He shook his head. “It’s not your fault.”
“We are friends.” I was a little liquored up and I threw my arms around him to hug him. “And I’m sorry.”
He hugged me back, probably just about knocked out by the alcohol on my breath, but gentleman that he was, he said nothing about that. “I told you—”
“I mean, I’m sorry that happened. You’re such a good guy.” My face was so close to his. I could see his beard stubble, the texture of his skin, and I could smell his clean, musky scent. Electricity prickled over my skin. I was consumed with the desire to press my lips to his cheek. His square jaw. His mouth.
My boyfriend was in the other room. What the hell was I doing?
I stepped back and stretched my mouth into a smile. “Come on. We’ll cheer you up.”
He followed me back to the living room where Jude had just pulled out a Jenga block that said Make someone else drink.
“Morry!” Jude shouted, pointing at Hunter. “Drink!”
Hunter lifted his beer and chugged the whole thing, everyone hooting and cheering him on. He finished with a grin and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth in a sexy move.
Gah. What was wrong with me?
5
Kate
In our senior year, neither Hunter nor I dated much. Hockey was intense that year because both the men’s and women’s teams were considered favorites to go to the Frozen Four. I was putting in extra time on the ice and so was Hunter. It was also the year we were graduating; recruiters were on campus to hire us for corporate jobs, and NHL scouts were at all the men’s games.
There was only a small gang of us left who’d been together all through college.
After a study session one night, Hunter and I went back to his place for beers. His roommates were out, so we grabbed drinks and made ourselves comfy in the living room.
There were a couple of young guys on the team who were likely to get drafted. The NHL Central Scouting had them on their list of “Players to Watch” from each major league around North America. They also had Hunter on their list.
He kept dismissing their interest. For the last four years, he’d been adamant he wasn’t interested in playing pro hockey. But I kept seeing flickers of excitement in his eyes, which he quickly extinguished with cynicism. His game had improved so much, I could see why scouts were interested.
“Did you meet with that scout from New Jersey?” I asked him.
“Yep.” He took a pull from his beer.
“How did it go?”
He shrugged and studied the bottle in his hand. “Okay, I guess.”
“You’re so talkative.” I rolled my eyes.
One corner of his mouth lifted. “What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me how you feel. What do you think is going to happen? Will they make an offer?”
“I don’t know. I also talked to guys from Vancouver and St. Louis.”
“It’s so freakin’ awesome that they’re interested!”
“Eh. I’m almost twenty-three. That’s pretty old to start in the NHL. I don’t think there’s much chance.”
“I’m not so sure of that. You’re very talented. And you’ve worked really hard. If they’re watching Baz and Danny, they have to see that you’re better than they are. More experienced.”
“Experienced being a euphemism for old.”
“Oh Jesus. You’re not old.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not better than Danny. That kid’s so fast and he has amazing hands.”
He had a point.
He continued. “There was a better chance of being signed when they were scouting me back when I was eighteen. But I blew it.”
My jaw went loose. “You didn’t blow it! My God. That accident was not something you could control.”
He didn’t look at me. “There was no reason I couldn’t have gone in the draft that year. Physically.”
“Hunter. Mental illness is as real as physical illness, or injury. Again, it wasn’t something you could control.”
I hated that he felt that way, that he screwed up his chances of playing in the NHL, when what happened to him was a horrible tragedy.
“I know.” He sighed. “But there’s still a feeling about mental illness that you should just get over it.”
I scrunched up my face because I knew he was right.
“And I’m probably being judged about that,” he added.
“I’m sure the interviews you had with them showed them that you’re okay now.”
“Well. We’ll see, I guess. What about you? Still planning on law school next year?”
“Yeah. Back to Chicago for a few years.”
It had always been my plan to go to law school. Unlike the men’s hockey players, there weren’t many opportunities for women after college. I’d always known that, though. I knew I was never going to play in the Olympics or play professionally. But I did know I wanted to stay in the game. I’d interned with different teams during summers, and I hoped to help manage a team, like my dad, some day. Which was why law school was my goal. But I was nearing the end of my hockey career, and dammit, I was going to miss it. So, so, much.
I knew Hunter would too, if he didn’t get any offers. He’d have a business degree, though, and he was thinking about jobs in sports management, which he’d do great at. He was a talented athlete, but he was also smart as hell.
“Have you got someone to give you advice? About contracts?”
He grinned. “You.”
I rolled my eyes. “As if.”
“No really, you know more than anyone I know.”
“I doubt that. But I’m happy to help you look at things, when it happens.”
“If it happens.”
I ignored that. “Do you want me to talk to my dad about it?”
“Jesus! No!”
“I mean, maybe he could recommend someone to act as your advisor.”
“Eh. We’ll cross that stream when we get to it.”
“When it comes to an SPC, it’s not as complicated,” I went on, referring to a Standard Player Contract. “It sets out how much a team can pay you based on the salary cap. But then there are bonuses to negotiate. A signing bonus. A performance bonus.”
“Christ.” He rubbed his jaw.
“A performance bonus is a great way for you to prove to them you can play in the NHL. You work your ass off and get rewarded.”
“Yeah.” He shifted in his seat.
“You don’t want to talk about this.”
He lifted his head and grimaced. “Nope.”
“You need to be prepared.”
“Prepared to be disappointed.” His cocky smile was meant to indicate he didn’t care, but it didn’t fool me. He cared. He cared a lot.
When he was on the ice, he was totally confident. And he had reason to be. Somehow, I knew this was going to happen for him. I’d been around hockey my whole life. I’d watched my dad scout players. I could be biased because Hunter was a friend, but on some level I knew it wasn’t that.
“Frozen Four this weekend,” Hunter comments. “For you.”