Chapter 18 - Hunter
Hunter
“Tonight, Pittsburgh isn’t coming in for a friendly skate,” Coach said, leaning against the bench, voice carrying through the locker room.
“They’re coming in to prove they’re better than us, and every line, every shift, counts.
Don’t let them dictate the pace. Make them adjust to you, not the other way around. ”
I nodded at the speech, even though my mind wasn’t in the room. Holly’s words from earlier in her office kept hammering in the back of my skull. Her telling me to leave, insisting my feelings had to wait while she did her job. It still stung, sharper than any puck I’d ever faced.
Theo shifted beside me, tossing a towel onto the floor. “You look like hell, man. Get it together.”
I offered a half-smile I didn’t feel. Coach’s eyes swept the room again, resting briefly on me. “Callahan, tonight you’re the wall. Don’t give them an inch. Eyes up, head sharp.”
I exhaled, trying to anchor myself to something tangible: the weight of the pads, the feel of the stick, the sound of the rink doors sliding behind the other guys. Keep it mechanical. Keep it simple. Focus.
The locker room door opened. Holly stepped in, purposeful, poised. But she wasn’t here for me. Instead, she went straight to Coach, tapping a folder in his hand.
“Coach, I need a moment. It’s the post-match presser script. I’ll run you through the points so nothing slips.”
I froze, gaze fixed on her for a fraction of a second. The sudden awareness that she was working with Coach as well as keeping tabs on me made a pit form in my stomach.
She began flipping through the notes, quiet and precise. I got up, sliding toward her, unable to keep my curiosity in check.
“Wait,” I said. “You’re working with him too?”
Holly didn’t look up immediately. When she finally did, her expression stayed calm. “I’m not working with him,” she said, eyes steady. “It’s your story. I’m just making sure it’s airtight.”
“Right,” I said, voice tight, realization cutting in. “Because they might ask him about my dad.”
She just nodded, no words. That simple gesture carried more weight than any explanation she could’ve offered. I swallowed hard, caught in a mixture of relief and frustration.
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but she was already turning toward the door. “I have work to do,” she said over her shoulder.
I hesitated, then followed her out, still processing the tightrope that had been enforced between us. She wasn’t a friend. I wasn’t anything other than a client. The game waited for no one, not for me, not for her, not for the storm that had just passed in my chest.
We filed onto the ice moments later. The rink lights hit me, and the roar of the home crowd vibrated through the boards, under the skates, into my bones. Holly took her seat, observing, utterly contained. No warmth or understanding. Just business.
The puck dropped. Immediately, Pittsburgh pressed.
I was aware of every sound. The slap of sticks, the scrape of skates, the bounce of the puck on ice.
My focus wavered slightly. Our argument replayed in my mind, and it showed.
A pass I should’ve anticipated slipped through a split-second too late.
Theo skated back, hand raised, a silent reminder: focus.
Mason drove the puck up the ice, drawing defenders, while Grayson angled into position, ready to strike. I forced myself to forget Holly, forget my dad, my frustration. One thing at a time: the puck, the crease, the shot.
Pittsburgh’s right wing broke into the zone, eyes sharp, intent clear. I tracked the angle, read the timing, and stretched. The slapshot ricocheted off my glove, sliding safely behind me. Relief surged, but I didn’t let it linger. Another rush was coming.
Minutes later, a turnover at the blue line almost cost us a goal. I reacted instinctively, sprawling, blocking the puck with a precision no one but me noticed. The bench erupted in relief and shouts. I allowed myself a brief nod at Theo, who grinned back, but my mind immediately reset.
The game was neck-and-neck, intensity ratcheting with every shift.
Each time Pittsburgh threatened, I anticipated, adjusted, blocked.
I felt my muscles remembering their movements automatically, but my thoughts kept drifting to Holly.
How calm she was, how professional, how utterly apart from the storm I carried inside.
Late in the third, Grayson picked up the puck in the neutral zone, Mason trailing him.
Their synergy was electric. I watched them from across the ice, silently urging them on.
Grayson feinted, slipped past a defender, fired a wrist shot from the circle.
My counterpart on the other team dove, glove outstretched, capturing the puck as it bounced dangerously near the net.
“Damnit,” I muttered.
A rapid counterattack broke out immediately.
Pittsburgh three-on-one, racing in my direction.
My vision locked on the final attacker, miles from the crease in my mind’s eye.
I predicted the shot’s trajectory, extended my leg, blocked the puck just as it left his stick.
Silence. The crowd didn’t see the brilliance, but I did.
The buzzer sounded. Victory. The team celebrated around me.
Mason slapped my shoulder, Theo shouted, Grayson gave a backhanded fist bump.
But I barely noticed. One thing mattered—I had been steady.
I had controlled the moment when everything else in the world, including my argument with Holly, threatened to derail me.
I skated off the ice slowly, letting adrenaline ebb.
Holly’s presence flashed in my mind, fleeting but perfectly there.
Professional, calculated, distant. Yet her competence reminded me there was a constant amidst the chaos.
Even if walls were back up, even if warmth was gone, she had my story, and I had her efficiency.
I guess I just needed to trust that.
*
“Please, just let me take my car,” I said, holding up a hand as we spilled into the parking lot.
The guys laughed immediately. Tucker snorted, “What’s the big deal? We’re all going to my place.”
Mason shook his head. “I’m with Callahan. The last time we all piled into Tucker’s truck, I had to sit on Shawn’s lap.”
Shawn threw up his hands. “Don’t give me that look. You liked it.”
Mason went pale. “I did not! I swear I did not.”
I tried not to laugh. “Shawn’s lap aside, I don’t want to stay too late. Makes sense to have my own car.”
Grayson groaned and waved them all along. “Quit being babies and get in the truck already.”
Tucker grinned. “You’re one to talk. All mouthy ‘cause you’ve got a night off from your ball and chain. Should I call Josie and ask how big a baby you really are?”
Shawn laughed, elbowing Mason. “No wonder you’re all excited to be sitting in my lap. Josie and Cass are having a girls’ night.”
The three of them erupted into louder laughter, Mason indignantly shaking his head. “I mean it. I’ll walk if I have to.”
I just shook my head and muttered, “I said I’m driving. End of debate.”
“Hunter!”
I turned sharply and spotted Holly standing by her car, head tipped slightly toward me, as if she’d been waiting the whole time. She gestured for me to come over.
Theo leaned against Tucker’s SUV. “Don’t worry, Holly. We’re staying out of trouble tonight.”
Tucker added, smirking, “The only trouble we’re gonna have is the after-effects of my mom’s extra spicy salsa on her famous nachos.”
“Poker night staple,” Grayson said with mock formality, offering a navy salute toward Tucker.
I looked back at Holly. She caught my eye again and tilted her head, nodding. The guys started yelling at me, “No! Don’t go!” “Just say no!” “Stand your ground, Callahan!”
I waved them off. “I’ll be fine.”
I walked toward her, the guys’ laughter fading behind me, though I could still hear the occasional jab from Mason and Shawn. When I reached her, she smiled slightly, calm and steady, like she always did, even if there was tension behind her eyes.
“You’re leaving early,” I said. “Done here?”
“I have a few things to run past Coach before the post-match presser,” she said. “But I wanted to catch you before you left.”
I hesitated, glancing back at the guys who were still joking around near the SUV. “What for?”
“You’ve been invited to a ribbon-cutting event at Lone Star Auto, the biggest dealership chain in Texas. You need to go.”
I frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea with everything about my dad still out there. Do you?”
She leaned in slightly, gaze firm. “Now’s the perfect time. He’s not a person who’s important to your life. The story is spinning itself to show exactly that, and this is the chance to show it publicly.”
I chewed the inside of my lip, thinking of the headlines and the media vultures circling. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I said slowly. “I trust you on this.”
Her lips quirked into a tiny smirk. “Good. That’s what I’m here for.”
I glanced back at the guys, who were still watching, laughing at some inside joke about Tucker’s mom’s nachos, and I realized Holly had managed to pull my focus away from them entirely.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Thanks. For having my back.”
Her expression softened, a brief flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Are you trying to apologize?”
I shook my head, though the corner of my mouth twitched. “What for? Is there something you want to apologize for?”
She shrugged, light but confident. “Nothing to apologize for. I’m just—”
“Doing your job,” I finished for her, and returned the soft smile she gave.
“Exactly.”
The weight I’d been carrying about our argument shifted slightly. It wasn’t gone, but it had been tempered, softened by the clarity and her steadiness.
She turned to leave, giving me a little wave. “I’ll leave you to your extra spicy salsa,” she said.
I stepped closer, impulsively closing the gap. My hand found her wrist, holding her just long enough to feel the tension spike between us. The air seemed to tighten, charged, waiting for something.
“Was there something else?” she asked, her eyes moving from the hand on her wrist to meet my gaze again.
But I chickened out and exhaled, letting go of her.
“I, uh, sorry,” I muttered, my throat tight in a way that had nothing to do with stupid headlines.
“So you are apologizing,” she teased, then flashed a wink before going back to her car.
I stood there for a long second, stunned, watching her go. The tension lingered, unsaid words hovering between us. I shook my head, pulling myself back to reality.
“Hunter! Get your ass in the truck!” Theo called, snapping me out of my trance.