Page 1 of Bleacher Report
Chapter One
Peyton
The buzzer screams. The crowd groans. And just like that, the Hawkeyes lose. At home.
The Hawkeyes gave it everything—but effort doesn’t always equal points.
Final Score: 3 - 2
“Well, that was shit,” I hear a fan behind me mutter to the person sitting next to him.
His friend responds with the same annoyed tone. “Can you believe number seventy-two missed that goal in the second period? Maybe New Jersey was right to ship him off to their farm team for the last four years.”
“How the hell did Coach Haynes think Reed was a good enough replacement for Kaenan Altman? What a downgrade.”
Another voice cuts through the press box chatter.
“Fifty bucks says Kauffman trades him before midseason. They need a stronger defender.”
Number seventy-two.
Hunter Reed.
The Hawkeyes’ newest left defenseman—and the player every network executive is foaming at the mouth over.
Not because of his stats, though those speak for themselves.
Because of the scandal.
Everyone wants to know what really happened between Reed, his old team in New Jersey, and Kevin Richards—the billionaire franchise owner who benched him just months after drafting him out of college at twenty-two years old in the first round five years ago. It was supposed to be a career-making move. But instead of headlines about hat tricks and rookie awards, the only thing the media got was silence.
Then the whispers started.
About Richards’s wife. Young. Beautiful. Always in the owner’s box for every home game.
And, allegedly, very interested in the team's new star defenseman.
Since then, Reed’s been a walking headline—fast on the ice, faster off it. The league might’ve buried the gossip, but fans haven’t. Especially the female ones sitting down by the plexiglass in REED jerseys and glossy lipstick, snapping selfies and begging for his attention.
They don’t care if he broke the rules or just broke hearts. All anyone wants to know is what kind of off-ice skills Hunter Reed has between the sheets—because apparently, they were enough to lure a billionaire’s wife straight out of her country club life. Even if it was just for a few stolen minutes in a dirty locker room.
Or so the rumor goes.
His demotion to the farm team didn’t hurt hisgamewith his female fans—not even a little. The charm, the wit, the hockey uniform…even without an NHL crest on the front of it for the past five years, it still worked just fine for him. Now, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, Reed is a rookie again, and it hasn’t changed his serial dating ways.
For half a decade, Hunter Reed’s been snapped with puck bunnies, models, and a rotating roster of weekend companions who he rarely keeps around longer than a brunch reservation.
For a guy who parades his flings through upscale restaurants and velvet-rope nightclubs, you’d think he’d be more open about his personal life. But when the topic comes up in interviews? He smirks, shrugs, and claims he just likes meeting new people.
Cue the chuckles from the boys’ club press pool. The occasional follow-up gets the usual brush-off—“No comment,” “Nothing to tell,” or my personal favorite, “None of your damn business.”
It’s cocky. Infuriating. And—if we’re being honest—a little bit effective.
But now? Now he’s in Seattle. Back in the NHL, wearing Hawkeyes colors and carrying more than just a bad-boy reputation.
Because if he wants to keep Everett Kauffman happy—the new team owner who signed the purchase deal, with one of the conditions being that Hunter got a spot on the roster—then he needs to start heating up the ice, not just the sheets.
And me? I need to convince him to spill every last scandal-soaked secret if I want to lock down this syndication deal.
