Page 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Hunter

T he week following our victory over Vancouver is supposed to be restful, but it ends up feeling more like a whirlwind.

Iron Ridge had practically exploded into celebration the moment we touched down, and I’d barely managed a single day at home without someone banging on my door or calling me up to relive the big moments of the sweep.

Not that I’d minded.

The town’s excitement had been contagious, and seeing Iron Ridge decked out in Icehawks green, banners lining Main Street, and kids running around with homemade championship signs… it all feels like some kind of surreal dream.

But the best part of it all?

Natalie.

She's stayed at my place every night since we returned. Each moment with her feels more natural, more right than anything I've ever known before.

We’ve cooked meals together, drank wine by the fireplace, and spent endless hours wrapped up in each other beneath tangled sheets, losing track of time before we had to rush back to Icehawk HQ to prepare for Boston.

It's been blissful, addictive, and yeah, maybe I'm becoming slightly fucking obsessed.

But I don’t care.

Every morning, watching her walk around my house wearing nothing but one of my oversized Icehawks t-shirts, having to physically stop myself from dragging her straight back to bed and spending the rest of the day exploring every inch of her body… Fuck. I'm sure we’ve broken a few personal records this week alone.

But today, as the door of the planes opens into the fresh air of my hometown, reality has finally caught up.

We’re here in Boston for the Eastern Conference finals, just one step away from the Stanley Cup itself. The team is in prime condition—Blake’s shoulder has improved dramatically thanks to Natalie’s constant attention, and the rookies are more fired up than ever, practically buzzing through every training session. The stakes have never felt higher.

But Boston isn’t just another series.

This is my hometown, the place where I learned to skate, where I first fell in love with the game.

In a way, this might mean ever more than sweeping Vancouver aside.

By the time the team are settled at the hotel, I've manage to buy myself and Natalie a few hours of 'alone time'.

I'd rather be doing unspeakable things to her back at the hotel, but instead, here we are at my childhood home, where my mom probably still has my embarrassing hockey-themed bedsheets from when I was twelve displayed like some sort of shrine to my awkward years.

The moment our Uber pulls into the driveway, nostalgia hits me like a puck to the chest.

The old colonial-style house, its pale blue siding and white shutters gleaming in the early-afternoon sun, stands as proudly as ever, surrounded by Mom’s meticulously cared-for garden. Tulips and daffodils bloom vibrantly, a splash of yellow and red that sends a wave of childhood memories rushing back.

I squeeze Natalie’s hand, glancing at her beside me in the passenger seat. “Welcome to the Brody family circus.”

She laughs softly, her eyes shining with excitement. “I can't wait.”

Before we even reach the porch, the front door bursts open and my mom charges down the steps, her short blonde hair bouncing wildly, her arms flung open wide.

She’s barely five-foot-two, but she moves like an unstoppable force of nature.

“My boy! My boy’s home!” Mom squeals, launching herself straight into my chest.

I chuckle as I hug her back tightly, lifting her off the ground like I’ve done ever since I grew taller than her in eighth grade.

“Good to see you too, Mom.”

She pulls back just enough to pinch my cheeks, eyes sparkling with tears and pride.

“My God, Hunter, you’re looking so handsome. A bit tired, but handsome.” Her gaze flickers instantly to Natalie. “And you must be Natalie!”

Natalie smiles warmly, stepping forward. “Hi, Mrs. Brody. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Oh, none of that ‘Mrs. Brody’ stuff! Call me Judy, sweetheart.” Mom immediately pulls Natalie into a tight hug, her embrace warm and genuine. “Thank goodness my son finally had enough sense to bring home a nice girl. We’ve been waiting years.”

I shoot Mom a warning look, but she just swats my hand away and makes an exaggerated zipping motion across her lips. "Oh, don't be silly. I remember that we're not saying anything to anyone." She winks at Natalie. "Though between us girls..."

"Mom." My voice carries that old teenage warning tone.

She ignores me completely, turning to Natalie with a conspiratorial smile. "So he's still bossy then?"

Natalie's laugh rings through the entryway. "You have no idea."

"Some things never change." Mom links her arm through Natalie's. "When he was seven, he reorganized my entire kitchen because he didn't like how I arranged the cereal boxes."

I groan. This is exactly what I was afraid of.

Natalie laughs, cheeks flushing pink, and my chest tightens with affection. Mom’s approval is instantaneous, and something about the way Natalie relaxes into her embrace feels right. Like she fits.

“Come in, come in!” Mom gestures dramatically toward the front door. “Your father’s been pacing all morning, pretending he’s not excited. Oh, you two are just adorable, aren’t you?”

I roll my eyes, but Natalie squeezes my arm, eyes twinkling. “I like her already.”

I lean in close, whispering softly into her ear as we step inside. “She hasn’t shown you my baby pictures yet. You might reconsider.”

Natalie giggles, pressing her shoulder gently against mine. “Never.”

Inside, the house smells exactly as I remember. Freshly baked bread, peppermint candy and loving warmth.

My dad stands in the living room, pretending to be engrossed by the hockey highlights playing on the massive flatscreen TV mounted above the fireplace, but the moment he sees me, his stoic expression cracks into a wide, proud smile.

“Hunt!” he calls, striding over and shaking my hand firmly before pulling me into a quick, tight hug. He’s aged gracefully—tall, strong, and still built like the hockey player he once was. “Good to see you, son. Big win in Vancouver, huh?”

“Yeah, Dad. Felt pretty damn good.” My chest swells slightly under his praise. Even now, it matters. “Dad, meet Natalie.”

He beams at Natalie warmly, offering a handshake that quickly becomes another enthusiastic hug. “Pleasure’s all mine, Natalie. We’ve heard nothing but wonderful things.”

Natalie blushes again, looking slightly overwhelmed, but undeniably happy.

Mom already has Natalie by the arm, guiding her toward the hallway with a conspiratorial smile. “Let me show you Hunter’s old room. He still has all his hockey trophies and posters of Wayne Gretzky plastered everywhere. Trust me, it’s so adorable you'll fall for our boy all over again.”

I groan loudly. “Mom, seriously?”

“Oh, hush, Hunter.” She waves dismissively. “You’re not too big to be embarrassed by your mother.”

Natalie shoots me a teasing glance over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

I watch them disappear up the staircase. Dad nudges my shoulder with a knowing smile.

“She’s something special,” he says simply.

I nod slowly, smiling at the floor. “Yeah, she is.”

“So… you ready for Boston?” he asks quietly, his voice laced with that familiar intensity.

“I think we are.” I exhale, glancing toward the staircase again. “But first… I’m gonna show Natalie around a little. Take her by the rink, show her where it all started.”

Dad’s expression softens with pride and nostalgia. “Good call, son.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but I sense something lingering in the silence. When I look up, he’s studying me carefully, concern shadowing his wrinkled gaze.

“You know I couldn’t be happier for you, son,” he begins gently. “But you’ve worked damn hard to get back here. After everything you went through with your injury, rebuilding your life, your career... your mental health, too. Now you’re closer than ever to the Cup, son. Are you sure about this timing?”

I exhale sharply, the memories of all those painful years resurfacing.

Those endless nights when sleep wouldn't come. The walls of my bedroom closing in, hockey posters mocking me from every angle. The constant, gnawing certainty that I was nothing—absolutely nothing—without the game.

I touch my knee unconsciously, phantom pain shooting through the old injury. "I remember you bringing soup up. Every night. Even when I wouldn't open the door."

Dad's eyes go soft around the edges. "Your mother made it. I just delivered."

The memory of my darkest moment surfaces. The night I'd hobbled around on my shattered knee and smashed every trophy, ripped down every poster, destroyed every reminder of the future I'd lost.

Dad had finally broken down the door, found me curled up in the corner, sobbing like a child.

“Dad, Natalie isn’t a distraction. She’s as focused on this team’s success as I am. Maybe more.”

I don't say as much, but even before we got in the Uber before coming here she was with the team. Checking injuries, nursing Blake's shoulder so he's a chance to start.

She's playing her part. No doubt about it.

Dad squeezes my shoulder, the way he always has when he’s trying to balance caution with support. “I know. But I watched how losing hockey broke you once before, Hunter. I just don’t want to see anything get in your way now. You deserve this.”

My jaw tightens slightly as his words sink in. He means well. Hell, he always does. But the subtle seeds of doubt are hard to ignore.

“This is different, Dad.” I look him straight in the eyes, willing him to see it. “Natalie makes me better. She pushes me, supports me, keeps me focused. If anything, she’s exactly what I need right now.”

Dad studies me for another beat, then slowly nods, seemingly reassured. “I trust your judgment, Hunt. Just promise me you’ll keep your eyes on the prize.”

I clap him on the back, forcing confidence back into my voice.

“Always have, Dad. I’m not letting it slip away this time.”

A burst of laughter drifts down from upstairs, and Natalie's voice soon fills the house with warmth. Dad’s gaze flicks upward, lips curling into an approving smile.

"She fits in well," he says, softening the tension lingering between us.

I smile and listen to Natalie laugh again. Something about hearing her in my childhood home stirs up feelings I hadn't expected.

"Yeah, she does."

I admit it quietly, but the reality hits me full-force.

Natalie isn't just part of my world anymore—she's becoming the center of it.

Dad claps my shoulder lightly, his smile returning to easygoing and relaxed. "Well, we'd better rescue her from your mom. Judy probably has the baby albums out already."

"Shit," I mutter, grimacing. "You're right."

We step into the kitchen, instantly welcomed by the familiar sight of my mom pulling dishes from the oven. It smells incredible, with delicious roast chicken, steaming bowls of vegetables, fresh rolls still warm from the oven.

Mom’s practically vibrating with excitement, chatting away to Natalie, who’s perched comfortably on a kitchen stool, sipping sweet tea from my mother's favorite china cups.

Natalie's green eyes catch mine as Dad and I enter the kitchen, and something warm sparks inside me when she smiles.

It's natural. Unforced.

Like she’s always belonged right here at our kitchen island, sharing tea and gossip with Mom.

"Oh good, you're here!" Mom waves us in, already setting plates down at the table. "Lunch is ready. Hunter, sit next to Natalie, please, so she can tell you how cute you were at five. She absolutely loved the Halloween costume pictures."

Natalie grins wickedly, eyes sparkling. "You made a pretty impressive pumpkin, Coach."

I shake my head, groaning playfully as I slide into the seat beside her. "I told you she'd embarrass me."

Natalie nudges my shoulder gently, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "Honestly? I think it only makes you sexier."

Heat creeps up my neck, and I shoot her a look that promises sweet retribution later. Natalie just laughs, settling comfortably beside me, reaching for my hand under the table.

Dad clears his throat, reaching for the carving knife. "Natalie, did Hunter tell you he practically lived at the rink down the road when he was a kid? Spent every waking hour on that ice."

"Only about a hundred times," Natalie teases, squeezing my fingers softly. "But I'd love to see it in person."

My heart thuds gently, realizing this is exactly what I want… To show her everything, the good and the messy parts of my past.

"Then we'll go after lunch," I promise, meeting her eyes. "It's about time you see where the legend began."

Mom beams, handing out plates piled high with her famous roast chicken, warmth filling every inch of the kitchen.

"Perfect. Now, eat up, everyone."

As we dive into lunch, laughter and conversation swirling around the table, I can't shake Dad’s quiet warning from my mind entirely.

But glancing over at Natalie, smiling at something Mom is saying, her eyes lit with joy, I know I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.

Natalie isn't a distraction.

She's exactly what I need, now more than ever.

If anything, she's the reason I'll finally hold that trophy.