Chapter 4 YOU WANT A BOYFRIEND?

HUNTER’S POINT OF VIEW.

You want to know the worst thing about losing? Losing when you know you’re better than your opponent. Hockey was in my blood. Hell, I wouldn’t be shocked if I bled ice, and my heart was shaped like a puck. I lived my entire life learning this. From the time I turned five to now, the burden of carrying the family legacy has rested on my shoulders.

I stepped into the locker room; my eyes fixed to the floor as the sound of guys walking in and out of the shower burned in my ears.

The air was filled with two things: tension and anger. Everyone looked for an outlet to let their blame out, and I was the perfect fall guy. I was the captain after all.

However, the words from that girl earlier echoed constantly in my head untill it felt like a terrible song. I liked up then, the sound of the locker room door slamming as Coach’s heavy footsteps drowned the words out.

“Alright, boys!” His loud voice boomed in the now silent locker. “Tonight was tough; we lost the game het again, but I’m certain we can find our feet again.

Rest up tonight, and we'll practice harder for the coming nationals starting tomorrow.” He held onto his clipboard with one hand, a pen in the other, as the guys looked at him.

“Why are all of us just looking around?” Landon, one of my teammates, stood just before the coach could walk out. Everyone turned to him, their eyes both wide, probably with surprise, while others tried to get him to take a seat.

“No!” He pushed them off, then stepped in front of me.

“D’Laurentis, what the hell, man? You were weak out there tonight. Every damn game with you as our captain, and we have lost! How could you let someone like Rowan Hunt get you like that?”

“I don’t think this is even that….” His twin brother, Logan, added. “It felt like those guys knew our moves before we even did it. Like they were in our minds.”

The sound of something clattering to the floor pulled our attention. It was Simon, the water bottle guy. He avoided our gaze, especially mine, as he bent low to pick the water bottles. His hands shook so much that one of the bottles slipped from his hold and rolled to my left foot.

I picked it up, my thumb smoothing my inscribed name on it before I looked back at him. Still, he avoided my gaze.

‘Ask your coach and the bottle boy on your team.’ Her words haunted me. I swallowed, drowned out the chewing from the guys, and watched as the coach went to Simon, his nephew.

He tapped his shoulder, then chucked lightly. “You were always a clumsy boy….finish up and I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Y-yes, uncle.” He whispered so low, I barely heard anything.

Coach was just about to leave when I spoke for the first time. “Coach Andrew, where were you last weekend?”

My mind took me back even without me having to code my eyes. The number of times he would be either late or absent from compulsory team meetings and would never offer credible reasons for said absence.

The way he would either shut down my ideas for the games, for his own… only for Rowan’s team to suddenly implement something too similar to my idea.

The fact that his nephew was his constant shadow, even when he wasn’t present. He managed to know our every move without us telling him.

“Uh…I….I was at a friend's.”

“What friend?” I shot back, the sound of silence now heavy in the locker room.

“I’m….I meant, my wife had an emergency surgery. That’s why I was absent.”

“You don’t have a wife, coach….and I never said you were absent from the game.” That’s when he stopped.

His eyes widened until they looked like they would pop out of his head.

“I….we….”

“The only people who know our practice moves and tactics are inside this room. Mind explaining how Rowan Hunt knew every move before we even made them?

How do they manage to steal every win despite not being faster, stronger, or more agile than even Simon over there?”

He gulps, clearly digging his foot into the floor as he stares at his nephew.

“Is it true, coach?”

“What’s going on?” Logan asks, but I ignore him.

“Have you been selling secrets to the black ridge bears?” My hands clenched into fists as I stared at him. He doesn’t utter a word for what feels like the longest time.

Then, he suddenly laughs, more like letting out a soft chuckle.

“Hunter…..I think you’re just being paranoid over tonight’s game. You k-know…”

“You’re fired.” I finally stood, my hands still in my pockets as I walked up to him. I towered over his middle height frame, my eyes staring at the top of his balding head. “My father isn’t the one saying it, but you can rest assured of one thing.

He’s given his consent already. Take you, nephew, out of here before I call the police.”

He doesn’t need explaining or pleasing, or does Simon, because both of them bolt out of the locker room like they’re being chased.

The knot in the back of my neck grows tighter as my heart pounds even harder. Rage mixed with terror clouds my vision, making me barely see straight as I punch the locker next to me.

“Fuck!”

“Hunter..” they called, but I marched out of there and headed for my car instead. The moment I settled inside the Audi, my phone’s ringing tore through the angry haze. The word; Father, stared back at me in bold letters as the phone rang. My saliva grew thicker as the pad of my thumb slid to the right.

I knew better than to leave him waiting for too long.

“Father.” I hated the way my voice shook slightly whenever I was close to him, but years of living under his hand, and I couldn’t shake it off.

“How was tonight’s game?” He asked, but I knew better than to answer that.

Silas D’laurentis never asked a question he never knew the answer to. He was right in that arena… he saw everything.

“I…”

“You lost, as usual. You let down this family, and our legacy, Hunter.” His disappointed voice feels like a hundred arrows straight to my chest. “Do I need to remind you of the stakes at hand?”

I swallowed thickly, my grip on the steering wheel tight as I replied, “No, Father. It….it wasn’t my fault. The coach and his nephew were bought off.”

“That shouldn’t matter. I thought I already told you this, Hunter. To be my blood, you have to be…what…”

“Twice as…”

“Twice as good!” The yell finally came. In the background, I heard something slam against the wall and shatter before he continued. “You never should have let a measly inside job stop you from getting that win tonight.

If you have to stomp on your opponent until he dies, I do not care, Hunter!

Win!

That’s all I need you to do! The world will not remember you if you’re a loser.”

“Yes, father. I-I understand.”

“I wish you did.” The line cuts from there, the beeping sound felt like shots fired at my ears as my chest rose and fell rapidly.

My fingers shot quickly as I typed, “Get my mother out of there now! She isn’t safe…he’s angry tonight.”

I could trust old man Ricky; he always knew to keep her away from him whenever he was in this mood.

The back of my head burned as a memory flashed. My mother sat in the dining room, her blood-stained handkerchief clutching the side of her mouth as she stared straight at the plate of untouched food.

My father is fixing his cufflinks as if nothing happened; as if he hadn’t just struck her across the face for one reason.

I lost the trial game he set for that night. My useless seventeen-year-old self couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t keep my mom or my twin sister safe from his tyrannical hold.

The only thing I could do was win. For each game I won, he would stay away from her.

“I’m trying to mold you into the best player this family has ever seen, Hunter.” The D’laurentis men were hockey players.

My father, the men before him, and my uncles all played for their schools and went pro for several years before they focused on the company later on.

I hated hockey more than my life, but I did it for them.

My hand hovered over the contact displayed across the group chat for the guys. Since her cheek went viral, the guys managed to find her number and sent it here as a joke.

Since the black ridge bears managed to get help from inside Frostwood’s team for so long, it would only be fair for us to do the same. I clicked on the contact, the fingers of my other hand drummed softly on the wheel until she answered.

“Hello..” Her voice sounded cautious.

“Taylor,” I said, letting the silence stretch between us briefly.

“H-Hunter?”

“You wanted a boyfriend?” I had one picture in mind; my mother no longer having to tremble or hide her wounds after a night with my father. My sister never knew another year of my father’s tyranny.

“Yeah…”

“Congratulations. You’ve got one.” Let the games begin.