Chapter 6
Hunter
“Hey, number one,” Mason said from two rows up, leaning over the aisle with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. The plane’s cabin seemed to shrink. “Looks like we’ll never have you alone again.”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t even look up from the window, although I knew exactly what he was implying. And yes, the bar the other night stung a little more than I wanted to admit. Though I wouldn’t actually admit it to anyone.
“God, Mason,” Shawn groaned behind me. “Quit with the commentary. Let the man rest.”
Rest? Sure. If by rest he meant a moment where I wasn’t fending off a caffeine-deprived, PR hurricane named Holly who was basically camped out next to me like a human shield.
“You need to study this,” Holly said, sliding into the seat beside me with all the subtlety of a marching band. She dropped a leather-bound folder in my lap with a soft thunk.
I stared at it.
“I’m serious, Hunter,” she said, flipping it open with a crisp snap that somehow made it sound like she was in command of a battle fleet.
“I’ve drafted statements for every possible scenario with the Colorado media: win, lose, injury, fight breakdowns…
including, yes, even the unlikely, but possible, line brawl mid-game. I want to run them all by you.”
“Holy shit,” I muttered. “I thought travel day was for, you know, space. Stretching legs. Pretending we’re not constantly followed by reporters with cameras bigger than my TV.”
“Space?” she said, eyebrow raised. “You’ve got about twenty minutes before everyone’s going to start talking to the media once we land. And if you want your social accounts not to implode, I need your passwords.”
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. This is my life now.
“I don’t need you to—”
“Yes, you do,” she interrupted, already tapping at her tablet like she was building a nuclear launch sequence. “If I don’t control the narrative–”
“What narrative?” I cut her off. “This is hockey, not a UN briefing.”
Her lips pressed into a line. “And you wonder why the press treats you like a problem child.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she said sweetly, flipping through her folder. “You actively contribute to it, too.”
I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms. “I’m good at hockey. PR is… well, that’s your arena. I don’t see why I need to memorize lines about losing a fight I haven’t even had yet.”
“Because you don’t get to pick and choose when things get messy, Hunter,” she said, zeroing in for that bullseye she couldn’t hit at the bar. “You think you’re immune to all this, but I promise you, the media will eat you alive if you’re not ready.”
I didn’t like the way she said eat you alive, but decided against interrupting her tirade. Not while in a confined space, thousands of feet in the air.
“Besides,” she added, tapping her stylus against the folder, “if you just half-listen, we’re going to have major repercussions tomorrow.
Major. Social media will blow up. Fans will freak out.
And God forbid someone misquotes you, because then Bob will have my head on a spike and we’ll both look incompetent. ”
“Whoa.” I held up my hands. “Bob? My head? My incompetence? That’s a lot of hypotheticals for one flight.”
“And yet all of them are real possibilities,” she said, leaning closer to emphasize it. The smell of her perfume hit me just enough to be distracting.
I put the wafts of vanilla out of my head and shot her a look. “You know, it’s shocking that you’re earning money to be this annoying.”
“Funny. I was about to say the same about you,” she said, flipping the page to a set of pre-written quotes. “Win scenario, first question: reporters ask about your early-season form and adjustments made to accommodate the new coaching strategy.”
I tilted my head, forcing calm I didn’t feel. The woman was unshakeable. “And I just… read this like a robot?”
“Or paraphrase it intelligently,” she said. “Option two: lose scenario. Press tries to pin blame on you for team mistakes. Option three: injury. Option four: fighting. You see where I’m going?”
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh, leaning back into my seat. Mason, Tucker, and Shawn started a card game across the aisle. I should have just gone to them. Should’ve just… escaped.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” she snapped.
I obeyed. Just about.
“Ignoring me won’t make this go away,” she said, tapping away on her tablet again. “It’s your responsibility and I’m gonna need you to step up.”
“My responsibility is on the ice. To my team.”
She twisted in her seat so she could glare at me head-on, not satisfied with the sparing side-eyes from before. “Your responsibility is to San Antonio Surge. The brand.”
Theo slid past the aisle with a sly grin. “You two are like an old married couple. Hilarious.”
I wanted to throw a punch at him, but settled for a look that told him I owed him a punch once we touched down. He went to his seat, cackling like a little kid.
Holly didn’t even flinch. “I don’t negotiate, I implement. You’ll thank me later.”
I stared at her. Implement. She really thought she was the captain of some command center. But then I heard Coach’s grumbling up front with Grayson and remembered how he came down on me about this.
“Fine,” I said finally, my jaw tight. “I’ll scan through it before we land.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Scan? That’s it? That’s all I get?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Hunter, you need to commit.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Just twenty minutes, I told myself. Twenty minutes and she’d have to let me go. I could finally just be with the team, and focus on our upcoming game.
“I’m committed,” I said, and pushed back my shoulders.
She didn’t look too convinced. “You are?”
“Yes. Let’s start.” I took the folder from her and flipped through it. “Here. Fighting scenarios.”
Holly studied me closely, as if she wasn’t expecting me to give in so quickly.
Then, realizing my compliance for what it was, she spoke.
And her tone was thankfully softer than before when she said, “The press could be hostile tomorrow. Hypothetically, a brawl breaks out, the ref ejects multiple players. They’ll want your thoughts, and they’ll hold those thoughts against you. Be ready, clear, concise.”
I held up a hand. “Are you aware I’m in the middle of an airplane aisle with teammates watching me get lectured on how to talk about fights?”
“Yes, and that’s why it’s important,” she said. “Because we’re establishing your image before anything happens. Proactivity is key.”
“Image, right.” I lost interest in the folder and tracked the card game instead. “I don’t know why we’re even bothering. Everyone’s going to assume I’m a dick no matter what I say. That’s just how it goes.”
“Maybe that’s because you are a dick,” she said without looking up.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Stared at her.
“Excuse me?”
“Statement five: social media strategy post-game,” she said, tapping the folder like she was hammering stakes into my skull.
“I need your passwords, and yes, I know that’s personal.
It’s essential that you don’t post content I haven’t vetted.
Fans have expectations. Your personal accounts are part of the brand. ”
I leaned forward, voice low. “You’re managing every detail of my life for the season? You can’t expect me to jump for joy over that.”
She met my eyes then, not even a hint of a smile. “I am. And I do.”
*
“You look like a teenager who skipped out on being grounded,” Theo laughed, poking me in the ribs. “Loosen up, man. Tonight’s supposed to be freedom. Fun.”
The club was packed, a furnace of bass and bodies, and I could already feel the tension crackling in the air.
“Easy for you to say,” I said, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “You don’t have to deal with her when she finds out.”
She, being Holly. But I knew Coach wouldn’t be too pleased with the team sneaking out the night before a big game.
“Perfect,” Mason muttered, nudging me. “Friendly rivalry in our favorite environment.”
We all came to a stop. Avalanche forwards leaned against the bar like they owned the place, scanning the crowd for something that smelled a lot like trouble. My fists itched, but it was Holly’s voice in the back of my mind.
“Just move to the back,” I said, and pointed out an empty booth.
The first collision was almost cinematic. One Avalanche guy shoved Mason as he passed, pretending he didn’t see him. I was already moving, shoulder coiling to shove back. But then the air shifted, the faint scent of a familiar perfume cutting through the smoke and sweat.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she shot back, grabbing my sleeve and pulling hard.
“What’s the matter, number one? Did Mommy catch you out past your bedtime?” one of the Avalanche guys sang in our direction.
His crew laughed, and the biggest one stepped out of the crowd, greedy, beady eyes raking over Holly’s body. Fire burned in my gut.
“If you’d like, I won’t mind keeping Mommy occupied while you and your kindergarten class finish your field trip.” His voice dripped with innuendo that made my skin crawl.
“Shut the fuck up.” Her icy delivery drew gasps from Surge and Avalanche players alike. Then she turned to me, hand still gripping my arm. “Hunter. Now.”
I resisted. No way was I gonna let her lead me out of here after all this. “We just got here. I’m not leaving.”
“Don’t make me say it again.” Her tone left no room for argument.
I bristled. “Not happening. My night’s not over.”
“You’re not a kid, Hunter. But your night is over,” she said, firm and precise. The words were so controlled, so perfectly executed, that my entire body wanted to push back, to argue, to test her limits.
And then the first shove happened. Avalanche guy closing in, smirk stretched wide, Mason’s arm on my chest trying to hold me back. My muscles wanted to move, my brain screamed, and Holly’s grip tightened—not painfully, but enough to make me acutely aware of her proximity.
She didn’t even blink. “Move,” she ordered.
I swore under my breath, my eyes flicking to her. I wanted to kick something, yet the mix of frustration and… something else made me clench my jaw. Infuriating.
Another shove from the Avalanche guy, and my fists clenched instinctively.
Mason and Theo were shouting something behind me, but I only caught fragments.
Tucker and Shawn threw themselves head first into a bunch of guys asking for it.
Holly tugged again, and for a second I felt like a toddler being yanked out of trouble.
“Walk with me,” she said, voice low but carrying over the chaos. “I mean it.”
I stopped, planted my feet. “I said I’m not done. I’m not leaving.”
“Yes, you are,” she said, stepping right in front of me, blocking my path with precision. “Because if you don’t, someone’s going to get hurt. And I don’t mean you.”
I stared at her, caught between pride and reason. She was small, but in this moment, she had the power of a hurricane. I tried to resist, really tried, but the push from the crowd, the Avalanche guys taunting us, the sharp certainty in her eyes—it was too much.
The rest of the club slowed as they noticed the fight gaining momentum, and her hand gripped my arm again. I stumbled after her, letting my irritation flare.
“You’re insane,” I muttered.
“And you’re reckless,” she shot back without missing a step, dragging me through the pressing crowd.
My friends were already moving on, laughing and waving as the club swallowed them up.
“Fine,” I said finally, teeth clenched, letting her pull me out into the street. Neon lights smeared across the wet asphalt, bass thumping faintly behind us, and I let out a long, frustrated breath. “Happy now?”
“Yes,” she said, voice sharp. “I’m sorry I had to drag you out of there, but if you keep acting like a kid then I’ll have to treat you like one.”
I exhaled slowly. “This is exhausting. I never wanted any of it. I told Coach McAvoy–”
“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupted, voice clipped. “Move.”
I followed, kicking at pride I didn’t want to lose. The city lights blurred around us. Every step reminded me of her control, her audacity, the way she made me want to argue and obey at the same time.
“This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re infuriating,” she shot back, without even looking at me.
I swore under my breath again, noting every detail I didn’t want to. How her hair swayed, the sharp rhythm of her heels, that faint trace of perfume I could have sworn was teasing me. And I hated that I was noticing it.
By the time we reached the hotel, the club forgotten, I was spent. Not physically, but mentally, from the constant tug-of-war between pride, frustration, and the faint, infuriating recognition that Holly—Holly!—had won. Again.