Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
O ver th e next week, Hunter and I found a simple rhythm. He’d show up every morning at the same time and drag my ass out of bed to work out. Some days, kicking and screaming. No matter how much I fought, he still got me out on a run. The days we were going to skate after peewee practice, we ran two miles—Hunter had smiled smugly when he told me. As if he’d made some grand gesture. I wanted to throttle him. Dedication is great and all, but I remain firm on my anti-running campaign. The distance was getting easier, but that’s a secret I’ll take to my grave.
Tonight we finished practice early. Hunter tried to be strategic to give us more time on the ice together. I hoped we could call it a night early. Sleep evaded me between the early morning workouts and my new nighttime visitor. Every night since installing my new security system, someone started banging on my door at three a.m. Without fail, they take off before I can get to the door. Not only are they knocking, but they keep leaving notes and boxes on my doorstep. I refuse to open the boxes—I don’t need a repeat of the last time. The notes are harder to ignore because they’re taped on my door, the words “murderer” viewable to anyone. They have change d it up a few times and instead of “murderer” they’ve written “die”, so there’s that.
Hunter asked me multiple times if I was okay. I haven’t told him what’s happening, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out I am tired. The bags under my eyes could be designer with how black they are. Throughout tonight’s practice, he’s stared at me multiple times. It was unnerving. I ordered a doorbell camera to put outside my door. That should do the trick to deter the idiot who keeps doing these things. I shouldn’t underestimate whoever this is; they got into my apartment once. But I wanted to deal with it myself, even if it was eating away at me slowly.
Hunter wanted to have a one-on-one scrimmage tonight. We returned to the locker room after cleaning up from the practice and put on our full gear. I needed to practice game-like situations and what better way than to have my defenseman check me on the boards? Hunter promised to not lay me out, but somehow I didn’t believe him.
We circled each other on the ice as Hunter explained what we were going to do. It was simple. We would play for the best out of five goals, full contact. He’d intentionally push me against the boards, allowing me to fight for puck possession. Halfway through our best of series, Hunter checked me hard into the boards.
The air left my lungs as I landed on my back on the ice. Hunter chuckled at me from where he skated off, too. I didn’t bother to move. The icy tentacles that permeated through my gear numbed my entire backside. Air moved in and out of my lungs as I tried to catch my breath. The rafters above seemed to rotate slowly. I hadn’t hit the ice hard. I've experienced worse checks before, I just didn't want to endure it anymore.
Everything seemed to build until this moment. The drinking, the guilt, the pranks, the coaching—it all was too much. Deteriorating from the inside out. My body and mind were exhausted. There was no point. Why was I even here? I was better off not existing. I only brought darkness to those around me. They would be better off.
To Hunter, I am sure I looked ridiculous, like a petulant child in the middle of a tantrum. The desire to melt into the ice and disappear was overwhelming. His skates made their way towards me. The loud, sharp cutting noise of blades on ice every time his legs moved filled the air.
Skrrrik
Skrrrik
Skrrik
I used to love that sound, especially on freshly paved ice. Being the first to skate after the Zamboni paved the rink into glass was an ethereal experience. When you skated across it so smoothly, it felt like flying.
“Sunshine, get your ass up,” Hunter hovered over me. Refusing to make eye contact with him, I looked beyond his pretty face with his half-smile and dimples. The rafter loomed above, the black metal shining against the lights.
One.
Two.
Three.
So many rafters, all the same, lined up in neat little rows. That used to be me. Everything organized and tidy, life going in order exactly how it should be.
“Maci,” Hunter stated firmly this time.
Four.
Five.
Six.
“Maci, knock it off. You’re freaking me out.”
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Wouldn’t it be nice to be as numb as my backside to the ice? No more pain, anguish, or hurt? How could I bottle this feeling so it lasted forever? There were potential solutions: more p ills, more booze, a quick slash to my wrist with a razor blade. Jackson wouldn’t cry if I died. He’d be upset, but not enough to earn a reaction from his tear ducts. Was it possible to make it all stop? Was it a possibility? Could I stomach the idea of putting an end to my life? I danced around the idea enough times. What was I waiting for? Truly, the idea of fighting another day to exist exhausted me. I could do it tonight. Leave this all behind and be numb.
Weightless
Hunter bent down and dragged me up by my armpits. He shook me, yelling my name until my eyes connected with his own.
“Where did you just go?” He asked, far softer than I ever imagined him to speak.
“Does it matter?” Balancing myself on my skates. I moved to skate away from him. I didn’t need his help anymore.
“It does to me,” He tried pulling me back into his arms, and I shrugged in response.
His eyes pleaded with my own, a vulnerability I never witnessed before shining before me.
“Don’t leave me. Stay with me.” He begged. His words held a double meaning—he didn’t want me to just stay on the ice, but to physically stay. It was like Hunter viewed the thoughts in my mind as my synapses fired them into being. He knew the pain deep in my soul and was offering me a way to fix it. I put space between us, skating backward.
“Just leave it Hunt, I’m not worth it.”
The crushed look that crossed Hunter’s face hurt unimaginably. He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s bullshit. You, Maci Rae, are worth far more than anything in this world. An NHL contract worth more than Patrick Kane's in 2013 would still not be able to measure up to the worth you have in my life, Maci Rae. You are never nothing. You. Are. Everything .”
The moment his lips crashed against my own, my world tilted on its axis. He skated into me, slamming us against the boards . It took a second for my body to react to his lips, moving roughly against my own. He grounded me to the Earth with his searing kiss, breathing life back into my soul. I didn’t hold back. Our mouths moved against each other in tandem. For every nip, I nipped back. He licked, I sucked. Round and round we went as our heated kisses continued on a feverous merry-go-round. His hands worked their way into my hair, cradling my head towards his own. The feeling was electric, skating across my body in little tentacles. Nothing compared to the searing kiss of Hunter St. James.
Thoughts whirred through my mind at the implications of what was occurring. We pulled away from one another breathlessly. Hunter ran his thumb down my cheek and let his other hand play with the hem of my jeans. His touch asked an unspoken question, hesitating as if giving me the chance to decline. The smallest nod of my head was the consent he needed. Roughly, he tugged, letting himself under my waistband, and crushed his lips back to mine.
He moved away from my mouth and bit at my neck. My brain was misfiring at the sensations he was sending down my spine. This was Hunter, the annoying best friend of my brother. He wasn’t the guy to cross the proverbial line we were sprinting past now. Hunter was the guy who played pranks and confused me with his innuendos.
Despite his allegiance to Jackson, he couldn't resist whispering harshly into my ear, "Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I've been longing to do this," as he teased my slick folds with his finger. He smirked, satisfied with how wet I was. He hummed in appreciation and nipped at the tender skin between my neck and shoulder. Unable to respond to his declaration, a small whimper escaped my lips as he stroked my clit.
“If we cross this line, Maci, you’re mine and I won’t let go.” He slowed the pace on my clit. He made leisurely circles with his thumb as he waited for my response. I gulped in air, trying to think of an answer that made sense. He slowed his thumb down even more, and I groaned in frustration.
“Use your words sunshine, yes or no?” He coaxed.
I wanted to say yes for so many more reasons than just an orgasm. The chemistry had been brewing between us since the morning after my night in jail. Hunter St. James infiltrated my life and took care of me in the smallest of ways. He was subtle, almost as if he didn’t want me to notice all the ways he was leaving imprints of himself on me. From bringing me my preferred flavor of Gatorade to our morning workouts to checking in on me in between classes. He had made himself a part of my routine. I enjoyed our text messages back and forth and looked forward to the torturous runs. Hell, I even liked coaching with him. Not to mention, I hadn’t needed alcohol to cope in the last two weeks. Hunter St. James was the antidote to my crushed soul. The answer was simple.
“Yes,” I gasped.
“Yes?” He reiterated, “Final answer? There’s no going back.”
I nodded against his assault on my neck. Jackson would probably kill us, but at this moment nothing else seemed to matter besides what was happening between us. Hunter growled his approval as he picked up the pace of his movements. He slipped two fingers inside of me and I gasped at the invasion. His fingers scissored inside of me, and I moaned, my hips bucking to create more friction.
“Do you like that sunshine?” He asked, taking my lips hostage again, “Tell me what you want.”
“More,” I moaned. I hadn’t been with another person for over two years. I felt like a born-again virgin.
Hunter obliged my request as he added another digit. He moved from scissoring his fingers to curling them; the tips brushing my g-spot. I almost screamed. Instead, I bit down on his shoulder. The feeling between my legs intensified as I continued to buck my hips against his hand. I was rushing toward s the edge and I wanted to fling myself over it. Hunter kept whispering encouraging dirty words in my ear, as he didn’t relent on my pussy. My walls clenched around his hand with my impending orgasm.
Hunter hummed in approval, “Be a good girl and come for me…show me who owns you.”
Scrunching my eyes together, my world exploded around me. The sensation of my orgasm coupled with the thrill of exhibitionism took me over the edge. My body melted into Hunter’s, feeling languid and satiated. It took a moment for the pulsing sensations to decrease and my eyes opened with my descent back to Earth. My chest heaved, and I watched as Hunter removed his hand from between my legs. Maintaining eye contact with me, he placed one hand on my hip while the other reached for his mouth. He placed his glistening fingers between his plush lips and sucked my cum from them. A satisfied groan escaped, and he removed the fingers with a satisfying ‘pop’ sound. His eyes swirled with molten desire.
“Open up Sunshine and see how good you taste.”
Opening my mouth, he stuck his fingers in and my cheeks hollowed. Feeling bold, I swirled my tongue around his digits.
He groaned, “I can’t wait to fuck your mouth,” and I smirked. I couldn’t wait for that either.
A loud bang sounded from somewhere inside the rink, reminding us we were in a public space.
“We should probably get out of here,” I suggested, attempting to fix my disheveled appearance. Hunter looked around and agreed. We skated off the ice together and went to our respective locker rooms to change and go home. One thing was for sure, we were leaving here different people than when we walked in.