Page 14

Hunter

Leaving the house in a rush, I realize that the last place I want to head to is my apartment with Bethany roaming loose somewhere inside.

After driving around for forty-five minutes with nowhere to go, I get a text from my mom.

Mom: Sorry that I didn’t return your text yesterday. The salon was slammed. Doctor’s appointment went fine. Nothing to worry about. And don’t think I’m just going to ignore the fact that you haven’t told me that you have a beautiful new girlfriend. You better be bringing her home soon.

Something keeps nagging at me that she’s not being honest about her health.

That she’s using my new relationship with Peyton to deflect the real conversation that she and I should be having, but what can I do?

Call my own mother a liar? As if the issue with Peyton wasn’t enough, now I have too much on my mind to just sit here in my truck.

I need to work off this energy and luckily I have my gym bag in the truck.

A beat passes before I swipe the message away and pull up my texts, firing one off to Slade.

Hunter: You up for a run?

Slade: We had morning skate and weights today. And my wife’s still going to expect me to put out tonight. Have you forgotten that I’m not as young as you?

Hunter: I need to run off some steam. Just left Peyton’s place.

Slade: Trouble with your fake girlfriend, shocking. Okay, I’m waiting at the stadium for Penelope to finish a meeting with Everett. I’ve got an hour to kill. Meet you at the park?

Hunter: See you in twenty.

I wonder for a second what the meeting with Penelope and Everett could be about. Are they discussing a trade for me to New Jersey? Has Bethany even made an offer for a trade yet? I have no damn idea.

Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking garage, kill the engine and quickly change into sweats, a hoodie and running shoes before I head toward the park.

The evening air’s already dropping degrees as the sun dips behind the jagged edge of the Seattle skyline. I pull the drawstrings of my hoodie tighter as I lace up my running shoes at the curb.

Slade’s easy to spot—tall, lean, stretching near the trailhead like he owns the place.

His breath mists in short puffs, sleeves pushed up to reveal tattooed forearms that still look solid for a guy who’s always claiming he’s past his prime.

The man talks like he’s retired but moves like he’s got a few more seasons in him.

Gray clouds are rolling low above us, smudging out the last of the light.

Typical November in Seattle. Cold. Wet. Gritty. Perfect weather to run off regret.

It matches the knot in my gut.

Slade spots me approaching and nods. “Look who’s still alive.”

“Barely,” I mutter.

“Looks like you escaped unscathed?” He pulls one knee to his chest, balance perfect, as I roll my shoulders.

I start jogging without answering and he follows, falling in line with me, the thud of our shoes against the frosty trail breaking the silence first. We settle into steady pace.

Trees huddle together on either side—A few orange leaves cling stubbornly to low-hanging limbs.

The sound of traffic nearby, as Friday night kicks off in the city.

“Are you going to tell me what happened,” Slade asks, “or do I have to guess?”

I let the silence stretch a beat longer than necessary. “She asked about Bethany in our first interview.”

Slade’s grunt is quiet but full of judgment. “The interview…right. I was wondering when that would come up. You can’t be shocked she brought up Bethany.”

“I told her I didn’t want to talk about that.”

“I thought you agreed to the terms at the charity auction. This didn’t come up?” he asks.

I decide against admitting that it sort of did. But she knew I wasn’t comfortable with it. At the very least, I figured she’d give me a heads-up about the kind of question she was going to ask before she jumped into it.

“She knew it was off-limits.”

He shoots me a look. “Hunter, she’s a journalist. It’s her job to poke at things, and you told me you agreed to three interviews.

You didn’t think she’d ask about Bethany?

Especially when the woman rented an apartment in your building and has been stalking the Hawkeyes’ stadium, hoping to run into you every morning at early skate? ”

“Bethany being in Seattle is temporary. She’ll find someone else to manipulate and control. She bores easily…her best trait in my current situation. What I care about right now is being ambushed by Peyton.”

“You weren’t ambushed,” Slade counters. “You were triggered. There’s a difference.”

My jaw clenches. “Same result.”

“Nope. One makes her the villain. The other means you need to figure out your shit and apologize. And hell,” he huffs, his voice strained from running and talking, “even if it were her fault, you’d still have to apologize. Might as well just get it over with.”

We jog a few more strides before I respond. “She caught me off guard.”

“She gave you a chance to respond. You got defensive. Then you stormed out like a pissed-off frat boy who just got benched.”

“I was pissed,” I snap. “You didn’t hear her tone. It was like she was baiting me.”

“I don’t have to hear it to know how you would have reacted to it.

I’ve seen you in post-games, remember? Bethany is under your skin, and you and Peyton barely know each other.

She has no idea what Bethany did—what she cost you,” he says calmly.

“I’ve seen you pissed before. I bet you scared the hell out of her storming out like that. ”

That stops my thoughts. Just for a second.

Did I scare her?

That wasn’t my intention.

I’d never hurt her, no matter what she said to me. But I keep running. “She’ll be fine.”

Slade’s voice softens. “She might be. But will you?”

I don’t answer.

“She’s not Bethany,” he continues. “She’s not trying to screw you. She’s trying to do her job while holding together a deal that means something to both of you. You blew that interview wide open. And based on the deal you made with her? She didn’t deserve that.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” I say, breathing hard. “Having people dig through your past like it’s public property.”

“Of course I do,” he says, flashing me a glare.

“Did you forget that I was slated for a first-round pick out of college, and Penelope’s dad banished me to the farm team for five years to punish me for ruining Penelope’s figure skating career?

The media was all over me, asking why the hell I didn’t enter the draft.

The speculations were wild for years. Some of the headlines they came up with were nuts. ”

I glance at him.

“Shit…I guess I forgot about that.”

We slow down at a crosswalk as Slade reaches for the walk button and presses it, then faces me, his hand on his hips, both of us catching our breath.

“You’re afraid to trust her. I get it. You’ve been burned before.

But if you keep treating her like she’s the enemy, this whole thing’s going to go up in flames. ”

“She told me she wouldn’t blindside me.”

“Reed,” he stops running, blocking my path.

“You asked her to outbid your ex-girlfriend, and then let you move in with her. You owe it to her to help her get this syndication deal. She can’t do that by painting you as some sanitized version of yourself.

People want the truth. Even the ugly parts.

Especially the ugly parts. If you’re smart, and you work together, maybe you can both get something you want out of this. ”

“Maybe,” I say, my voice low.

“It’s worth a shot. Otherwise, you’re the one not holding up your end of the deal, and that’s not like you.

I’ve never seen you back out of an agreement,” the walk sign illuminates, and we start running again.

“By the way, Luka says you cheated on your bet at the charity auction for the highest bid. He wants a rematch next year.”

I laugh, not sure if I’m willing to put myself in that spot again if Bethany is still on the loose.

“You're going to fix it with her, right?” he asks after a beat.

“I don’t know how.”

“Start with showing up. A little effort. You don’t have to spill your guts. Just…meet her halfway.”

We slow as we near the parking lot. “Do something that says I’m sorry in your language. I don’t know—pick up dinner. Show her that you care, even if you’re too dumb to say it.”

I snort. “You calling me dumb?”

“Emotionally? Frequently.”

I laugh despite myself.

We reach our cars, breath still fogging in the cold air.

“Just fix it,” he says, tugging off his beanie.

“Before you burn the bridge with the only girl you’ve gone steady with in four years.

Even if this is all for show.” He pauses, giving me a look.

“And maybe ask yourself if this is really about Peyton—or if Bethany, your mom, and everything else going on are messing with your head.”

He’s probably right. Not knowing what’s happening with my mom, being this far away from her while she’s going through it...it’s weighing on me more than I want to admit.

“You might have a point,” I mutter.

“I definitely do.”

I huff out a laugh.

“Tell your wife I’m sorry if you can’t perform tonight, old man,” I jab.

He smirks. “Don’t worry about me. I’m getting some. And my wife’s a fan of reverse cowgirl—I’ll be relaxing with a nice view.”

He claps me on the back, and I shake my head, grinning despite myself.

He’s not wrong. Peyton and I agreed to two months of exclusive celibacy, which is already the longest dry spell I’ve had in years.

And he’s right about her, too. I don’t want to admit it—but I need to make this right.

I sit for a second in the driver’s seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel. I let the engine idle as my heart rate starts to level out. Then I grab my phone and shoot her a message.

Hunter: What’s your favorite kind of dessert?

The screen stays quiet long enough that I think maybe she’s ignoring me.

Then:

Peyton: That’s…random. Why?