Page 155 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
No retaliation. No outburst. He plays clean, focused, and deadly.
And when his eyes flick up to the stands, the tiniest smirk appears. It’s directed at me and no one else. I feel it piece me like an arrow, notched and aimed straight for my heart.
I feel…proudof him. Hunter and I may have started off as the worst enemies, but we’ve both grown. Become something more. Now my heart races at the sight of Hunter making a logical decision not to go after his antagonist.
I don’t know what we are, but we are definitely not enemies.
The other Havoc players take up the slack that their enforcer leaves. Silas goes after Patrick in the second period, giving a nasty bloody nose. Beck gets him with a perfectly legal but bone-rattling hit that makes me wince. Thorne and Grayson start a brutal onslaught, attacking the puck and any Stars player that gets in their way. The Stars are so distracted that they don’t have the resources to fight Patrick’s battle.
The team leaders don’t let up for a second, fighting and not taking an inch of shit, leaving Huxley open to score twice. Connor and Shane even get in on the action, both taking cheap shots at Patrick while everyone else is busy knee-deep in battle. By the third period, Patrick’s on the bench nursing a bruised ego and what looks like a sore shoulder.
The trainers haul Patrick off the ice. What a man-baby.
I couldn’t care less, though. I turn to watch Hunter like he’s the only person on the ice. During a break in play, Hux looks up into the stands and catches my gaze. I make a heart with my hands and he nods, almost imperceptibly, before turning away.
Is it truthful? Maybe not totally. But it’ll grind Patrick’s gears. Plus, Hux is playing like a hockey god tonight. He deserves to have a girl doting on him and screaming his name in the stands.
When the final buzzer goes off, the Havoc win 3-1. I can’t help jumping up and down and yelling for Huxley, although it makes me feel a little dizzy. Maybe not the greatest idea, but I have to let him know I’m excited for his win.
Hunter coasts off the ice at the end of his shift, chest heaving. The bench is buzzing. No fights, no penalties. Just clean, brutal hockey and a scoreboard to prove it.
Cross meets him at the boards, smacking his shoulder. “That’s it, Huxley. That’s how we win.”
Even Thorne nods, sharp approval in his eyes. “Good work.”
Hunter’s head jerks like he doesn’t know what to do with the words. His mouth tightens, but I catch the flicker in his eyes. Pride. Maybe even hope.
It’s gone a second later, buried under his scowl. But I saw it. And it makes my chest ache, knowing how starved he is for that kind of praise.
The locker room is electric afterward. I can hear the celebration through the walls as I wait in the family area.
“You get a girlfriend and suddenly you’re not threatening to break kneecaps every ten minutes,” I hear Shane saying as the guys filter out.
“Still threatening,” Jett adds. “Just quieter. Polished threats.”
“Fuck off,” Hunter mutters, but he doesn’t sound angry. “She’s my fiancée.”
The word hits me harder than it should. Even though it’s fake. Even though it’s all for show.
I’m Hunter Huxley’s fiancée. At least I can pretend it’s real.
Hunter stays close to me as we board the plane. I’m trying to hide how awful I feel, but my legs are shaking and my vision keeps going fuzzy around the edges.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks as we walk down the aisle.
“Just tired,” I lie.
He keeps a hand on my waist the whole way to our seats, steady and warm and grounding. When we find our seats, I promptly pass out. I have the vaguest recollection of Huxley buckling my seatbelt for me, but everything else is an exhausting haze.
By the time we land in Seattle, I can barely stand. The fever has spiked again, and everything hurts. Hunter helps me off the plane.
He makes a frustrated sound. “Monroe, you can’t even walk by yourself.”
I mumble something about catching a cab to the hotel, take two steps, and stumble.
Hunter catches me instantly, his voice sharp with concern. “That’s it. We’re going to the ER.”
“No,” I manage. “I probably just caught that flu that’s been going around the team. I’ll be fine.”
