A reporter from a local sports network shoved a mic forward. “Hunter! Talk about that third-period save! That was insane!”
Tucker leaned in, grinning. “You handled that like a pro. I was half-expecting you to just… flail.”
“Yeah, you had that puck on a leash,” Mason added, nudgingGrayson playfully.
Grayson rolled his eyes, clapping both of us on the shoulders. “Quit ribbing the kid. Let him speak.”
I raised my hands in mock surrender and turned to the reporters, keeping my smile smooth and light. “Thanks,” I said, letting the charm roll off naturally. “It’s all the guys out there. Couldn’t have done it without the team backing me up.”
Another reporter jumped in. “What about the counter-attack goal? That came right off your save. Did you see it develop that quickly?”
I gestured casually with my hands. “Yeah, Mason had eyes everywhere. Theo held the line, and honestly, it was a perfect bounce. We’ve practiced similar setups a million times, but seeing it click in the moment—it’s why we play.”
A flurry of quick questions followed, some asking about the playoffs, others joking about the locker room antics during warm-ups. I answered each with a mix of humor and polish, like a tightrope walker keeping balance on a moving wire. By the time they moved on to another player, I was breathing easier, the controlled buzz of adrenaline still humbling my nerves.
Then I heard it.
“Seriously, she’s brilliant. Look at him—he’s handling all that like a pro, and it’s all her work. Holly’s clearly done wonders with him.”
My grip tightened around my water bottle, knuckles white. The words weren’t hostile. The speaker sounded admiring, even impressed. But the framing of it, the implication that I was only performing because of her, dug into me.
I froze, blinking fast, trying to force the irritation down. I could almost feel the old itch in my chest, the one that came from being underestimated, overlooked, always having to prove myself. Seven years with the Surge, countless games, countless practices. And now it seemed like none of that meant anything on its own.
I swallowed the tightness, forcing a laugh as Grayson leaned in,elbowing me. “You okay, Callahan?”
“Yeah, fine,” I said, voice even, smooth.
I let the charm work for me, just like we’d drilled. The reporters moved on, leaving me in a quieter corner of the locker room. Theo slapped my back. “Don’t let it get to you, man. You’re a beast on the ice. She can’t take that from you.”
Mason leaned in with a grin. “Yeah, she didn’t do the scoring, just saying.”
I laughed, but it didn’t reach the tightness lingering in my ribs. Their teasing helped, though. It reminded me I had agency, that I wasn’t just a result of someone else’s work.
That’s when Holly’s voice cut through the hubbub.
“Hunter, you up for a quick one-on-one?” she asked, stepping into the corner of the room. She didn’t need to brandish any authority; her presence carried it naturally. “Just a short strategy session for your fan meet-and-greet tomorrow.”
I shook my head, a flash of tension rolling through me. “Not right now,” I said, firm but controlled.
She paused, eyebrows slightly raised, but her lips curved in that familiar hint of a smile. “Okay… your call.” There was no pushiness, just that calm, measured way she had of letting you choose while still letting you know she’d be right there if you needed her.
I stalked off, trying to ignore the tug of having her near, the familiar warmth that seemed to trail her like a shadow. Behind me, the chatter of teammates, the laughter over a bad joke from Tucker, the clanging of lockers—all of it blurred into white noise. I needed distance, space to remind myself that I could handle things on my own.
23
Holly
I walked into the office and got hit with it before I even closed the door. Bob’s expression was a masterclass in smug superiority. A little disappointment, a little “I told you so,” and all predator.
“You need to explain this,” he said, his voice clipped, the video looping on his iPad.
The bar fight from last night was already trending online, hashtags spinning around like a tornado: #SurgeOutrage, #HockeyChaos, #CallahanRage. And yes, Hunter’s face was unmistakable, even in the chaos.
“I—” I started, but he cut me off, hand slicing through the air.
“No, Holly. Don’t start with excuses. Look at this.” He gestured at the screen like the crime scene itself was personal evidence of my failure. “This is bad. Really bad. And it’s all over social media. The team’s image? Ruined. And you, you’re responsible for cleaning this up. Fast.”
I let the words sink in, grit rising in my stomach. Fast. Responsible. Like I hadn’t been managing crises for months, like I wasn’t the one spinning narrative after narrative, putting out fires the size of the state of Texas.
