Page 120 of Coach's Temptation

He picks up his own scone and takes a slow bite, like this whole conversation isn’t sitting heavy as hell between us.

I stare at my plate. My appetite is nonexistent, but ignoring it won’t make this any easier. So I tear off a small piece of my cinnamon bun, bringing it to my lips, the taste sweet and warm… but completely hollow.

I wrap my hands around my coffee mug as Hunter watches me, waiting.

He knows what’s coming.

So I force myself to say it.

“How long have you known?”

I don’t need to elaborate. He knows exactly what I mean.

Hunter exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw before answering.

“It’s always been a thing. The minute your team plays well, the talk starts.”

His voice is steady, calm—but I know him too well. He's feeling the pressure of this entire thing. That muscle in his jaw ticks, his grip on his coffee tightening.

“I never gave them an answer. Still haven’t. But now Wes is involved and the league got this whole contract thing… the whole shit show has exploded.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes my chest. His eyes flick to mine, stormy and unreadable.

I press forward. “So what now? The second we win that Cup, it’s done? You get Team USA. You leave.”

His head snaps back, eyes darkening. “You think that’s what I want? You think I don't get a say in all of this?”

I don’t answer right away, my pulse hammering in my throat. Because this isn’t just about the Olympics. It’s about me. About him. About us.

“I don’t know, Hunter,” I admit finally. “And that’s the worst part.”

Hunter curses under his breath, pushing a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Nat.”

And then his frustration spills over.

“You really think I’d do that?” His voice is rough, raw, like I’ve just gutted him. “You think I’d spend months breaking every goddamn rule I’ve ever had, turn my life upside down for you, only to walk away?”

His gaze locks onto mine, like he’s trying to dig straight into my soul and pull out the answer himself.

"You think I’d take you to meet my family, show you my life, tell you things I don’t tell anyone—" He shakes his head, jaw tight. "You think I did all of that because I had to? No, Natalie. I did it because I wanted to. Because I fucking believe in us."

The words hit deep.

Because he’s right.

I know the man who pulled me into his arms when I felt like I didn’t belong. Who restored my grandmother’s apartment, piece by piece, just because he knew what it meant to me.

The man who showed me what real family looks like. Who made me believe that love doesn’t have to be conditional, transactional, or cold.

And yet…

I shake my head, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what to think, Hunter.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. His hands press against the counter, knuckles white. “You don’t trust me. That's what this whole thing is, Natalie.”

“That’s not—” I swallow, my chest squeezing. “It’s not about trust.”

His brow lifts. “No? Then tell me what it is.”

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