A DEAL WITH THE CAPTAIN

10. BRAND DEAL

CHAPTER TEN

HUNTER’S POV

BRAND DEAL

It's funny how quickly time flies. Somehow, it's already Thursday, and we've just finished practice when Coach calls me into his office. The summoning alone is enough to make my stomach tighten with anxiety. Think what you want, but being called into an office by an authority figure has always made me nervous. It doesn't matter how confident I’m on the ice or how many people are chanting my name from the stands; the second a coach tells me to come see him after practice, my brain immediately starts running through every possible thing I could have done wrong.

Except Coach doesn't look angry. That's almost worse. He just sits behind his desk with an unusually serious expression, his hands folded in front of him. It's completely different from the man everyone sees on the ice, the one who screams until his voice cracks and throws clipboards when we screw up a play. This version of him is calm; almost businesslike.

"Sit down."

I do.

"You could be a success story, you know, Walsh," he says.

"Hunter," I correct him automatically.

His eyebrow lifts and I quickly add an explanation,"I hate being called Walsh."

"I know."

I lean back in the chair, trying not to fidget.

"You have a plethora of agents interested in you," he continues. "You're a goddamn star player. Several brands want to collaborate with you. Do you understand what that means?"

"That I'm that good,"

The corner of his mouth twitches, but I can tell he's fighting the urge to either smile or throw the nearest thing at me.Okay, maybe I can be a little cocky. At least I'm self-aware enough to admit it.

Besides, I'm not exactly wrong. I've spent my entire life training for this. Early mornings, brutal conditioning sessions, injuries, ice baths, coaches screaming in my face, weekends sacrificed for tournaments, and more hours on the rink than I care to count. I earned my place here. So yeah, I'll take credit where it's due.

I'm good.

Actually, I'm f*****g great.

Coach exhales and leans back in his chair, "But your reputation doesn't exactly make you a darling."

I stare at him. I knew there had to be a catch.

"Have you heard of Vyron?"

I almost laugh, "Everyone has heard of Vyron. They're the number-one sportswear brand in the f*****g world."

My favorite, too. But I don't say that part out loud.

Coach nods, "Well, they're interested in you."

I sit up straighter.

"Wait. What?"

"Vyron is interested in signing you for an upcoming campaign."

For a second, I genuinely don't know what to say. Vyron. The brand every athlete dreams about working with. The kind of endorsement that can change a career before you've even entered the professional league. I've seen their athletes plastered across billboards, magazine covers, arenas, and social media campaigns. Having my name attached to them would put me in an entirely different league.

"That's..." I shake my head, still processing it. "That's f*****g huge."

"It is."

"So what's the problem?"

Coach gives me a pointed look.

"You."

I blink, "Me?"

"Your reputation."

I sink back into the chair. Of course.

He folds his hands on the desk again. "You're young, talented, marketable, and you've got the numbers to back everything up. But you're also becoming known for partying, women, and generally behaving like you're determined to become the university's biggest liability."

"I'm not a liability."

"You've been photographed leaving three different parties with three different women in the last month."

"Those photos were taken out of context."

"Were they?"

I open my mouth. Close it. Fair enough.

"You need to clean up your act," he says. "No more parading girls around. No more drunken incidents. No more rumors. At least until this deal is secured. Because thai deal could put our team-your team on the map,"

I run a hand through my hair.

"So what? I'm supposed to become a monk now?"

"No. You're supposed to act like someone who understands that his career is bigger than his next hookup."

That one hits a little too close.

Coach continues, "Vyron doesn't just want a talented hockey player. They want someone they can put on a billboard without worrying about what scandal is going to appear on social media the next morning. They want someone who can represent their brand."

I stare at him, "And if I clean up my image?"

"You get an agent, we negotiate the contract, and the deal goes through."

I let out a slow breath. This is exactly the kind of opportunity I've been working toward my entire life. The NHL is the dream. But this? This could be the beginning of everything.

"So I just need to convince everyone I'm not an asshole."

Coach's expression turns dry, "That might take more work than you think."

I laugh despite myself.

"Great."

He points toward the door.

"Start by staying out of trouble."

I stand, pushing my chair back.

"Define trouble."

"Don't sleep with every woman who looks at you."

I pause.

"That's an incredibly vague definition."

"Hunter."

"Fine."

I head toward the door, already thinking about what the hell I'm supposed to do now. I've never had to pretend to be someone I'm not.But if pretending to be responsible for a few months gets me a Vyron deal, I'll figure it out.

How hard could it possibly be?