Page 18

Hunter

Slade Matthews’s basement is already loud when I walk in—game controllers clicking, trash talk flying, and Wolf yelling at Luka to stop screen-peeking.

I check my phone one last time before tucking it into my pocket.

Peyton and I have been texting on and off all day, mostly her still trying to downplay the fact that she woke up halfway on my side of the bed with drool on her chin, and me doing everything I could to tease her about it.

Not to mention that I caught her off guard with that photo of me without my practice jersey on.

The alternative is thinking too hard about how soft she felt nestled against me last night watching the movie. How we ended up talking most of the night instead of watching any of it.

Then waking up to find her straddled over the pillow wall, dead asleep, but peaceful.

I’ve been expecting a snarky text in response to the last thing I said to her, but she must be deep in editing mode because it’s been thirty minutes since my last text asking if Sproutacus is taking well to the new place.

My phone dings in my hand, and I’m a little too quick to check.

A flash of disappointment settles when it’s not her.

It’s my agent who I met with earlier today.

Dale : I still don’t get it. New Jersey had you for the last four years and didn’t play you in the NHL.

I can’t believe they’re making a play for you now.

Don’t worry, I’ll keep you apprised of any new developments with Bethany.

But maybe you want to consider this. You’d be closer to your mom. Just a thought.

He’s right. Being close to my mom is probably the only attractive piece to the possibility of a trade.

Still, I’m not even sure if my mom needs me there.

She’s playing this whole thing off, assuring me that it’s all going to be fine.

And what if it is all going to be fine? What if I’m making something out of nothing?

“Finally,” Slade says, pulling me out of my thoughts, and then handing me a beer. “Thought you were going to bail.”

“Not a chance,” I say, cracking it open and taking a pull off the hoppy beer.

He had no idea how badly I needed it after my agent asked me what the hell was going on and why Bethany Richards called him to discuss a trade deal, giving up two of her best players for me.

“Had to meet with my agent, and physical therapy took longer than I thought.”

He shoots me a concerned glance as if he wants to pry into the conversation with my agent, but he doesn’t.

Now isn’t the time, and there isn’t much to tell.

My agent said that when he called Everett, he said that this was the first he’d heard of it, though I suspect Everett is holding his cards close to the vest. He’s a billionaire for a reason.

He just nods and then the door rings. “Must be the pizza guy. I’ll be right back.”

The rest of the guys are sprawled around the room. Aleksi’s lounging on the bean bag, Scottie and Olsen are double-teaming Luka in NHL 24 , and Trey—Trey’s texting like his thumbs are trying to break the screen.

“You okay over there, Hart?” I ask him.

He looks up from his screen as if just now realizing I’ve arrived.

“I would be if Adeline’s nanny would just give me a straight answer about whether she’s going backpacking through Europe with her boyfriend next month,” he says, exhaling sharply as he tucks his phone into his pocket and pushes up from the recliner.

I follow him to the wet bar, where there’s a generous spread laid out—sliders, chips, wings, and a dangerously large platter of cookies someone probably made from scratch. And apparently, pizza just got here too.

But it will all get polished off before we leave. Morning skate was grueling earlier today, and these guys can put away some food.

He pops the top off a beer and takes a long pull before I ask, “Still having trouble with the nanny?”

He nods, jaw tight. “Yeah. She knows my hockey schedule, knows I’ve got no one else for Adeline until the season’s over. I knew she was a little young and maybe not the most mature hire, but Adeline bonded with her so fast…I let it slide.”

“And now she’s trying to take a vacation mid-season without anyone to stay with Adeline for away games,” I say, knowing exactly how this screws Trey.

Ever since he left the Army last year to take care of Adeline after both of her parents passed away in a car accident, he’s been doing the best that he can for her.

Trying to give her as normal of a life as he can as her uncle and guardian.

I know Trey enough to know that failure isn’t an option, and that anyone messing with the peace he’s been trying to establish for Adeline is going to get the brunt of a not-so-nice, ex-special-forces badass.

There are only two things Trey Hartley gives a shit about in this world: winning a Stanley Cup and Adeline.

And Adeline? She’s firmly planted in the number one spot.

“You’ve got time though, right?” I say. “Just call up one of the other nanny services. Tell Maddy to go backpacking across Europe and find herself, but she’s going to need a new job when she gets back. Easy fix.”

He grabs a chip from the bowl and crunches down like it personally offended him. He chews for a second and then responds. “I wish it were that simple. I’ve already called every agency from here to Tacoma. No one has a nanny willing to do overnight shifts, multiple days a week.”

“Shit,” I mutter, then a thought hits. “Wait—why don’t you talk to Isla? Her sister owns a nanny company, right? She was at Oakley’s that night that I, uh…accidentally called Peyton a puck bunny.”

A rare grin tugs at his mouth. “Vivi Newport.”

I raise a brow. “Yeah. What—do you know her?”

“No. But Vivi’s hard to miss.”

Before I can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, Slade walks back in from the kitchen, carrying a stack of pizza boxes that smell like melted cheese, fresh dough, and heaven.

It takes all of three seconds for every guy in the room to hit pause on the game and make a beeline for the food.

Because if there’s one thing this team takes more seriously than hockey—it’s pizza.

“How’s fake domestic bliss going, Reed?” Wolf asks as he walks up to the basement bar, grinning as he grabs a soda from the cooler. “You start picking out his and hers throw pillows yet?”

Luka chimes as he makes his way from the living room. “He’s probably got matching monogrammed robes.”

Olsen reaches past me for a plate. “Whatever the hell you do, just don’t ask me to be a groomsman at your fake wedding if this gets any crazier. I get itchy when I lie. But I will come to the bachelor party. I wouldn’t miss that.”

“Jesus Christ, Bozey,” Trey says. “The man isn’t going to marry the girl. Not even dodging his crazy ex is worth that.”

I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows. There’s just about nothing I wouldn’t do to keep out of Bethany’s well-manicured claws.

Slade sees my expression. “Seriously? You’d take it that far.”

I laugh it off because otherwise, this team might have me committed to a loony bin for even considering it.

“No…of course not. Marriage isn’t on the table, even if it’s fake.”

The guys all chuckle and dive back into their conversations about Thanksgiving plans, and then our next out-of-town game coming up the morning after, and I let them.

Let them assume this is all lighthearted and funny and easy.

Because the truth? None of this is easy.

Bethany’s circling. My mom’s keeping secrets. And I’ve somehow moved into a stranger’s house just to avoid one woman while pretending to date another.

If that’s not the definition of a mess, I don’t know what is.

But when I picture Peyton’s face this morning—still half-asleep, hair sticking out in all directions, sleep lines on her cheek—I can’t help the way something settles in my chest.

This might be fake.

But for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m losing.

“Are you headed back to New Jersey to see your mom for Thanksgiving?” Trey asks over his shoulder as I follow him to the large couch, we find a spot to sit down and eat.

“No, it’s not enough time to get back. What are you and Adeline going to do?” I ask.

“Oakley’s has the bar open for players who can’t make it home for the holidays.

It sounds like half the team is going there.

Since it’s just Adeline and me now, it should help to keep her distracted that this is the second year without them.

She’s excited to go since it’s the only time she can get in as a minor. ”

I nod. Holidays are hard when you lose someone you care about. My mind flashes to Peyton and how she mentioned that her dad died young and suddenly back to our kiss last night. “Yeah, I might do that too.”

“You’re not going to spend Thanksgiving with Peyton’s family? I know this is all fake, but you two seemed to be getting along last night at the open skate night.”

I hadn’t even thought about asking Peyton about Thanksgiving, mostly because it feels like I’m encroaching in on her life enough as it is.

I wish I had time to go home and see my mom. But she’d be busy anyway, and I’d be following her around all day. She volunteers at a soup kitchen every year, then her salon does a Thanksgiving dinner, and then she goes with her singing group to an old folks’ home to sing Christmas carols.

If I showed up with this little notice, I’d be her plus one she’d be dragging around town.

Oakley’s with half the team is good enough for me.

And I’ve heard that the spread that Oakley’s puts on is impressive.

Unless of course, Peyton wants me to go with her.

She did mention that her nephew is one of my biggest fans.

Since I’m coming to his career day, it might be a good time to meet him, but I won’t bring it up. If she wants to ask, she will.

I stay another hour or so, watching Luka dominate on Slade’s PlayStation, putting everyone to shame.