Page 39

Hunter

As Peyton and I pull up to my mom’s house, a familiar knot tightens low in my stomach.

It’s a small Cape Cod tucked into an older neighborhood in northern Jersey, the kind of street lined with mature maple trees and cracked sidewalks that frost over by late November.

There’s a light dusting of fresh snow on the lawn, and Christmas lights are strung along the roof line. Christmas has always been my mother’s favorite holiday.

The porch light is already on, casting a warm glow over the narrow stoop, a cheerful green Mr. Grinch-themed wreath hanging on the door.

Inside, I can already imagine the blast of cinnamon-sugar from the oven, the hum of the old baseboard heaters that always ticked at night. Why do I miss that sound?

It's been a year since I've been back, trying to make my next step out of the farm team as my contract was winding down, and it paid off with a large Hawkeyes contract that Everett Kauffman himself pushed for with the old owner Phil Carlton while they were still in negotiations.

The effort worked out for my career, but it’s been too long.

Maybe if I’d been around more... Maybe if I was still playing for New Jersey...

My gut twists harder.

Maybe my mother wouldn’t be keeping so much from me.

I flex my hands on the steering wheel before forcing myself to let go, reaching for Peyton’s hand instead.

If Bethany’s right—and my mom’s sicker than she’s letting on—what the hell am I supposed to do?

Take the trade?

Come back here and forget everything that’s happening between Peyton and me?

Would she even want to move across the country for me?

The thought barely flickers through my head before I shove it back down.

Too soon.

Too much.

One step at a time.

Peyton squeezes my hand gently, pulling me out of the spiral.

"You okay?" she asks, her voice low and warm.

I nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah. Just... It's been a while, you know? And I’m worried about her."

Peyton holds my gaze a second longer than necessary, then nods, squeezing once more before letting go.

"I’m right here," she says simply.

We grab our bags and walk up the front steps, the December cold nipping at our skin.

When the door opens, my mom stands there, arms wide, that same bright smile stretched across her face.

Only...she’s thinner.

There are dark shadows under her eyes that weren't there the last time I saw her.

But she pulls me into a hug that feels exactly the same—tight, fierce, full of unconditional love.

"Hunter, honey, it’s so good to see you," she murmurs into my chest.

Then she turns to Peyton and wraps her up just as tightly.

"And you must be Peyton! It's wonderful to finally meet you, dear. I’m Carly."

Peyton beams, cheeks pink from the cold—or maybe from the Reed family welcome assault.

"It’s so nice to meet you too, Ms. Reed."

"Please," Mom laughs, waving her off. "It’s Carly. And come on in. You must be freezing."

Inside, the house smells like a bakery, the fake tree my mother keeps up in the attic taking its annual spot in the corner of the living room with all the same ornaments that we’ve had since I was a kid.

The living room is cozy, cluttered in the way of lived-in homes—crocheted throws over the couch, a cluttered side table full of holiday cards, and everywhere, pieces of my childhood.

My hockey trophies line one wall, gathering a little dust but polished with pride.

A lump rises in my throat as I follow her gaze.

"I’ll take the bags upstairs," I say quickly, trying to shake it off.

"You do that," Mom says, steering Peyton toward the kitchen.

"I could use some help decorating the cookies for the Christmas Eve retirement home cookie exchange. You up for it, Peyton?"

"I love decorating Christmas cookies," Peyton says with an excited tone that I can hear as I ascend the stairs with our luggage. "My mom and I do it every year."

As I head upstairs, I catch snippets of their conversation—Mom explaining how cream of tartar and a little Crisco are the secret to icing that doesn’t run, Peyton’s easy laughter in response.

For a second, the tension in my chest eases.

Mom still sounds like Mom.

Maybe Bethany’s wrong.

Maybe everything’s fine.

But the moment I walk into my old bedroom, my stomach drops again.

Gone are the sun-bleached posters, the scratched-up homework desk, the ancient twin bed.

The room’s been repainted a soft sage green.

The bed is now a California king with a fresh comforter set that looks straight off a Pottery Barn website.

The dresser’s new too—sleek, modern lines—nothing like the battered furniture I grew up with.

Change is hard, but this… This hits harder.

After all these years, after all the times she said she couldn’t bear to touch it— she chose now?

Now she changes everything.

I rub a hand over the back of my neck, unsettled, before setting down the bags and heading back downstairs.

I hear my mother's voice float through the house as I hit the bottom of the stairs. "Peyton, what does your family usually do for Christmas?"

“Nothing crazy or out of the ordinary. We used to drive around on Christmas Eve to see Christmas lights, my mom buys store-bought gingerbread houses that we’d decorate as kids, and before my dad passed away, he’d read us The Night Before Christmas .”

“Oh…I’m so sorry to hear that, dear.”

“Thank you. Are these pictures of Hunter?”

Crossing the living room, I catch sight of Peyton again.

She’s standing in front of the refrigerator, grinning as my mom ties an apron around Peyton’s waist.

Peyton’s head tilts as she studies the pictures of a younger me on the fridge.

I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until she turns and spots me watching her.

A smile.

A giggle shakes her shoulders.

“What’s this one?” she asks, pointing to a photo.

“Aww that one…” my mom says. “That’s his T-ball team picture. He was three.”

“He looks so happy here,” Peyton points out.

“He was. The photographer told him to give him the kind of stare down he would give a pitcher if he was at bat, but Hunter’s always been a fun-loving kid. He couldn’t frown to save his life when he was that little.”

“And this one?” she asks, pointing to another photo of me with a trophy in my hand. The first one I ever won with my hockey team. After that, I was hooked.

“He made the traveling hockey team across town when he was six. It was a sacrifice to get him there with having to manage the salon as well, but now seeing how far he’s come, it was worth it. Though, sometimes I wish I wouldn’t have taken him away from the team he was on.”

“Really? He said it was a great opportunity to get better,” she says, and I lean in to listen too. She’s never mentioned it to me.

“I didn’t realize how pivotal Coach Murphy was for Hunter. Having a man step in for him like that. I didn’t know that’s what changed Hunter’s drive.”

“You didn’t know about Coach Murphy?” she asks.

“Not until your show,” she says, tightening the bow around Peyton’s waist and then patting her on the shoulder to tell her that she’s done with the strings. “As far as I know, you’re the first person he ever told.”

Peyton spins around to look at her, her mouth gaping a little, her eyebrows pulled together.

My mother smiles and then spins back towards the sink as if she’s proud of herself to surprise Peyton.

“You have an effect on my son, Peyton. One that no one else seems to have.”

“I don’t know about that…he’s incredibly strong-willed. It’s hard to imagine that anyone affects him unless he allows it,” she says, and I bite back a chuckle.

“That’s not his natural disposition. He’s the kind of kid who’s never met a stranger—everyone he meets is his friend—a complete chatterbox. The world did a number on him but give him time. He’s softening when it comes to you. I can hear it in his voice ever since he started dating you.”

I clear my throat and take the few steps into the kitchen, pretending I didn’t hear anything.

“Ma, what’s up with my room? You changed everything. You got rid of my old bed?”

"Not the twin?" Peyton gasps dramatically, eyes gleaming with laughter as she smirks at me. “I was promised a twin bed, Reed. I packed emotionally for it.”

My mom waves a hand. “Please. You’re a grown man bringing your girlfriend home. I wasn’t about to let you share a mattress built for a tooth fairy. Besides, I’ve been meaning to turn it into a proper guest room for a while.”

I arch a brow. “You kept it the same for ten years.”

“I kept it the same because you kept acting like it was still yours,” she shoots back, opening the oven door and sliding in another tray of cookies. “Now that you’ve brought someone home worth impressing, I figured it was time.”

Peyton’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. I drop the subject. We’re only here until Christmas evening, and the last thing I want to do is discuss the contents of a room that I’ve stayed in a small handful of times since college.

We eat dinner around the small round table in the breakfast nook, the three of us swapping stories while my mom fills us in on the latest salon gossip.

Peyton listens with wide eyes as Mom recounts how Lorraine from the Wednesday morning knitting group got turned in to the HOA for harboring an illegal pot-bellied pig.

“Apparently, she walks it on a leash,” Mom adds between bites of meatloaf. “And yes, it uses the toilet. Smartest damn animal on the block.”

Peyton’s laugh is bright and real, and I can’t stop staring at her while she laughs like that in my childhood kitchen. It feels...right. Exactly right.

I want to ask my mother about her health—about what the doctors are saying—and if Bethany’s intuition is right, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. It’s too heavy for our first night.

After dinner, Peyton rinses while I load the dishwasher, both of us elbowing each other playfully until I catch her stifling a yawn.

“All right, I’m stealing her upstairs,” I tell my mother, draping a towel over my shoulder. “Long flight.”

“Thanks for the cookies and dinner,” Peyton says, giving my mom a genuine smile. “And for letting me raid your icing stash.”

“You’re welcome anytime, sweetheart,” my mom replies warmly. “I’m going to head off to the bath as well. I’ve been on these legs too long.”

When we step into my room, Peyton halts in the doorway, eyes sweeping over the neatly made king-sized bed.

“So this is the upgraded childhood lair,” she says. “Color me disappointed. Not a single dinosaur bed sheet.”

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “They’re in the attic. Want me to pull them out? Really complete the fantasy?”

“Only if you’re going to return the old playboys under the bed also,” she teases.

When we finally settle into bed, Peyton turns to me, her expression soft. "Thank you for bringing me here. I know this place means a lot to you."

I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You mean a lot to me, too."

She snuggles into my side, her hand sliding over my chest.

And this is it.

I know I don’t want to just try… I want to make this work.