Page 119 of Bleacher Report
“So you regret it?”
“Hell no. It was still funny as shit. My coach didn’t like it much, though.”
“You can take the prankster off the rink…” I say.
He nods toward the far goal line.
“See that crease?”
I follow his gaze.
“That’s where I scored my first high school goal. Triple overtime. My stick flew out of my hands, and I tackled my own teammate in celebration. Sprained his wrist. Coach benched me for the next game.”
“You don’t know when to quit,” I tease.
“I never quit,” he replies, and then his voice softens. “I haven’t been back here in years. But I wanted you to see it.”
I lower the phone slightly, feeling that familiar warmth rise in my chest again.
“Why me?”
He doesn’t look away from the ice.
“Because this...was sacred. And you make everything feel like it matters again.”
I want to shut off my phone and just be present for this moment between us, when he’s sharing all of this with me. Unfortunately, I have an interview to turn in, and a part of me is looking forward to having all of our original agreements behind us so that we can move on.
“When you were signed by New Jersey, how did that feel?”
“Looking back, that was a rollercoaster ride. I’ve never been so high and then hit a low so quickly in my life.”
“When they transferred you to the farm team?” I ask.
“I only got to play half a season on professional ice. I thought I might not ever make it back here.”
I nod slowly. “There were rumors. About your attitude. About Bethany.”
It’s a huge gamble, and he might get up and walk out of this rink, leaving me here to walk back to his mom’s house, but I have to at least ask the questions even if he doesn’t answer them.
He stiffens just slightly, his jaw ticking. But he doesn’t look away.
“I don’t like thinking back on those days,” he says. “It doesn’t do anyone any good. Bethany and I dated in college and into myrookie year. It didn’t work out. That’s it. Nothing more to say about it. Bethany and I grew apart—Richard made a business call regarding his team that I don’t agree with—end of story. Now, I’m playing for one of the best teams in the league, and I feel like I’m right where I need to be.”
It’s not the juicy detail I was hoping for. The truth is that I know what she did, but Hunter just gave me more on the story than anyone else has ever gotten out of him. This might be enough for the syndication deal.
And more importantly, he’s still sitting here. Still talking. And that comment he made about being where he needs to be…it feels like I’m part of that now.
I lower the camera just slightly and ask, “If you weren’t playing hockey, what would you be doing right now?”
Without missing a beat, Hunter grins. “That’s easy. Personal Speedo car washer.”
I blink. “You’re joking.”
“Dead serious,” he says, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’d shave the ice, blast club music, maybe even throw in a little choreography. Make it a full experience.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“But admit it—you’d come watch.”
