwacks getting louder. I see a fight on the ice that went too far, where he completely lost control. It’s brutal, raw, hard to watch. He looks like a completely different person.
Wild. Dangerous. He’s the kind of angry that scares people.
“Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.” I scroll down.
The comments are outright hostile. People calling him violent, unstable, a ticking time bomb. Some are tagging the team directly. Others are saying this is who he’s always been, that the past few months have all been an act.
I feel sick. Not because I believe any of it, but because I know how hard Hunter has worked to curb his impulses. I know how scared he is of being seen this way again. I know exactly what this will do to him.
What should I do? How can I protect him when this is already out there? My heart is in my throat. I have to figure out how to spin this.
My phone rings. It’s Coach Cross.
“Hello?” I answer, already wincing.
“Juliet. Have you seen the video?”
“Just now. How… how bad is it going to be for him?”
There’s a second’s pause. “It could be bad. The video accumulated half a million views in the three hours since its upload. Havoc needs to come up with a response. I’m calling you personally to make sure you know how much Hunter needs this to just go away.
He’s already skating on thin ice with the league. ”
“The video is damning, sure. But it’s old. Surely the NHL can’t penalize him for it.”
Coach sighs. “Maybe not. But if we don’t make this story vanish, and fast, it’s going to be at the top of the pile the next time he gets so much as a time out.
A minor infraction will bench him. Major infractions will get him kicked out of the league altogether.
The NHL can’t mess around with guys who think are genuinely violent. ”
That makes sense. Last year, a crazed hockey defender in New York essentially terrorized his girlfriend, and the police arrested him. The NHL got shamed when a whole documentary came out about its attempts to downplay some incidents in the guy’s past. They don’t want to get burned again.
“I understand. I’m on my way in.”
“Actually, can you work from home today? I don’t want you walking into a media circus if they’re camped outside the arena. The press knows that you’re Hunter’s fiancée.”
“Right.” I frown. “Yeah, of course. I’ll get a statement together.”
If I’m going to do this right, I need an awesome cup of coffee. I grab my laptop and head downstairs to The Secret History. The doors are open and the lights are on, but I’m the only customer here so early.
étienne looks up from polishing a wine glass behind the bar. “Hi. We’re not open yet.”
I give him a small smile. “What if I just want a cup of coffee while I work? I won’t bother you. I just need to be… not at home.”
His eyebrows rise, but he just nods and waves to the bar.
“Take your pick. Do you want a latte or an Americano?” He waves at the small espresso machine.
“Oh, latte, please.” I slide into a seat. “Oat milk if you’ve got it.”
He gives me a cool smile. “You got it.”
I spend the next half hour crafting a statement. Not a defensive denial or an excuse. Something that acknowledges the truth while highlighting Hunter’s growth.
“Hunter Huxley has been transparent about his past struggles with anger management. What you see in this old footage is not who he is today. Over the past season, he has consistently showed his commitment to personal growth and team leadership. We support players who take responsibility for their actions and work to improve themselves. Change takes time. We’re proud of the progress Hunter has made. ”
It’s calm, careful, defending him publicly without asking permission first. He doesn’t need saving. He deserves someone in his corner.
Then I reach out to the friendliest reporters, the ones who’ve always treated me with some respect. I give them the statement and I seed it with little reminders of Hunter’s charity appearances, his time with kids at the charity tournament, his donation to the SPCA.
I can’t erase the video, but I can bury it under a mountain of evidence that he’s more than one violent clip.
Finally, I log in to the Havoc socials and start reshaping the narrative. I loop Mollie in so that she knows what I’m doing. Then I schedule clips of Hunter smiling with fans, laughing with teammates, dropping autographed jerseys in the stands.
My job is to make sure that when people search his name today, they see more than that brutal fight. They see the man I know.
When I get home that afternoon, the light from the large picture windows is already fading to gray. I find Hunter sitting on the couch in silence, his laptop open in front of him, watching the video repeatedly.
He doesn’t speak when I walk in. He doesn’t look at me either. I can feel the shame radiating off him like heat.
I don’t push. I know Hux too well for that by now. Trying to force conversation or push platitudes will just make him lock up. I just walk over and touch his shoulder gently.
He finally looks at me. The devastation in his eyes makes my chest ache.
“Did you see it?” he asks. His voice is flat.
I nod. “I did.”
“Still want me now that you’ve seen what I’m really like?”
The question hits me like a physical blow. That’s what he thinks? That this video from years ago is his true self and everything else has been a lie?
Carefully, I reach down and turn his face to me.
“I saw the video. It’s not great, I’ll be the first to admit it.
But I also saw the man who comes home tired and quiet and tries to be better every day.
I saw the man who helps his teammates instead of fighting them.
I saw someone who tries to talk through problems first before throwing punches. ”
I run my hand through his hair, soothing him. He’s hurting, and it’s painful to see.
He murmurs, “Juliet.”
“People who grow still carry scars, Hunter. That doesn’t make the growth less real.”
He stares at me like he can’t quite believe what I’m saying.
I sit beside him on the couch, staring up into his face. “I’m proud of you. And I’m not going anywhere.”
That’s when he breaks. Not with rage or violence, but with exhaustion. Like suddenly he’s been holding his breath for hours and now he’s finally let it out. He buries his face in my neck. I can feel his whole body shaking.
Huxley is trembling in my hands. I slide an arm around him, needing to hold him close. He breathes against my skin.
“I’m scared that video is all anyone will ever see when they look at me.”
I rub his back with one hand. “It’s not all I see.”
“What do you see?” he asks.
“I see someone who’s trying. Someone who makes me want to be better too.”
He pulls back to look at me, something vulnerable and desperate in his expression. “You make me want to be the man you see when you look at me.”
“You are, Hux. You already are that man.”
His expression looks so broken. He stands up, offering me a hand. I take it. He leads me to the bedroom, stripping off my clothes, pulling off his shirt. He takes a minute to drag his shirt over my lips, erasing the bright red lipstick I put on earlier.
Hux takes the rest of his clothes off and drops onto the bed. I straddle him, kissing him, wishing that I could take away the pain he’s feeling right now.
When we have sex, it’s not rushed or frantic like it’s been lately. It’s slow. Careful. He touches me like I matter, kisses me like I’m breakable in the best way.
This is what it’s supposed to be like, I realize. It’s a quiet, reverent intimacy. This is what safety feels like. Trust. Not performance, or proof or transaction. Just love, even if neither of us says the word out loud.
This kind of gentle, intimate sex wrecks my composure in ways that fast and desperate never could.
When it’s over, I’m curled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly return to normal. Without warning, I cry.
Not pretty tears. Ugly, gasping sobs that seem to come from somewhere deep inside me I didn’t know existed.
He doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t fix it or make it stop. His hand moves slowly through my hair as he holds me.
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” I manage through the tears.
“You don’t have to know.”
“It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“Hux,” I hiccup. “I’m supposed to h-hate you!”
He brings my knuckles to his mouth and brushes a kiss across them.
“I know, Monroe.”
“I don’t want to love you. I’m not supposed to. You’re a big, mean, awful hockey player and I’m not supposed to want you.”
His lips twitch. “I know.”
“You don’t understand!” I pound a fist into his chest, feeling like a silly child and yet, I can’t stop the words pouring out of my mouth.
“I’ve never felt like a normal girl before, because I never understood what love meant.
And I hate you, but I realize that I don’t hate you at all.
And I’m so mad about it. I’m so mad at you, Hunter Huxley. ”
“I know, sweetheart.” He gathers me against his chest and holds me tightly as I whimper.
“You tricked me,” I say, lips moving against his chest. “You got me to let my guards down and acted all sweet and now I’m falling for you. Are you happy, Hux?”
He’s quiet for a beat. “Honestly? I’m over the moon, Juliet.”
I sniffle, feeling pathetic and raw. The feeling of his arms around me and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek lull me.
For the first time in my adult life, I let someone see every soft, scared part of me. And he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t tell me I’m being too much.
“Better?” he asks when my breathing finally evens out.
“I think so.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Sorry. I don’t usually...”
“Don’t apologize.”
“But I just completely fell apart on you.”
“Good. It’s about time.”
I look up at him, confused. “Good?”
“You’re always so controlled. So careful. It’s nice to see you let go.”
“Even when it’s messy?”
“Especially when it’s messy.”
I settle back against his chest, feeling wrung out but oddly peaceful. Finally, something inside me that was wound too tight has loosened.
“Hunter?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For today. For not being angry that I put out that statement without asking.”
“Are you kidding? You went to war for me. Again.”
“It wasn’t war. It was just the truth.”
“Same thing, sometimes.”
He deserves a kiss for that.