Page 15 of Bleacher Report
I follow the current and spot the source—tall, blonde, commanding the room in a way that’s almost cinematic. A champagne silk slip dress skims her curves like it was poured on. Delicate diamond studs catch the light at her ears. Strappy heels. A designer clutch dangling from perfectly manicured fingers. She looks like she stepped out of a luxury ad campaign for trophy wives.
Somehow, I feel like I’ve seen her before, but I can’t place her. From the way heads turn, everyone else can.
I follow her gaze to find her staring straight back at Hunter.
His whole body has gone still. His jaw is tight. Eyes locked. Hands clenched at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to throw something—or run.
It's almost unnatural to see him like this. In fight or flight mode.
“Who’s that?” I ask Cammy, since I know she helped with the guest list of the event.
Cammy’s shoulders stiffen when she sees who I’m talking about.
“That would be Bethany Richards. The soon-to-be ex-wife of the owner of the New Jersey team.”
Oh…that’s right. I’ve seen her on TV once or twice, arm in arm with the owner of the team.
I remember when they first got married. There was a lot of buzz around their age gap.
There was gossip that the reason the owner sent Hunter to the farm team, after only completing half a season with the pros, was because his new bride was flirting with Reed, but when the noise died out, I figured that was all it was. Just noise.
But the look on Hunter’s face right now, like someone let a jaguar loose in the building, tells a different story.
Why would the soon-to-be ex-wife of a team across the country be coming to this charity auction?
If I didn’t know better, I’d say she didn’t fly across the country for the crab cakes.
Chapter Four
Hunter
Bethany Richards.
My ex-girlfriend and the reason I spent the last four seasons on a farm team instead of playing for the New Jersey NHL franchise.
Of course, she’d show up here when life keeps kicking me in the ass.
I watch her glide into the room like she owns it. Same confident stride. Same smug smile. Same overpriced perfume that somehow still triggers something bitter in the back of my throat.
She’s wearing a silk dress that probably cost more than my first car—clinging to every curve like it was stitched on. Hair swept up, lips lacquered in that same power-hungry red.Bethany always did know how to make an entrance—elegant on the surface, but just polished enough to hide the claws beneath.
And just like that, it’s like I’m twenty-three again. Standing on New Jersey’s ice, unaware that the woman I was planning a future with was already planning her engagement party with someone else. Someone with more power. More pull. More money. Someone who could erase me from a roster with a single call…and did.
Because in his mind, I was his biggest threat. He was blind to the idea that Bethany was setting him up to take half his wealth.
Oh, the irony.
I grind my teeth, forcing myself to breathe through the memories that I’ve tried hard to leave in that New Jersey stadium where they belong.
It’s been four years of clawing my way back to the NHL—through injuries and rehab, brutal mornings and sleepless nights, while reporters questioned whether I was still worth the ink on my new contract. And now she’s here. Waltzing into the world I rebuilt without her, like it’s something she left behind and has every right to reclaim.
I’ve gotten her calls and texts—all thirty-two of them—saying she wants to talk. I haven’t returned a single one.
Her eyes scan the room, slow and deliberate, until they land on me.
She smiles.
God, I forgot how manipulative that smile is. Sweet enough to fool a billionaire. Sharp enough to end a pro hockey player's career.
