Page 109 of Bleacher Report
“It's not a problem, you just never said anything and…”
“You’ve got a lot on your plate, and he’s only gone with me a few times, I wasn’t sure it would help. I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it wasn’t going to work.”
I lick my lips, wanting to explain that this isn’t a small thing. It’s a big thing. To take my nephew who could really use a male figure in his life, who’s putting time and energy into his dreams when my brother isn’t here to do it—it’s a big deal. And I’ve never seen Jesse so happy.
“And the wheelchair,” I ask, breaking eye contact from him to stare at it sitting on the ice. “That was just a small thing too?”
He swallows hard before he speaks. “I called in a favor.”
“An expensive favor…” I add.
“It’s just money.”
“It’s more than that and you know it. You’ve done something for Jesse that none of us could have done. You’ve given him hope and knocked down barriers that we couldn’t have done. And… And…”
“And what?”
“And… I should go. I have an interview I need to edit.” I spin around and head down the player’s tunnel.
It suddenly dawns on me that I’m falling for a man who I agreed to be temporary with, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I’m falling fast—and hard.
"Stop...Peyton. Where are you going?" Hunter's voice rings out behind me, laced with concern.
I don't answer, just keep walking, my arms wrapped protectively around myself. I need to get away, to put some distance between us before I completely lose my grip on this fragile thing we've built.
But Hunter isn't letting me go that easily. He catches up to me as I make it down to the locker room, his hand wrapping around my wrist as he pulls me back around to face him. "Peyton, please stop. Tell me what I did wrong. I don't understand why you're running from me."
"You didn't do anything wrong," I insist, my gaze fixed on a point over his shoulder. But I can't ignore the pull of his touch, the way my body yearns to be closer to his.
I want his hands all over me. I want to feel the safety I feel when he wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his chest. But I can’t say that. It’s not fair. I'd be asking him for something he’s been avoiding with other women for the last four years.
His eyes narrow, and he glances around, taking in our surroundings. We've ended up in the players' locker room, the showers just a few feet away. The memory of my fantasy, ofbeing pinned against the locker room wall, flashes through my mind, and I have to fight to keep my composure.
"Obviously I did something you didn't like, because you're running away, making some lame excuse that you have editing to do,” he presses, his frustration evident. "What's going on, Peyton? What did I do?"
"Nothing!" I exclaim, the words bursting out of me, echoing loudly through the locker room.
His brow furrows, and his touch trails down to my wrist before settling at my hand, weaving our fingers together like he’s trying to tether me to him—and it’s all I want.
His eyes lock on mine, steady and searching.
“Then why are you upset?”
“Because you keep doing everything right,” I blurt out, my voice shakier than I wish it was. “And it’s been so long since I’ve had someone take care of things in my life. I’m used to keeping things together for everyone else.”
Understanding dawns on his face, and he takes another step forward, closing the small gap between us.
"I know you have. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think I had some motive. Jesse has talent, and I know what it feels like when someone steps up for you as a kid. Especially with his dad being overseas," he murmurs, his voice soft and tender.
His words gut me—sharp and quiet and true—and I nod, blinking hard.
None of us can fill the hole my brother left behind when he deployed.
But Hunter... Hunter didn’t just try. He showed up.
This—this—is exactly what we were supposed to avoid.
Getting attached. Getting invested.
