Chapter 12 - Hunter
Hunter
We were wheels-down in Nashville before the sun even crested the skyline. A pale orange glow cut across the tarmac as the team bus rolled us from the airport to the hotel, everyone still half-asleep, scrolling their phones or tugging baseball caps down over their faces.
Theo slumped into the seat beside me and jabbed his elbow at my ribs. “You ready for your babysitter to tell you how to breathe today?”
A chorus of muffled laughs came from the row behind, and Mason added, “Better be a good boy, Callahan. She’s probably got a Canva presentation lined up about how to smile for the cameras.”
“You guys done?” I said, stretching my legs out into the aisle. “Because she’s the reason half of you aren’t getting fined this month. Maybe try a thank you instead.”
That shut them up. Theo raised an eyebrow but didn’t push, and Mason grinned like he’d just seen a unicorn.
“What?” I asked.
“You defending Holly, that’s what.” Mason shook his head with a laugh. “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”
“Sorry to say it,” Theo chided, a somber look on his face. “But it looks like Stockholm Syndrome has kicked in. He’s fallen in love with his captor.”
“Don’t blame him,” Shawn piped up. Apparently his headphones were just for show, and he could hear everything being said. “Have you seen those tight skirts she wears?”
This seemed to fire up a whole other side to them, and he leaned across the aisle, headphone ripped clean off now. “Scratch that. Did you get a load of her at the gala the other night?”
I ignored the wolf whistles and laughter, pulling my hat lower and turning toward the window. I preferred it when they were making fun of me.
By puck drop that night, I was a different animal. Like something had gotten into me between the horrific co-captaincy against the Ducks and the sweaty Nashville air.
Everything slowed down the way it only does when you’re in the zone. Glove like a magnet, body reading plays before they even formed. The Predators came at us hard and heavy, but I held the crease like a wall. Save after save after save.
We won 3–1, and the guys mobbed me at the buzzer, slapping my helmet, shouting my name. The adrenaline running through me was insane. I’d finally found my play. Finally knew who I was on the crease.
As we left the ice, I caught a glimpse of Holly near the tunnel, iPad in hand. For once she wasn’t scowling. She was clapping, quick and discreet, eyes on me. I almost tripped.
The next morning was the team visit to the children’s hospital. The bus smelled like coffee and sweat, everyone in their game-day suits minus ties. Holly was at the front, hair pulled into an easy ponytail, reading off a sheet.
“Remember, the hospital has a strict photography policy,” she said, walking the aisle like a flight attendant. “No signing anything without permission from staff. No posting photos without clearance. And for God’s sake, no foul language.”
“Why the fuck not?” Tucker said, and got the whole bus laughing.
She didn’t even blink. “And try not to look like you just rolled out of a bar. This is for the kids, not your Instagram.”
Mason smirked. “She’s looking at you, Grayson.”
“Bite me.” He pulled off his cap and threw it with alarming accuracy to hit Mason square in the face.
Holly stopped beside me, one hand on the seat back. “Are you listening?”
“Relax,” I said. “I promise I won’t corrupt their innocence.”
She eyed me for a moment, then gave in to a quick smile. “Can’t blame me for not taking you for a safe bet.”
“I just had my best game of the season,” I reminded her. “Safest hands in Texas, right now.”
“And yet I still have to babysit you,” she shot back, moving down the aisle.
The guys snickered, but I let it roll off. If anything, the rhythm of our bickering had started to feel familiar. Comfortable, even.
Inside the hospital, the smell of antiseptic mixed with waxy crayons and quiet laughter. Nurses in colorful scrubs guided us through the ward, cameras trailing at a distance.
I pulled off my Surge cap as we entered the first room. A little boy in a Predators jersey sat propped up in bed, tubes taped to his arms. He couldn’t have been more than six years old. His eyes went wide when he saw us.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, crouching down beside him. “Wrong team, but I’ll let it slide.”
He giggled weakly.
“You want a picture?” I asked.
He nodded. Then I remembered, and glanced at Holly, who gave a small nod back.
I scooped the boy gently onto my knee, careful of the tubes, and smiled for the camera. “You play hockey?” I asked him afterward.
“In the street,” he said. “With my brother. He’s nine and doesn’t want me to play sometimes even though I score more goals than him.”
“That’s how I started,” I said with a chuckle. “You keep at it. Don’t let anybody tell you you’re too small.”
His mom wiped at her eyes.
We moved from room to room. Autographs, high-fives, handing out Surge hats and foam pucks. Holly hovered nearby, making sure no lines were crossed, but she wasn’t giving orders anymore.
In the third room, a little girl too weak to sit up reached for my glove. I knelt beside her bed, holding her tiny hand in mine for a long moment.
“You’re my favorite,” she whispered.
Something caught in my throat. “You’re mine too,” I said.
When I stood up, Holly was watching. Not with the usual hawk-eyed scrutiny, but something softer. Her lips were parted like she was about to say something, then she looked down at her iPad instead.
Later, in the hallway while the guys posed for a group photo with the staff, Holly stepped up beside me.
“You surprised me today,” she said quietly.
“That’s the point,” I smiled. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”
She gave a soft laugh. “I mean it. You’re good with them. You made it special.”
I shrugged. “Not my first rodeo. My kid brother wasn’t the healthiest of little guys, and I spent hours trying to make him feel better.”
She looked at me for a beat longer than usual, like she was trying to recalibrate. Then Theo ran by and stole the moment.
“Quit dragging your behind, Callahan. Group shot.”
I tipped my head toward the camera crew. “Duty calls.”
And as I walked away, I felt her gaze still on me.
Back on the bus afterward, the energy was lowkey and wholesome.
“That was cool,” Theo said. “Kid in the Preds jersey totally owned you, though.”
I smirked. “Yeah, he did.”
No one made another jab about Holly to me. I’d already decided before we got off the ice last night: they could tease all they wanted. She was doing her job. And somewhere along the way, she’d made mine a little easier too.
“You okay?” She slid into the empty seat next to me as we drew closer to the Predators’ arena.
“I never really miss home,” I admitted after a pause, tugging my cap lower. “Not since I left almost a decade ago. But today? Seeing those kids…”
She nodded thoughtfully, mind working a mile a minute behind her eyes. “Maybe you should invite your family to a game back home. Let them see what you’ve built for yourself.”
I shook my head. The reality of it was suffocating. “They wouldn’t come. They don’t want anything to do with me, or hockey. Made that clear a long time ago.”
She didn’t push. Didn’t offer a pep talk or a line about healing old wounds. Guess there wasn’t a script for dealing with a family who didn’t want you.
“Fair enough,” she said, and there wasn’t a hint of pity in her tone. “But you’re allowed to feel it. Missing home doesn’t mean you’re weak.”
I looked at her then, noticing something I hadn’t before. She was always so precise, so impossible to read. But here, in this moment, she gave me room. She let me be human without judgment. I felt a little lighter for it, though I didn’t say that out loud.
“Thanks,” I muttered instead.
Her eyes flicked up briefly, the faintest lift at the corner of her mouth, almost imperceptible, before she returned to her tablet.
The next thing I knew, we were back at the arena.
The contrast was jarring. From quiet laughter to shouted questions and flashes.
Reporters crowded the front entrance, clamoring for a story.
Holly moved ahead of me, and I followed close, planning to hang back and let her do her job as we cut through to the locker room.
But one reporter pushed the line, phone shoved in Holly’s face. “Any comment on the story coming out of that charity gala?”
She looked up, stunned that he was addressing her out of a whole team of hockey stars. “Excuse me?”
His smile was lewd as he pushed closer. “Don’t play coy for the cameras. Give it to me straight. Are you guys dating or not?”
I didn’t hesitate. I stepped directly between Holly and the reporter, arm brushing her lightly. “Back up, man. What’s your problem?”
Instead of backing up, he latched onto me. “Are you speaking for your girlfriend, Hunter? You can’t keep it a secret forever.”
“I said back up,” I repeated, and gave him a hard shove to go along with it.
Holly’s eyes caught mine, and behind the flicker of surprise was nothing else but recognition. She let me take the lead, and I felt this strange, satisfying weight shift. From her having my back, to things being the other way around.
“Thanks,” she said in the cool space of the hallway once we’d cleared the huddle.
“Feels good being able to return the favor.”
She laughed, a bright sound that made me smile wider. “Not a favor, Callahan.”
“Your job,” I finished for her, and fell into an easy stride next to her.