Page 80 of Bleacher Report
“Think I’ve got a future in second-grade public speaking?”
She laughs, and it’s soft and real, tugging something loose in my chest.
“I have a feeling that you could do anything you wanted to do if you put your mind to it,” she says, her voice gentler now.
I stop walking. Just for a second. “Thanks for saying that.”
She stops too. “You’re welcome. And I mean it. You’re a very capable person from what I can tell from the time we’ve known each other.”
I step closer. Not too close. But close enough to see the truth flicker in her eyes.
Temptation builds, wanting to ask her what she sees in me. If there’s something I’m missing that could make something like her and me work.
She stares back up at me. So close that I could bend down and kiss her if I thought she’d accept it.
I take a breath, then step back, giving her space.
“I’ll see you at home,” I say, voice quieter now.
She nods once. “Drive safe.”
And just like that, the moment passes. She climbs into the car, and I stand there for a beat longer, watching the taillights until they disappear.
Trouble.
That’s what this is.
And I’m already in deep.
Chapter Seventeen
Hunter
The studio lights feel hotter this time, but the tension that hung thick in the air during our first interview is gone. As I settle into the chair across from Peyton, I can feel the difference—a sense of ease, a shared understanding that we're both here to do a job.
Peyton flashes me a warm smile as she adjusts her headphones. "Welcome back, Hunter. Thanks for being here again."
"Thanks for having me," I reply, my voice steady. No more defensive walls, no more snapping at her questions. This time, I'm ready.
The questions flow more naturally, her voice steady but warm, like she’s not just interviewing me—she’s trying to understand me.
She starts off with softballs.
“How do you feel like this season is shaping up?”
“What’s the weirdest pre-game tradition you’ve seen from a teammate in the years you’ve played?”
I’ll give it to her, she did a good job warming me up before she gets into the deeper questions.
“When’s the moment you realized hockey wasn’t just a sport for you? That this was something you really wanted to do. That it was the NHL or bust?”
“Honestly, I can’t remember when the moment clicked for me. As cliché as it sounds, it feels more like hockey chose me,” I tell her, thinking as far back as when my mom started me in a hockey league when I was four. “When I first started in the league as a kid, I was just happy to get out and screw around with some other kids my age. I took to ice skating instantly—turned out I had really good balance, so after a few weeks of practice, the ice wasn’t a factor like it was for some kids.”
“A little skating protégé…”
I chuckle. “Yeah, something like that. But then, my second year on the team, we got a new coach—Coach Murphy,” I tell her. I can still remember the lime green windbreaker he wore to practice every day and the handlebar mustache that I always thought was funny.
“And Coach Murphy turned you into a superstar?” she asks.
