Chapter 15 - Holly
Holly
The roar of the crowd hit me the second I stepped into my seat right across from Hunter’s posts.
The arena lights glared against the ice like a stage set, and the Surge were already flying.
There were no lazy line changes tonight, no sloppy puck control.
Every pass was crisp, and every hit timed to perfection. And Hunter—God help him—was a wall.
He moved like the net was an extension of himself.
One moment crouched low, stick flat; the next, springing up to snatch a wrister out of the air with his glove.
The sound of the puck against leather cracked like a whip.
He flicked it away, no big deal, as if the entire arena hadn’t just gasped.
As if hundreds of women weren’t almost passing out with delirium over his performance.
I shifted forward on the edge of my seat without meaning to.
Totally rapt. Sweat had already slicked his hair to his forehead, his mouthguard tugged slightly between his teeth.
For a ridiculous second I caught myself fixating on the way his shoulders flexed beneath his jersey as he pushed off the post. So strong and capable.
He didn’t look anything like the guy sulking through interview drills in my hotel room not too long ago.
“Holy shit!” Mason shouted from the ice as he streaked past a defender on the breakout. “Nice block, Callahan!”
Theo skated backward just long enough to jab at him with his stick. “Now you’re just showing off!”
Hunter didn’t even acknowledge them. He was dialed in.
The Oilers pressed hard. Two-on-one, then a sneaky pass to the slot. Hunter tracked it the whole way, kicked out a pad, and sent the rebound screaming into the corner. The crowd behind me jumped to their feet, beer sloshing, voices hammering against the glass.
I pressed my lips together to hide the smile creeping up. He deserved this. The noise, the pure, unfiltered rush. This was the part of his life that no press release or sponsorship deal could bottle up and market to the masses. This was all him.
Maybe it was everything that had happened between us in the last few weeks. Maybe it was that provocative sneaker shoot with the strategically placed props.
Whatever the reason, those glimpses under his armor held on, clattering around in my head even as he squared up in the crease.
Another slapshot came screaming in from the blue line. Hunter dropped low, stick angled, then punched the puck out with his blocker. The rebound ricocheted to Theo, who cleared it good and solid.
The surge of adrenaline around me was contagious. I was on my feet and yelling when Mason took a feed from Shawn, and barreled down the right side on a breakaway. The Oilers’ goalie sprawled, Mason deked, then flipped it in. Goal horn. The arena exploded.
I caught Hunter’s glance across the ice while the guys mobbed Mason. The briefest acknowledgment, but it landed hard and settled with enough warmth to make me flush.
I sank back into my seat with a silent reminder that I was on the job.
The rest of the game blurred in bursts of motion.
Edmonton answered back with a power-play goal, tying it up.
Hunter slammed his stick once against the post, jaw tight.
Then he reset, ready. In the third, he sprawled for a desperate glove save that had the crowd chanting his name.
“Cal-la-han! Cal-la-han!” I caught myself whispering it under my breath before I realized what I was doing.
When the final buzzer went, the Surge were ahead 3–2. The horn blared, players raised sticks to the fans, and I stood with everyone else, clapping until my hands burned.
Down on the ice, Hunter turned toward the tunnel. He pulled off his helmet, running a hand through his damp hair, the dark curls at his nape sticking to his neck. He looked tired but alive, like someone who’d just fought a small war and won.
I hesitated before heading down. My laminated badge let me through the restricted walkway behind the bench, and the roar of the arena faded into echoes. The smell shifted too. Now less beer and popcorn, more sweat, tape, and cold air from the ice still clinging to the players as they filed in.
The post-game tunnel was chaos. Fans and kids pressed up against barriers, shouting names, waving signs.
Security tried to keep a lane open for the team, but bodies leaned in, arms stretched, phones held high for selfies.
I hugged the wall, trying to keep out of the way while still scanning for Hunter.
He was somewhere in the middle of the group, helmet dangling from his glove, head bent as he spoke to Mason. A little boy reached out with a jersey and Hunter stopped long enough to scrawl his name across the back, his smile soft even from here.
That was new too. Not long ago he’d have brushed by, letting the others handle anything that faced a crowd. Now he crouched to talk to the kid, asking his name. I felt the pinch of something warm in my chest and immediately shut it down.
I needed to get a grip, and fast.
I moved toward the locker room entrance, my pass ready to flash at the guard.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement.
Nothing more than a flash of a face I recognized from somewhere.
Once she came into full view, it hit me.
Sun in Capri, IG feed full of bougie meals and sensuous selfies.
She was the one who’d sent Hunter that suggestive DM.
And now she was here, all glossy hair and influencer-perfect makeup.
My stomach sank. There was no delete button in real life.
The crowd around the tunnel swelled, fans pressing closer as the players neared the doors. Security shouted for people to back up. I stayed close to the threshold, eyes on Hunter but my attention sliding, calculating.
Not now, I thought. Not after everything.
The guard waved me through and I slipped inside the restricted area, heart thumping harder than it should. Hunter was only a few strides behind, still shaking hands with fans. The influencer maneuvered closer, eyes locked on him as she edged toward the locker room.
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping into her path, my voice calm but carrying enough authority to make her turn and look at me. “You’re not authorized to be here.”
She froze for a moment, then smiled, too confident for someone who clearly hadn’t expected resistance. “Relax, lady. We’re all friends here, right?”
“Friends don’t sneak into locker rooms,” I said, blocking entry with an outstretched arm. “Especially when they’re not allowed.”
“Come on,” she said, voice dripping with faux sweetness. “Whatever happened to women supporting women? I have a surprise for Hunter.”
She wiggled her brows, and called my attention to the zipper of her hoodie. It was only a flash, quickly down and back up before anyone around us could notice. But it was long enough for me to see she wore absolutely nothing underneath. Then she had the audacity to wink at me.
“You need to leave now, or I’m calling security.”
“Ugh, are you his bodyguard too?” she grumbled, then something shifted in her eyes and she stared harder. “Or are the rumors true?”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my irritation in check. There were so many things I wanted to say to her, to set her straight. Instead, I waved one of the security guards over.
“Have it your way,” I said, not holding back my satisfied smile.
Her own faltered. “Security? Seriously? You’re that jealous about Hunter getting lucky more than once in one night?”
I could already feel my fingers tightening around her scrawny little neck, but it stayed a fantasy. Because Hunter chose that moment to show up at the locker room door, hair damp from the ice, his jersey half peeled down. His eyes flicked between me and her, brows knitting.
“What’s going on?” His voice was low, a warning. “Holly?”
The girl’s demeanor shifted instantly, eyes going wide with faux-innocence. “You never replied to my DMs,” she purred. “So I thought I’d pay you a visit in person.”
She started to move toward him, hand outstretched as if she could just slip past me. But I stepped between them before she could touch him, palm flat against her shoulder.
“You’re done here.” My tone made a couple of nearby staffers glance over. “Security!” I called, louder this time, and two guards hustled over.
The girl twisted under my hand, suddenly less sweet and more feral. “Wow,” she spat, glaring at me. “So the rumors are true then.”
“What rumors?” Hunter asked, studying my face as if the answer would be there somewhere.
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly, stepping aside just enough to steer him back toward the locker room. “Go get changed. Security’s handling it.”
He resisted the push, his arm firm under my hand. “Holly—”
“Inside, Hunter,” I said, keeping my voice even.
Behind us, the guards were already leading the girl away as she shrieked about censorship and jealousy, the words echoing off the concrete walls. She looked ridiculous, but the knot in my stomach wouldn’t ease.
I turned to him, smoothing my blazer as if that could smooth out everything else. “Congratulations on the game,” I tried, hoping to pivot.
Hunter didn’t move. He stared at me, the damp curls at his temples dripping onto his collar. “Nope. You’re not changing the subject. What’s going on?”
“I said it’s nothing—”
He folded his arms across his chest, sweat-dark jersey bunching around his biceps. “Holly. Tell me.”
His voice had gone from curious to commanding, and I hated that it worked. My professionalism cracked around the edges, my mouth dry.
“Fine,” I said finally. “Bob told me there are rumors floating around. About us. That you and I are…” The words caught, ridiculous even as they left my mouth. “That we’re a couple.”
He looked at me like he hadn’t heard it right. “What?”
“It’s not an issue,” I blurted, tripping over my own assurances. “I’m handling it. Just focus on hockey. I’ve got this.”
My cheeks felt hot, my pulse out of sync. I’d never hated my own voice more than I did in that moment. For the first time since I’d taken this job, the lines between doing it and feeling it blurred.
Hunter’s stunned expression held for another beat and then, to my absolute horror, he laughed. A full, unguarded burst, echoing off the locker room tiles. “Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “Of all the crazy things I’ve heard…”
I tried to keep my face neutral. “I’m glad you find it amusing. But something like this could damage y–”
“I wouldn’t worry too much.” He stripped off his jersey in one smooth motion, tossing it toward a bench as the rest of the guys started filing in from the hallway. “Like I’d ever date someone like you.”
The words stung even over the sudden chaos around us. I swallowed hard and turned away, pretending to check my phone as laughter and conversation filled the room.