Page 82 of Coach's Temptation

I make my way down the aisle, checking in with each player.

Connor is now animatedly re-enacting his final save, using Ryder’s champagne flute as an imaginary puck, making the rookie protest dramatically when sparkling wine splashes onto his shirt. Logan simply reclines in his seat, an ice pack strapped to his bruised ribs, a satisfied grin stretching across his rugged face as he listens to their endless antics.

The laughter, the camaraderie… it feels like family. Like home.

I move toward Hunter, slipping past the clusters of players. The private jet is pure luxury—mahogany paneling, plush cream leather, soft overhead lighting. A catered spread of food sits untouched at the bar, glasses of champagne lined up like trophies of their own.

I pluck a flute from the counter as I pass and step in beside Hunter..

He barely acknowledges me at first, just tips his chin in my direction as I hold the glass out to him.

“Coach,” I tease lightly. “You won. You’re allowed to drink.”

Hunter’s lips twitch, almost a smirk. But not quite.

“I don’t need it,” he murmurs, his voice rough, barely carrying over the noise of the team.

"Come on. Congratulations are in order, Coach," I say softly, leaning against the plush leather seat beside him. "You did it."

He exhales and smiles. "Wedid it."

He reaches for my hand, his thumb gently brushing over my knuckles. The warmth in his touch sends sparks through me but he quickly pulls away before anyone sees.

"You finally got them back, after all these years. You showed Vancouver what they missed out on," I say. "Not that you could tell by the total lack of enthusiasm you're showing."

For a brief second, he glances down, eyes darkening with something deeper, something more intense than simple pride. When his eyes lift back to mine, the determination burning in their depths takes my breath away.

"Yeah," he says slowly, almost as if he’s admitting something that’s difficult to say out loud. "But it's weird, you know. Like it doesn't feel…finished."

My brows furrow gently, confusion flickering through me.

"What do you mean? You beat them, Hunter. Decisively. Isn’t this exactly what you’ve been chasing for twenty years?"

"Yes," Hunter agrees, his voice low, husky.

He glances around the plane at his celebrating team, a gentle smile curving his lips.

"But I dunno. It's weird. I stood there after the game tonight, and watched my team celebrate. It should have been the moment I felt all of this… this…" He shakes his head. "Pressure…disappear."

I reach out for him, holding him by the shoulder as he stares off in the distance, opening his heart to me.

"It's like… I don't just want to beat Vancouver. I want it all, Nat. I want the trophy. Until I have that, this—" he gestures around, champagne and laughter filling the cabin, "—it isn't enough."

Admiration floods through me. The strength, the sheer unwavering determination of this man leaves me in awe.

I've known Hunter Brody long enough now to understand exactly what drives him. He won't rest until he's at the very top, until every doubt and every question ever raised about him is silenced permanently.

My fingers tighten gently in his hand, drawing his gaze fully back to me.

"You want the cup, don't you?" I ask, lowering my voice.

He nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Then we'll just have to win the whole damn thing," I whisper, offering a small, teasing smile. "Together."

The intensity fades slightly from his eyes, replaced by warmth, by affection that sends a thrill through me. He raises our entwined fingers to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles.

"Together," he murmurs, his voice a soft promise that echoes deep in my heart.

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