Chapter 31 - Holly
Holly
The launch was everything the invitation promised: Loud, glossy, and crawling with the kind of people who treated free champagne like a blood type.
The ballroom at the Carlton shimmered. Gold light spilled from the chandeliers, catching on crystal glasses and sequined dresses.
Branded banners lined the back wall—SURGE x LUXE SPORTSWEAR—the team’s new sponsorship deal being unveiled with all the subtlety of a Vegas show.
Cameras were everywhere, a low buzz of shutter clicks and laughter threading through the music.
I adjusted my press badge and smoothed the lapel of my black blazer. I’d traded my usual pencil skirt for a sleek jumpsuit that actually let me breathe, heels that looked painful but weren’t (much), and a soft gold necklace that felt like borrowed confidence.
The players cleaned up almost unrecognizably well.
Mason had ditched his backwards cap for an actual tie.
Grayson wore charcoal with an open collar, already half-surrounded by reporters.
Hunter—God help me—was across the room in a dark suit that fit too well, hair slicked back but still slightly messy, talking with a group of sponsors near the bar.
He looked relaxed. Controlled. A little distant.
Our eyes almost met. Almost.
Then someone laughed near him, and his focus shifted away.
I exhaled and turned my attention to the job, making sure the Surge looked like champions even when they weren’t on the ice.
“Griswold.”
Bob’s voice came from behind me, the one part of the night I hadn’t planned for.
I pasted on a professional smile and turned. “Bob. Enjoying the free shrimp?”
He smirked, popping the end of a canapé into his mouth. “For what they’re paying this caterer, I’m taking the whole platter home.”
I couldn’t help a laugh. “Just don’t let the cameras catch you stuffing hors d’oeuvres into your pockets. PR nightmare.”
He snorted, then glanced toward the media cluster forming around Grayson. “You’ve got them trained. Reporters, players. The whole damn lot.”
“Trained is a strong word,” I said. “Let’s go with ‘cooperative under duress.’”
He studied me for a second, something unreadable in his expression. “You did good, Griswold.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He motioned loosely to the room. “This whole circus. You made it look like a coronation instead of a cleanup job. Even Hunter. You turned that kid from a PR risk into a poster boy. Against all odds.”
I actually laughed, certain he was setting up for a punchline. “Wait, are you complimenting me?”
He lifted his glass. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“Well, I’m marking this date. I think we just achieved a trite truce.”
“Trite suits me fine,” he said, and disappeared toward the bar. “Reminds me of my first love.”
I was still smiling when a reporter from The Globe waved me over. “Holly! Quick quote before the unveiling?”
“Make it quick,” I said, keeping my tone friendly. The mic hovered, cameras blinking red.
“How’s the team feeling heading into the finals?”
“Confident,” I said easily. “Focused. They’ve worked hard for this and the fans can feel that energy. Tonight’s just a celebration of that momentum.”
She nodded, satisfied, and I moved on before she could press for soundbites about Hunter or the locker room.
The band switched from jazz to something more upbeat, glasses clinking in rhythm.
Waiters weaved through with trays of champagne and miniature sliders that looked too perfect to eat.
A massive ice sculpture of the Surge logo glittered near the dessert table, slowly melting under the heat of the crowd.
Grayson and Mason were holding court near the photo wall, posing with fans and sponsors. Hunter was still across the room, talking to McAvoy now, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.
Every few minutes, I’d shift a little closer, greeting a reporter, answering a question, pretending to check the media feed on my phone. I never reached him. Someone always cut in, another handshake, another camera flash, another interruption.
When I finally spotted an opening, I started toward him—
“Ms. Griswold.”
Coach McAvoy’s gravelly voice stopped me mid-step.
He was in a black suit that strained a little at the shoulders, his tie already loosened. “Got a second?”
“Always,” I said, stepping aside with him near a quieter corner of the room.
He nodded toward Hunter, who was now laughing at something Mason said. “You’ve done good work.”
Twice in one night? “Thank you, Coach.”
“I mean it.” He folded his arms, looking out over the crowd. “When you came on board, I figured you’d last a month before Hunter drove you out. Boy didn’t know how to look at a camera without falling over his own feet.”
I smiled faintly. “He’s improved.”
“You improved him.”
“That’s generous,” I said. “He did the work. I just… redirected it.”
McAvoy gave a rough chuckle. “You make it sound simple. But I’ve been watching. The way he handles post-game now, the media scrums, the kids who ask for autographs. There’s an ease there I never thought he’d find. That’s you.”
The words hit deeper than I expected. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
He nodded, sipping his drink. “You know what else? I should’ve made him our number one a long time ago. The kid’s got steel. That save in the last game?” He shook his head, still half in awe. “That’s the stuff championships are built on.”
I followed his gaze to where Hunter stood beneath the chandelier’s golden light, his smile faint and polite as a sponsor talked to him.
McAvoy’s voice softened. “This season… we’ve got a shot. A real one. And because of him, the back office is finally breathing easier. Hunter’s brand, his control, the way the public sees him, it’s keeping management happy. Hell, even the merch numbers are up. You did that.”
I smiled, throat tight. “Then I guess we both finally earned our keep.”
He huffed a small laugh. “Don’t sell yourself short. You walked into a fire and didn’t flinch. I’ve been in this business a long time, Griswold. That’s rare.”
For a second, I didn’t know what to say. Praise from Bob was one thing. From McAvoy? That was a lifetime achievement badge.
“Thank you, Coach. Really.”
He gave a curt nod, setting down his glass. “Enjoy the night. You’ve earned it.”
As he walked off toward the main table, I turned back toward the bar, ready to finally—finally—close the distance between me and Hunter.
But he’d already turned away.
He was laughing at something one of the PR interns said, his hand brushing hers as he reached for his drink. His smile looked easy. Unbothered.
Mine felt forced.
The music swelled again, some upbeat pop number that didn’t match the weight of the rock sitting in my stomach. Maybe I had ruined something good. Maybe I’d pushed too far with his family, crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.
I stood there a while longer, glass in hand, surrounded by laughter and gold light and the echo of a man who wouldn’t even look my way.
Minutes slipped by, and I found him near the balcony again, scanning the room like he always did, perfect posture, calm face, but his eyes sharp. I stepped forward, heart hammering.
“Hunter,” I said.
He turned slowly, gaze narrowing. “Holly,” he said, flat, cautious. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you. Now,” I said, moving closer.
He shifted, almost blocking me with his stance. “Not here,” he muttered, low. “This isn’t the—”
“Yes, here,” I cut him off, tugging lightly on his sleeve. “Please. Just five minutes. That’s all.”
He exhaled through his nose, stiff, tense, then finally gave a small nod. “Fine,” he said, voice tight, “but be quick. I don’t have all night.”
I grabbed his hand and steered him toward the cloakroom. His resistance melted just enough for me to pull him along. “Hunter—please,” I murmured again.
Once inside, I shut the door behind us. Immediately, the tension between us thickened, pressing against the walls. I stepped in front of him, hands slightly raised, ready to explain.
“I—” I started.
“You went behind my back,” he said sharply, cutting me off. His arms were crossed, his chest tight against his ribs, eyes dark and unreadable. “You didn’t ask me. You didn’t even—”
“I know,” I said, voice catching. “I’m sorry. I just… I wanted to help. I thought—”
“No! You didn’t think about me,” he said, stepping forward so close I could feel the heat radiating off him. “You went to my family without even telling me. They showed up at one of the biggest games of my life. Do you even know what that did to me?”
“I know I should have told you,” I said, taking a step toward him. “I didn’t mean to throw you off. I just thought—”
“You didn’t think,” he interrupted, voice shaking slightly. “I nearly screwed up because of it. I fumbled. I—” He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “Holly, I was blindsided. I didn’t know how to handle it, and you—”
“I wanted to help!” I snapped, stepping into his space. “You think I did that to hurt you? To ruin the game? I thought it would make things right!”
“And I get that!” His voice dropped, low, raw. “But I should have been part of that decision. You didn’t give me a chance. You made it your choice, my family showing up… That wasn’t yours to make.”
“I know,” I whispered, hands dropping to my sides. “I know, and I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” he pressed, eyes searching mine, tense, furious, hurt all at once. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like you thought you knew better than me, Holly. That you could fix my life for me!”
“I… I just wanted to make it right!” I said, stepping closer. “I thought it would mean something. I thought—”
“You thought without asking me,” he said, voice dropping to a low growl. “And that’s what I can’t get past. My place in the team, my work, it’s all yours. I get it. But my family?”