“Is it over?” his mom asked, a look of concern on her face.
All I could do was sigh heavily.
The Panthers were already celebrating in tiny clusters, their own relief and triumph mixing with the charged silence from the crowd. The Surge locker room would be a battlefield, but right here, right now, I just wanted to be closer, wanted to remind him in some physical way that it was going to be okay.
I pulled a deep breath, steadying myself, fingers still pressed against the glass. My chest burned, adrenaline still thrumming through me. I watched him sit there, gloves loosened, stick resting across his knees, hair matted. I leaned closer again, brushing his shoulder softly with my hand as he passed.
Mason shouted something stupid and Tucker laughed loudly, and Hunter’s brief glare at them made me smile despite the weight in my stomach. They teased, but he was only half there, wrapped in the quiet storm of emotion. And I knew—he always was. Always carried it all alone.
As the crowd slowly began filing out, I lingered. Hunter didn’t look at me, didn’t reach out, didn’t ask for comfort. And I understood. Sometimes just being present, just being visible, was all you could offer. I pulled back slightly, letting the rush of the game and the weight of the loss wash over me. The roar of the fans, the claps, the cries, the lingering suspense. This was what it meant to care. This was what it felt like when someone you loved poured everything they had into something, and you watched helplessly from the edge.
I let my fingers brush along the railing one last time, watching him collect himself, muscles tight, jaw firm. I knew there would be a hundred conversations, a thousand ways to reach him once we werealone. But here, now, I just let myself be. Watching, aching, and ready to step in the second he allowed it.
The team came around, congratulating, patting shoulders, swapping nods and small smiles, but the heat in the pit of my stomach, the ache in my chest, it all remained centered on him. Hunter. Always Hunter. Every save, every glance, every fraction of a second mattered. I knew he could feel the tension behind my words and my touch even when it was slight, even when all I could do was murmur encouragement.
And when he finally glanced back at me, eyes meeting mine, I felt the tiniest shift, a hint of something softer, warmer, that told me he hadn’t forgotten. He hadn’t closed me out. Not completely.
His lips twitched. Just the smallest curve of a smile. And I pressed a quick, impulsive kiss to his cheek again, before pulling back. The clock had run out. The final whistle had blown. And I knew in that instant, that even in defeat, even in heartbreak, we would be okay.
*
The locker room was quiet in the way that comes after everything explodes at once. The scoreboard numbers were gone, the echoes of the final buzzer faded, but the pulse of the game lingered, thrumming behind my ribs. I stepped in, careful not to crash into the guys as they moved between lockers, stretching, peeling off pads, shaking their heads, muttering under their breath. Hunter was already at his locker, helmet in one hand, gloves tossed to the bench, shoulders slumped. The sharp edge of disappointment cut across his face, but it didn’t erase that fire in his eyes, the one that had kept us alive through triple overtime.
I didn’t know where to start. Every instinct screamed at me to fix it, to patch the heartbreak. But this wasn’t a puzzle I could solve with a press release or a carefully timed statement. This was raw, human, and there was nothing that could smooth it over. I took a slow breath, feeling the heat still lingering from the ice, the sting of the arena lights,the adrenaline that had held everyone taut for hours.
“Hey,” I said softly, crossing the floor toward him. He glanced up, lips tight, eyes flicking to mine and away again. His body relaxed just a fraction at the sound of my voice, but his posture stayed guarded, coiled like a spring.
I crouched slightly beside him, careful not to crowd. “You were incredible out there,” I said. “Absolutely insane saves. You—” I stopped myself. Complimenting him felt almost trivial in the face of the loss, and yet, I meant every word.
He gave a short laugh, humorless. “Yeah. Incredible. Lost anyway.” The edge of frustration in his voice was sharp, but there was no heat toward me. It was aimed inward, at the ice, at the game, at every split-second misstep that had kept victory from them.
“I know,” I said. “But you kept them alive. You held the Surge in it longer than anyone could have expected. That counts for something.”
He finally looked at me, and the weight behind that gaze made my chest ache. There was disappointment, yes, but also something else—pride, relief that I was here, that this wasn’t his to go through alone. He shifted just slightly, giving me the small space to approach, and I pressed closer, leaning into him.
The guys were still moving around, some trading light teasing, some quietly shaking off their gear. Tucker muttered something about triple overtime being cruel, and Mason laughed, saying, “You’re still alive, that’s all that matters.”
Grayson, already unbuckling his skates, gave a small nod in Hunter’s direction. “We fought as hard as we could. At the end of the day, that’s the best game anyone could want.”
I reached up, brushing a stray lock of damp hair from Hunter’s forehead. He leaned into it, letting me, his tension melting fraction by fraction. “I don’t know how you do it,” I murmured. “You keep all of this inside, and somehow you make it look easy when it’s killing you.”
“I’m terrible at pretending,” he said softly, almost under his breath. And I knew him well enough to hear the truth in that. His jawtightened, his fingers pressed lightly against the bench, the tension coiling just beneath the surface.
I pressed my hand to his shoulder, feeling the residual heat through his pads. “You don’t have to pretend for me,” I said. “You can be… just you. Right here. With me.”
He finally exhaled, the sound long and shuddering, as if he’d been holding it in for hours… or years. He turned slightly toward me, catching my gaze, and I could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
From the bench behind us, Mason called out with a grin. “Hey, you two finally sharing your secret now that the season’s over?”
Grayson snorted, elbowing Hunter lightly. “Yeah, you’ve been holding out on us, man. Keeping all the fun under wraps.”
Hunter shot both of them a sideways glare that was half embarrassment, half sheepish pride. “I… look, I should’ve told you sooner. I just… I wanted to get through the season without a distraction.”
Mason leaned forward, a sly glint in his eye. “Distract you? Bro, you’re like a billboard. Anyone could see the distraction.”
Hunter’s mouth twitched, the beginnings of a grin breaking through. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you guys. I’m sorry for–”
Grayson laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, we knew, Callahan. Always knew…”
