Page 121 of Hard to Handle

DEKKER

HUNTER DANCES DOWN THE ICE like a man clawing his way out of hell.

The clock counting down to the end of the game reads thirty seconds.

He weaves around one defender, then the next.

Twenty seconds.

He chases down the opposition, the forward heading straight for the goal unopposed by any teammate.

Ten seconds.

He swings his stick back for the shot toward the open net. Katz had tripped getting back to defend his goal and this is do or die. The opposition scores, and we’re into overtime. They don’t, and the Jacks go to the finals.

Five seconds.

Hunter dives across the ice the same time the puck flies. His body blocks it—a visible punch to his abdomen when it hits.

The buzzer sounds and LumberJacks Arena goes insane. The noise, the music, the cheering—they’re like a symphony of chaos that has never sounded more beautiful.

But even better is the sight of Hunter being picked up by his teammates and celebrated. Tears blur my eyes and my heart soars into a dimension I never knew was possible.

It takes a second for me to catch on to what the crowd is chanting. It starts low and then becomes the heartbeat of the arena. Mad-dox. Mad-dox.

I think it takes even longer for the team on the ice to hear it because when they do, they slowly lower him to his feet, and one by one, they skate back a step and let Hunter have the limelight he hates.

But something about the moment is so poignant to me. To see Hunter standing center ice looking around with an incredulity on his face I could never put words to, hearing it. Taking it in.

He turns to each corner of the arena and puts his hand over his heart to let the fans know it’s them that make it worth it for him. It’s them who help motivate.

When he turns my way, the distance is great, but our eyes meet, and the slightest nod as he pats his hand over his heart is all I need to know. The feelings we’ve never addressed, the words we’ve never spoken, the future we’ve never discussed, don’t matter.

Because that right there tells me how he feels about me.

And there’s no question that I feel the same in return.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

HUNTER

“I’M NOT HAVING THIS ARGUMENT with you again, Mom. He will be there for the first game and God willing the last game when we win if not every game in between. The arrangements have been made. You’ve seen them and his doctors have approved them.”

“It’s very gracious of you, but—”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I will move heaven and earth for Jonah to be there. I have the means and I will do whatever it takes to make it happen.”

“His health though. You don’t understand—”

“But I do. I understand that you want to keep him within your bubble until the day he dies and while he’s still alive that way, he’s not fucking living.”

“Don’t you take that tone—”

“We had this dream since we were kids. Since we were teenagers, and we’d sneak out late at night and break into the rink and skate in the dark. We’d laugh and drink some of the beers we’d stolen from Dad’s fridge in the garage and dream about the first time he’d get to play for the Stanley Cup.”

“But he’s not playing.”

“Yes, he is,” I shout, the emotion smothering my reason and respect. “We are one and the goddamn same. Don’t you see that? I’m his legs because he can’t walk. I’m his mouth because he can’t speak. I’m his goddamn heart, and I can feel it beating still, so don’t try to kill it because you’re afraid of germs. Let him fucking live. Let him come see the dream he had, but that I promised I’d finish for him.”