Page 47 of Coach's Temptation

"Make it a triple." I lean against the counter. "He hasn't cracked a smile all morning."

Hunter's jaw tightens. "Both of you—shut up."

Clara laughs, already pulling the shots. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

"Don't mind him. He's always like this on game days. And most other days."

I watch Hunter scan the room, completely ignoring me, probably counting his players and mentally reviewing plays instead.

His game-day intensity hits different today. There's something raw beneath the surface, something personal.

Vancouver. The team that stole his future.

The café erupts in cheers as Connor and Blake walk in, both sporting their lucky playoff ties. Ryder trails behind them, already wearing his game-day suit and looking every bit the part.

"Coach!" A little boy in a tiny Icehawks jersey tugs at Hunter's sleeve. "Can you sign my jersey?"

For a split second, Hunter's game face cracks. He crouches down, pulling a pen from his jacket. "What's your name, buddy?"

"Henry. I'm gonna play for the Icehawks one day!"

"Yeah?" Hunter signs with a big movement of his hand. "You better work hard then."

"I practice every day! Just like you did!"

I watch Hunter's shoulders tense, just slightly. But his voice stays gentle. "That's the way to do it, kid. You got a ticket, bud?"

Henry bounces on his toes, shaking his head. "Mom couldn't get tickets. But I'm gonna watch on TV and cheer super loud!"

Hunter reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out two tickets. "Section 70, row F." He hands them to the wide-eyed boy. "Make sure you wear that jersey."

"Really? Mom! Mom! Look what Coach gave us!"

Henry's mother appears, looking flustered. "Oh no, we couldn't possibly—"

"I insist." Hunter stands, straightening his suit. "We all get tickets for family and friends. My parents are watching from their home in Boston. Every kid deserves to see their first playoff game in person."

My chest tightens watching this exchange. The way Hunter's eyes soften when he talks to Henry. How his usual intensity melts into something warmer, gentler, despite how nervous I know he is inside.

It's a side of him I've only caught glimpses of. So rare and pure, like I'm staring right into Narnia.

Henry throws his arms around Hunter's waist. "Thank you, Coach! I'm gonna be just like you when I grow up!"

Hunter's hand hesitates for just a moment before patting Henry's back. "Better. You're gonna be better."

Heat pools in my stomach. This man who can silence a room with a look, who drives his players to excellence through sheer force of will, is completely undone by a kid's pure joy.

Clara slides Hunter's coffee across the counter. He stands, ruffling Henry's hair before taking a long drink and watching the kid disappear into the crowd.

His eyes meet mine over the rim of his cup, and for a moment, I see past the stern coach façade to the player he used to be. The one who had his dreams ripped away on Vancouver ice.

God, I want him to win today.

Not just for the team or the town, but for that younger version of himself who never got his shot at glory.

I take a sip of my coffee, still watching Hunter. He’s locked in now, shoulders squared, fully inCoach Mode. But something about him today is different. And it can't just be the game.

"You good?" I nudge him, expecting him to grumble about Vancouver or double-check the time.

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