Chapter 24 - Hunter
Hunter
I walked into the locker room, half tripping over discarded water bottles.
The guys were in various stages of kitting up, wrapping sticks, taping gloves, and pulling on pads with their usual chaotic rhythm.
I sat on the bench, pulling my skates tight, but I couldn’t focus on any of it.
Not really. My mind kept drifting to Holly or, more accurately, her absence.
“Callahan, you look more pathetic than usual,” Tucker said, sliding next to me, tossing his helmet onto the bench. “Thought you’d be happier now that your babysitter’s not around to hover.”
I glanced at him, gave a dry half-smile. “Some people don’t need babysitters, Tucker.”
Tucker chuckled. “Yeah, well, some things apparently need a whole PR department to keep from exploding.”
I let that slide, knowing exactly what he meant, but didn’t respond. I was trying not to replay the clip in my head. Or her words. She’d done it to protect the team, she said. Protect the brand. Protect Grayson. Protect the captain. Me? I was just collateral damage.
Grayson came over, pulling his jersey over his head, smirking like he always did when he thought he’d caught me off-guard. “Hey, eyes on the game, Callahan. Can’t have you taking out your drama on the ice.”
I huffed, tying my laces tighter than necessary. “I’m fine,” I muttered, but the edge in my voice betrayed me.
“Uh-huh,” Grayson said, eyebrows raising. “Sure you are.”
“Just—focused,” I said, standing up and brushing past him. “Let’s get this over with.”
Theo, always the observant one, rolled his eyes as he grabbed his helmet. “Focused or pissed off about Chicago? I heard your PR babysitter got herself a gig there because you threw one too many tantrums…”
I didn’t even think about it, just shoved my shoulder into his side. “Shut up, Theo.”
The guys cackled laughter, enjoying unnerving me a little too much.
“See?” Tucker slapped my back hard. “I knew I was right about you missing your babysitter.”
I shook my head and pulled on my gloves, ignoring their chatter as I tried to carve out a mental space where Holly and her betrayal didn’t exist. It didn’t help that every second here reminded me of what I had to prove tonight.
Coach called us together, voice sharp. “Listen up. We’re trailing in the series, two games to one.
That’s not where we want to be. Game 4 is ours to take.
This is the point where we turn the tide or go home.
You know the stakes. Focus, precision, and don’t let mistakes bleed into panic.
You want to show everyone what Surge hockey is? Make it count.”
A few nods, grumbles, and the shuffle of gear. I tightened my chinstrap and glanced around at the guys. Grayson’s eyes met mine, and I could see he was trying to gauge my mood, maybe preempt the shit I might throw on the ice. I gave him a noncommittal grunt. He let it go.
Tucker leaned in. “You’re quieter than usual, Callahan. This isn’t like you.”
“Not in the mood, Tucker.”
“Sure, sure,” he said, grinning like he’d just scored some secret victory. “The Chicago lights got you spinning.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, jerking my stick upright and heading toward the ice.
As we skated out for warm-ups, the tension under my skin didn’t ease.
The crowd noise hit me, and normally, it would’ve sparked adrenaline.
Tonight it just reminded me of everything else: the bar fight, the PR fallout, Holly gone, and how I’d been made the fall guy.
I shoved it down, focusing on the drills, the passes, the puck, but my hands were tighter than they needed to be, and my reflexes were slightly off.
The puck dropped, and the game began in a blur of bodies, blades, and adrenaline. Early on, I got smacked more than a few times, Theo yelling from the blue line, “Get up, Callahan! Eyes open!” I grunted back, a little too sharp, letting frustration misfire.
Then it clicked. A power play. Minnesota pressed hard, their captain wheeling in a cross-ice pass. I dropped low, extending, glove snapping just in time, puck slamming against my chest protector before sliding harmlessly away. Theo picked it up and carried it down the ice, eyes lighting up.
“Counter! Callahan’s got it!” he yelled.
We executed perfectly. I saw my chance to clear, Mason weaving through defenders, the puck on his stick. I launched it down the ice, he juked one guy, then another, and fired a shot that slipped between the goalie’s pads. Goal. The Minnesota Wild barely had time to blink. The crowd erupted.
I skated back to my crease, chest still hammering, adrenaline sparking in places I hadn’t realized were dulled. That goal shifted momentum, and we rode it, every pass and check sharper than before. My focus finally felt right, my edge honed.
Late in the third, Minnesota mounted a furious comeback, crowd roaring, sticks clashing.
One-on-one with their forward, I sprawled, glove and pad blocking a dangerous shot, then scrambled up to intercept a second attempt.
The surge of relief when the puck slid away… god, I hadn’t felt this alive in days.
Finally, the whistle blew. Victory. Two to one, but we’d pulled off the win, and barely.
Everyone skated to each other, shouting and whooping, drenched in sweat and triumph.
I leaned on the boards, catching my breath, mind still half elsewhere.
The win felt good, but so much of it was hollow.
Mostly because Holly wasn’t here to see it.
She wouldn’t get to smile, nudge me, or say something cheeky about my sweaty hair.
I shoved the thought down and skated off with the team, throwing high-fives, smiling for the cameras, but there was a hollow part of me that no scoreboard could fill.
Tucker clapped me on the back, grinning. “Not bad for flying solo, Callahan. Babysitter’s away, but you managed to scrape through.”
I groaned, shaking my head, smirking despite myself. “A win’s a win.”
The locker room had finally emptied, leaving the hum of the overhead lights and the faint scent of sweat lingering in the air.
My gloves lay discarded beside my bag, laces half-undone, pads still clinging to my legs.
I slumped onto the bench, shoulders heavy, heart still thudding from the game but weighed down by everything else.
I hated this. Hated that even after the win, after all the blood and grit we’d put on the ice, I still felt hollow.
I rubbed my face with both hands and tried not to think about her, tried not to think about the way she’d spun that mess to protect the team and the brand.
Tried not to think about how alone I felt now.
“Figured you’d be here.”
I barely looked up. Grayson was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched like he’d just caught me doing something wrong.
“Go away,” I muttered, and kicked my helmet across the floor.
“I don’t think so,” he said, stepping into the room. “We need to talk.”
I shoved my gloves onto the bench, letting the irritation flare. “Talk about what, exactly? About how you set everything on fire at that bar and I got stuck holding the match?”
Grayson’s smirk didn’t waver. “You think that’s what this is about?”
“Oh, come on. Don’t pretend. You know I’m talking about the fight. About how your temper got us in the middle of a circus that—” I cut myself off, exhaling through my nose. “…that I’m still paying for.”
“You need to quit harping on about shit that’s already over, Hunter,” he said. “It wasn’t my choice to do what they did.”
I shook my head, jaw tight. “You’re the golden boy. You could’ve said something. I got made the scapegoat for your damn temper. For the one time you couldn’t walk away.”
Grayson’s gaze hardened. “I’m not here to talk about PR. It’s about the ice. Nothing else matters. Not the pictures, not the spin, not what the media or management or fans think. You can’t let that stuff creep into your game. You can’t let it steal your headspace while you’re out there.”
I sat back, trying to swallow the bitterness that threatened to boil over. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who started it in the first place.”
“Grow up,” he said, voice firm. “Tonight? Tonight you showed what happens when you can’t separate the two.
You let all that stuff stick to your back and nearly ruined the game for all of us.
You’ve got talent, Callahan, but you need to realize the rest of it is noise.
What matters is what happens on the ice. ”
I looked at him, chest heaving, trying to process the words. Part of me wanted to throw him against the wall. Part of me wanted to punch the locker next to him. Part of me… I didn’t know what I wanted anymore.
“So, what? I’m supposed to just forget that I got screwed over? That I got painted as the bad guy?” I asked, voice cracking slightly.
“You think I don’t get it?” Grayson stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“Out of everyone here, I know what that feels like. You have to understand something, though. This isn’t about right or wrong.
It’s about focus. About what you do when the pressure is on, when everything outside the rink is screaming at you. ”
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my jaw from trembling. “Doesn’t feel like enough,” I muttered.
He studied me for a long beat. “It will. In time.” Then he paused, shifting his weight, hands on his hips. “But you need to stop letting the outside world get to you. Stop letting people pull you into drama that doesn’t belong to you.”
I opened my mouth, but he held up a hand. “I’m not done. There’s something else.”
I frowned, bracing myself.
“I’ve been thinking,” Grayson said, tone clipped now. “About leadership. About responsibility. About… what needs to happen next.” He sighed, one shoulder dipping. “Callahan, I’m stripping your co-captaincy.”
The words landed like a hammer. My stomach sank. My head went blank.
“What?” I croaked, voice barely audible.
He nodded, resolute. “I need someone who can keep their head through everything—on and off the ice. You’re too smart, too talented, too emotional. You let the noise from outside the rink follow you in, and I can’t risk that in the playoffs. Not with everything on the line.”
Pressure coiled in my gut, a mix of fury, disbelief, and helplessness. I wanted to yell, to argue, to throw something, but nothing would come out.
“You… you can’t just—” I swallowed, trying to force my voice steady. “You can’t just take it off me.”
“I can. And I am. You’ll still play. You’ll still lead in your own way. But the title? The responsibility? It needs someone who doesn’t let their head get hijacked by the outside world. You showed me tonight that you’re still learning that lesson.”
I exhaled slowly, raw and hollow. My hands shook as I grabbed my stick, trying to focus on anything else. The locker room suddenly felt smaller, the hum of the lights louder, each breath an unwelcome reminder of how alone I felt.
Grayson gave me a long look, then nodded and turned away. “Take it in your stride. You’ll be better for it. And when we’re through with this series, we’ll see where you stand.”
I sat there, silent, staring at the floor. The adrenaline from the game had faded, leaving only the ache of betrayal and the sting of what was lost.
And Holly… Holly wasn’t here to smooth it over.
I let out a long, harsh breath, gripping my stick like a lifeline, and realized the playoffs weren’t just about winning on the ice anymore. They were about surviving everything else too.