Page 78 of Bleacher Report
She finishes her explanation just as Jesse nears the door.
Jesse’s practically vibrating. “You’re going to talk to my class today! That’s so cool! I knew you’d come.”
“You bet I am,” I say, ruffling his hair. “And you look ready to lead the charge.”
Peyton’s watching me again, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Pride. Gratitude. Maybe something more, and for some reason, it’s the first time in a while that I really want to be that for someone. At least for today.
And just like that, all that pent-up tension from the last few days? It softens a little. Not gone, but...manageable.
The parent who was just in the classroom steps out and finishes with their Q&A from the class.
His teacher steps out quickly. “Mr. Reed. I’m Mr. Laurence, Jesse’s teacher. How great you could join us. Jesse has been talking about you all week.”
He’s a guy in decent shape, probably a decade older than me with glasses and his school lanyard over his neck.
“I’m glad I could be here. We could always use more kids interested in the sport,” I tell him, which is true.
Someone has to fill our skates after we retire. There always has to be someone to take on the sport.
“Great, well the floor is yours when Jesse is ready to introduce you,” he says, smiling down at Jesse and then heads back into the classroom.
“Ready to introduce me, champ?” I ask Jesse.
He nods enthusiastically and grabs my hand like we’ve done this a hundred times. “Come on! Everyone’s going to want to meet you.”
Peyton trails just behind us with Shari. They move inside, finding a place against the wall to listen but to stay out of the way.
I glance over just to catch her watching me. I’m used to having eyes on me since I play a sport that has millions of fans around the world and televised games. But her attention on me hits differently than it ever has with anyone else. I realize that I want her eyes on me all the time.
She always looks at Jesse like he hung the moon. But the way she looks at me now?
It’s different. Soft. Open. Like I won’t fuck up. But I might. Not for career day, that’s in the bag, but making sure that I don’t hurt her when this whole thing is over. That I can’t promise, though I wish I could.
The second we step into Jesse’s classroom, all hell breaks loose.
“This is Hunter Reed,” Jesse announces like he’s bringing a celebrity into a press conference. “He’s my friend—and he plays for the Hawkeyes!”
The room explodes. Not literally. But close.
Kids cheer. One kid drops a pencil case. Someone gasps so loudly you’d think I just announced I was giving away free puppies.
“Hi, everyone,” I say, lifting a hand, trying not to laugh. “Thanks for having me.”
I keep it light. I talk about teamwork. About getting benched. About coming back from an injury. About the away games, and camaraderie with the players. About seeing the world and doing what I love. I leave out the drama with Bethany and the staged kiss that made the sports blogs combust.
Instead, I tell them about the time I wore two left skates to practice and fell on my ass. The kids lose it.
Jesse’s laugh cuts through it all—loud, unfiltered joy. And damn if it doesn’t settle something in my chest.
When I wrap up, the teacher opens the floor for questions. That’s when chaos really erupts.
“Do you fight a lot?”
“Are you rich?”
“Do you have a tiger like that one guy on the clock app?”
“Will you sign my forehead?”
