Page 108 of Hard to Handle

It’s all I say. It’s all I need to say, because that’s the crux of everything. Hunter’s anger. His urgency. His defiance.

He made a promise to his brother and he’s worried Jonah might not make it to see it come true.

That’s why this all makes sense.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

DEKKER

HE PLAYS WITH QUIET CONFIDENCE tonight.

There’s steadfast arrogance to his touch that is trademark Mad Dog Maddox, but there’s also a peace to him that I haven’t seen in the longest time.

I know part of it is playing in his hometown arena for the first time after a long road stretch. The fans, the chants, the support.

But I like to think a part of it is because of what we shared in the past twenty-four hours. What he confessed and learned and heard.

I bring my fingers to my lips, the tenderness in the kiss he gave me before he left this afternoon still a memory there. The look in his eyes—gratitude, understanding, and something much more profound I cling my hope to—makes my heart feel so much happier tonight.

Wrapped with a blanket around me that smells like him still, I watch him clinch the LumberJacks first ever playoff berth, hoping somewhere in the suburbs of Boston that Jonah watched it too.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

HUNTER

Dad: It’s about damn time. Good thing you had that Maysen beside you tonight or your three points would have never happened. Gonna need a lot of practice if you think you can make it through to the finals.

Dekker: Incredible. Every minute of every period you were phenomenal. Congratulations on clinching a berth to the playoffs!

THE ALCOHOL IS FLOWING FREELY in Dante’s Inferno, our hangout after the game. The bar is dark and crowded, but we’re able to stay in the back room where the servers know us, know our drink orders, our occasional tendencies to get rowdy, and our penchant for leaving large tips.

I lean my head back against the booth and close my eyes. My legs are stretched out and my ankles are crossed, and the two texts keep running through my mind.

Oddly enough, one stands out more than the other. For the first time in forever, something is drowning out the negative.

“Hey Cap? You good?”

I look over to Katzen as he slides into the booth opposite of me and smiles. “I’m well on the way to being drunk so there’s always that.”

“Aren’t we all?” He laughs that obnoxious laugh of his.

“You had some incredible saves tonight, Katzy.”

“And you played like I haven’t seen you play in a long fucking-ass time.” He lifts his beer to his lips and mimics my posture on his side of the table. Then he angles his head to the side and just stares at me.

“What?” I ask.

“What happened? Did you figure out the answers to life’s problems? Meet the Messiah? Eat some really good pussy that cleared both your head and your pipes? What?”

“Jesus,” I say through a laugh and just shake my head, unfazed by my goalie and his crassness.

“Whatever it is, don’t change it.” He smacks his hand on the table with a resounding thud that startles me. “Superstition and shit.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, I’m serious. It’s nice for us all to sit and celebrate instead of one of us having to keep an eye on you, worried you’re going to throw a punch at some dude or fan or who the fuck knows who because they pissed you off.”

“Huh.” I don’t know what to say to that if I’m honest. But suddenly I realize how much my poor behavior has affected my team. Has it really been that bad that one of my teammates has had to babysit me after every game? Even the ones we win?