But today, I’m not thinking about much other than what it will be like to return home to Winter.
Return home to Winter.
That phrase has a nice ring to it, but I know I can’t get used to what we’re doing. I’ve never been able to hold down a relationship, and Winter’s made it clear her heart is still on Broadway.
“Hey, Hunt,” Dean beckons to me from where he, Wyatt, and Murph are seated around a table with Lincoln Pitt, our stand-out right winger.
Lincoln’s a keep-to-himself kind of guy, which I appreciate. He nods at me silently and then goes back to shuffling the deck of cards in his hands.
“We’re playing poker.” Murph tips his chin at me. “Want in?”
I sink down into a seat across from them.
“So.” Murph waits until I’ve been dealt a hand before starting in with, “You and your housemate.”
“I already told you and Liam to fuck off,” I tell him. “If you so much as say one word about Winter, I’ll…”
“Hey, calm down, Hunt.” Murph signals that he’ll hold on his hand, and then he turns to me. “I love Winter. We grew up together, too, remember? I just want to make sure she’s not too much of a distraction for you.”
“Like Ashley would be for you?” I counter.
His lip curls in annoyance. “Leave Ashley out of this.”
“Why?” I say. “Are you two…”
“Nothing. We’re nothing,” he says quickly.
Dean and I exchange a look while Lincoln assesses Murph curiously.
“Was she the girl in high school who you said you…” I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence.
“I said to shut it about Ashley.” The hardness in Murph’s voice is unmistakable, and whenever he sounds like that, we all know to back off.
“Fine.” I call and toss my cards on the table. “Winter and I are just catching up. It’s casual.”
What’s going on between Winter and me is far from casual, but my off-handed remark manages to shut Murph up for the rest of the flight.
And when we land, I can’t stop myself from texting her.
Thx for letting me know you arrived safe, she writes back.
How are you and Theo?
Warmer than you probably are in the northeast. I don’t miss February in NYC.
You want me to pick you up anything while I’m here? Something you miss?
I don’t think you can fit a Broadway stage in your travel bag, she jokes.
You must miss it a lot. Somehow, being apart like this, I feel like she’ll be more open with me.
I wait as the white dots flash while she types.
When her answer comes through, it surprises me.
I don’t miss a lot of it, tbh.
To be honest. She’s really serious about this.
Before I can think of a response, another text comes through.
I miss the singing. And the scripts. I always wanted to write my own script, though, rather than play a character someone else created.
Maybe you should do that while you’re home. Write your own.
Maybe I should.
And you know you can sing in the Big Easy.
I guess. Declan’s made it work for him, right?
Her comment gets me thinking. I wonder if I can help out somehow. Because the bottom line is that I want Winter to be happy. If that means Broadway, then I’ll support her. But her eyes were so vacant when she first showed up on my doorstep. She’s only been in town a short while, and she already looks happier and healthier than she did.
I’m fucking grinning like a sap at my phone when Liam takes the seat next to me on the team bus. I look over at him. His expression is grim.
And, immediately, I guess why.
He confirms my suspicion when he says, “We have to look at a lineup as soon as we get home. They have a person of interest.”
* * *
I’m fired up for our game.
I’m too fired up.
I have so much damn energy pumping through my veins, and I just want to unleash my wrath on the ice.
Liam’s feeling the same. His jaw is stone, his eyes are daggers, and he’s ready to kick some ass.
As soon as the puck is dropped, he and I are of one mind.
Suffocate the opponent.
Own the puck.
Score early and often.
And we do. We’re up three to nothing at the end of the first period.
In the second, I get sent to the penalty box for fighting. And I’m pissed because the guy was asking for it, but I normally know better. He’s New York’s enforcer, and he instigates as much as he actually scores.
I sit inside that penalty box, angrily waiting for my chance to get back out there.
As soon as the buzzer sounds, I pound my blades across the ice. I don’t even stop to slow down before I hurl my body into the crowd of three players fighting for the puck.
I emerge from the tangle of limbs the victor. Turning toward the goal, I skate with the puck as hard as I can, holding off the last defenseman until just the goalie is between me and the net. I pull back my stick and let fly.
The goalie scrambles to block my shot, but the puck skims past him.
“Score by Storm!” the announcer calls out over the loudspeaker.
We pummel New York six to one. I score three goals and assist on another.
“Fuck, yeah!” Murph pounds my back as we leave the ice. “We’re in first place!”
“You’re back, Hunt!” Coach Jones grips my shoulder enthusiastically. “Whatever you’re doing, keep going!”
My body is going to fucking hurt tonight. But it was worth it. I’m on fire again.
The joy over our win doesn’t take away from what’s going on off the ice, though.
“I should be happy,” Liam tells me as we head into the locker room together. “And I fucking am. But I’m also numb.”
“Same,” I say back as we head for the showers.
Because all the goals in the world won’t bring our father back.
As the hot water runs over my aching muscles and sore as fuck shoulder where I got slammed into the boards twice tonight, the memory that I’ve pushed away for years returns unbidden.
The night my father was murdered, all four of us brothers were away at a hockey game. Liam was eighteen and a senior in high school, Jared and Max seventeen, and I was fifteen.
This being New Orleans, we had to travel quite a bit at the time just to find ice.
Dad came to watch us often. But not this time. This time, he had to work.
He was working the graveyard shift at the convenience store he’d been managing for years. We often stopped by to say hi to him when we drove home from a practice or a game.
That night, I remember we won our game handily. All four of us were pumped as we drove back to New Orleans, and we couldn’t wait to tell Dad. He lived for our hockey games. And he worked double shifts to be able to send us to camps out of state where we could practice our skills, compete against the top players in the country, and learn from the best.
We pulled up to the convenience store. An ambulance and three cop cars, lights flashing, were in the parking lot.
My gut turned over, and I knew something was wrong.
Before Liam had even fully stopped the car, I had the back door open and was jumping out.
Liam, Jared, and Max were right behind me.
As we ran toward the building, a guy, dressed all in black and wearing a wool hat, came out of the shadows.
All four of us looked right at him.
He was of average height and build. The only distinct feature I noticed was a clear, brownish-red mark on his right cheek.
As I went to look at him more closely, he averted his gaze before I could see his eyes.
Something about him wasn’t right. He was jittery and seemed high. And that bulge in his jacket pocket—was that a weapon?
He pushed past us and ran into the woods behind the convenience store.
“What the—” Jared made a move to chase after him, but Max grabbed his arm.
“Dad,” is all he said. “We have to check on him.”
I sprinted for the door, but as I reached it, Liam shoved me out of the way so he could enter first. At the time, I remember being pissed off that he, like always, had to be first. In hindsight, I realize he was doing it to protect me.
The second we got inside the store, a cop came over to us before we could round the corner.
“This is a crime scene, boys. You’ve got to get out of here.”
“Our father works here,” Liam said.
The officer’s eyes flashed. Pity. I saw it before he shut it down.
“There’s been a shooting,” the cop said, speaking mainly to Liam.
“We just saw a guy run off,” I said, pointing to the door.
The officer immediately sent another cop out to look. He also said he’d take our statements.
That’s when Jared started to scream. I looked where he was looking. Blood. A trail of it.
I walked past the cop and followed that trail of blood right up to the counter. And then, I looked to my left, where Dad was being attended to by EMTs.
“Fuck, no. Dad.” Jared rushed over and tried to take his hand.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” one of the EMTs said. “He’s unconscious.”
“We need to get him into the ambulance,” the other one said as they carefully lifted Dad onto a gurney.
Liam had me by the arm. “We’ll follow them to the hospital.”
We spent hours at the hospital. It was after two when the surgeon came out to the waiting room to talk to the four of us.
“I’m sorry,” he said, that same look of pity in his eyes that the cop had. “We did everything we could. He’s gone.”
And in that moment, a part of all of us was gone also.
Chapter 16
Winter
Hunter’s been acting distant.
When he first landed in New York, he was sweet and caring in our text exchange, a conversation that he initiated. I didn’t necessarily expect to hear from him so soon, but I so appreciated him reaching out.
But other than a brief, “Goodnight, Princess” after the New Orleans Fire crush New York, I don’t hear from him again.
He’s been eerily radio silent.
I text him a quick “congrats” after each win, and he either sends back a thumbs-up emoji or a “Thanks, Winter” with nothing else attached.
I waffle between fearing that something’s wrong to thinking he’s just taking his space and enjoying the time away with the guys.
Whatever’s going on, it’s not hurting his performance on the ice. The way he’s playing is, for lack of a better word, a match to his team name—Fire.
Hunter’s been locked in during the games in a way I’ve certainly never seen him. I didn’t watch all of his games over the years, and I don’t know a ton about ice hockey, but I know some, and I certainly know enough to recognize when a player is completely, utterly dominant.
That’s been Hunter throughout every game of this road trip.
He’s owned nearly every possession.
He’s played like his life depends on him scoring or helping someone else to score.
The last time I saw him this focused on the ice was the first game he played after his father’s funeral.
Just one more away game—this time in Nashville tonight—and then the team flies home. I don’t know if he’s arriving late tonight or tomorrow morning, and I haven’t wanted to bug him with a text.
But I’m so excited to see him it’s a bit unnerving. I’ve had Theo for company, and we’ve snuggled together for every game, and then he’s slept at the foot of my bed every night. But I’ve missed Hunter something crazy. I can’t deny it, certainly not to myself. And I find myself craving the games just so I can get a look at him. Is it nuts that I feel like I’m spending a couple of hours with him during every game? Yes, it most definitely is.
Charly and Ashley have just arrived at the townhouse to watch the game with me. Charly left the morning after Hunter kissed me in public at the game to go check up on her shoe store in Miami. I used her absence as an excuse to put off Ashley whenever she tried to get me to tell her what was going on with Hunter.
I promised I’d fill her in but only when the three of us could be together.
“Okay. Let’s just get right to it, shall we?” Ashley tosses her bag on the couch and throws her hands on her hips. Her jeans fit her like a glove, and her blue silk blouse is the perfect compliment. Her auburn hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she’s wearing no makeup. Ashley is the epitome of a natural beauty. As usual, she looks like she spent hours getting ready but, in reality, spent about five minutes. “Charly’s here—check. I’m here—check. And you’re here. So spill it.”
Charly puts down the take-out Mexican food she offered to bring and gives me a hug. “I guess I missed some things while I was away, huh?”
Charly’s hair is braided casually, and her yellow top and black pants are nearly outshined by her gorgeous strappy shoes. She looks tanned and relaxed from her time in Miami, so the opposite of how I’m feeling. I pick up the bag of food and invite them both to follow me into the kitchen.
“I’m not sure where to start,” I say as I take out plates from the cabinet. “Hunter and I have always been undefined. You both know that. Nothing’s changed there.”
“Nothing?” Charly asks in disbelief. “You certainly look different from when I left.”
“What do you mean?” I glance down at my track pants and the red and gold Fire sweatshirt of Hunter’s that I’ve fallen in love with. “I’m messy. See?”
“You’re wearing your housemate’s clothes.” Charly tugs at the hem of the sweatshirt. “Last I checked, people don’t normally do that unless…”
“Unless they’re fucking,” Ashley sums up with a wide grin. “Oh, come on, Winter, just kill the suspense already, would you? I’ve been ridiculously patient this past week while I waited for our bestie to return home.”
I take a moment to arrange the nachos that Charly brought over onto a plate, which I then place on a serving tray I find buried in Hunter’s pantry.
Finger food is very important to have on hand during a hockey game. It helps keep me occupied while I’m stressing over who has the puck and praying the other team doesn’t score.
“Hunter and I…” I look up from the tray to find my two oldest friends watching me intently. “We kissed. More than that one time after the game.”
Charly’s eyes brighten with interest. “So he’s not ‘just a housemate’ anymore.”
“Technically, he’s your employer,” Ashley says. “Right?”
“Yeah, that doesn’t sound very good,” I say. “I doubt the pet sitting agency had kissing in mind when they hired me to work here.”
“Don’t worry about all of that,” Ashley says as if I’m talking about a little rainstorm.
I carry the tray over to the couch, and the three of us sit down with our food.
“I feel like I’m missing something,” Charly says to me as her wise, whiskey-colored eyes study me. “Am I?”
I let out a slow breath. “Yes. There’s something I haven’t told you. I wasn’t ready to share before, but I am now.”
Charly hugs me when I’ve finished telling them about the assault, and Ashley wipes tears from her eyes.
Charly’s eyes are now blazing with anger. “I knew you were hurting over something,” she says. “I should have come right out and asked you what was going on.”
“You practically did do that,” I say. “But I wasn’t ready to talk about it.”
“You’re so strong to have gone to the police,” Ashley says. “Especially after he threatened you.”
“I’ll need even more strength if I’m called to testify,” I say. “They’re trying to bring him to trial.”
“I hope that bastard gets convicted,” C
harly says with feeling.
“So, are you and Hunt…” Ashley trails off questioningly.
“We’re…us,” I say. “You know Hunt and me. We don’t make anything official. It starts out as blurry and deteriorates from there.”
“This sounds different than high school,” Charly says. “First of all, you had sex this time.”
“How do you know?”
“I didn’t. But you just confirmed my hunch.” She laughs.
“Yay!” Ashley says. “That’s a big step, Win.”
“It is. Hunt’s just…he can be so sweet, but then it’s like he disappears inside his own brick walls, and I can’t reach him.”
“All the Storm brothers learned to protect themselves when their daddy died.”
The game starts, and we stop talking about Hunter and watch him play instead.
He kicks ass once again with two goals and an assist.
When the game ends, I hug Charly and Ashley goodnight and sit back down on the couch with Theo. I open up my laptop.
I’ve been working on my musical all week. Ever since Hunter and I texted that first night he was gone and I confessed my dream of writing my own musical, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. I adore musicals, but to write the score and book is a ton of work. Most musicals are adaptations, but I decided to try to write one based on the story that’s been running through my head. The score I’m going to need help with, but I have an idea for that.
The one thing I know for sure is that it suits me to be in charge of my own story. I write until I’m so tired I’m yawning, and the next thing I know, I’m curling up on the couch, too tired to even go to my bed to sleep.
Chapter 17
Hunter
When we touch down in New Orleans, all I want is to see Winter.
I wave good night to the guys and head for my truck.
Tomorrow at three pm. Precinct Five police station.
Liam’s parting words run on a loop in my brain as I drive toward my home. And my salvation.
Winter.
I make it home in record time, throw the truck into park, and take the front steps two at a time.
Easy Puck Page 10
