Cassie sat at her kitchen table long after midnight, the glow of her laptop harsh against the quiet of her apartment. The city outside had gone still in that particular way Pittsburgh did after heartbreak — bars emptied early, traffic thinned, the noise retreating like a tide.
Her cursor blinked at the top of the page.
Season Postmortem: Renegades Fall Short
She exhaled and leaned back in her chair, rubbing at her temples.
She knew how to write this. She’d written versions of it before. The clichés came easily —missed opportunities,learning experience,core worth believing in. She could break down zone exits, point to injuries, talk about margins. She could quote the coach on accountability and growth. She could do this in her sleep.
What she couldn’t do was stop seeing Luke crumpled on the ice earlier that night, helmet knocked askew, jaw clenched as he forced himself upright. Couldn’t stop replaying the way his shoulders had sagged on the bench when the final horn sounded. Couldn’t stop wondering how much he was carrying — physically, emotionally — and how little of it anyone would ever see.
She typed a sentence. Deleted it. Typed another.
She wasn’t crying. Not exactly. But her chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with the loss itself. This season had taken something out of her too — the travel, the deadlines, the careful balance of distance and closeness. And now that it was over, the quiet felt too loud.
She realized, suddenly, that she loved him.
The thought landed softly, without drama. No rush of adrenaline. Just certainty.
And that scared her more than anything.
She had never said it out loud and meant it. Not like this. Not with the understanding that love came with responsibility, with risk, with restraint. Loving Luke wasn’t a fantasy — it was a thing that would require patience, choices, boundaries she’d already spent months building.
She stared at the screen again, willing herself back into the story she was supposed to be telling. The professional one. The safe one.
She typed:
The Renegades entered the season believing they were closer than the standings ultimately suggested.
It would do. For now.
Across town, Luke sat on Tanner Brooks’ back deck, a bottle sweating in his hand, the low hum of conversation washing over him. Tanner’s house was full — teammates scattered across chairs and steps, music playing quietly, laughter breaking out in bursts that felt a little forced.
End-of-season gatherings were always like this. Relief mixed with disappointment. Bodies finally allowed to stop hurting. Minds not quite ready to.
Luke listened more than he talked.
He watched Tanner lean back in his chair, beer balanced on his stomach, kids’ toys still visible through the sliding glass door behind him. Thirty-nine years old. Captain. Still chasing something that never got easier to reach.
Luke thought about how much Tanner gave up to keep doing this. The miles. The missed birthdays. The quiet sacrifices no one put in headlines.
He wondered what loving something meant when it demanded restraint.
He thought about Cassie — the way she’d looked earlier, professional mask firmly in place, eyes steady even when everything else felt unmoored. He replayed it all now that he had space: her worry, her composure, the way she never crossed a line in public even when it would have been easier to lean in.
He knew, with a sudden clarity that surprised him, that he loved her.
Not in the cinematic way he’d imagined love when he was younger. This was quieter. Heavier. It came with an instinct to protect, not possess. To hold back, not push forward.
He could say it.
He knew that too.
But what would it cost her?
Luke had very little to lose. A player falling in love with a reporter would be a blip, a shrug, a footnote at worst. For Cassie,it could be everything. Her credibility. Her work. The thing she’d been building since she was a kid watching games with a notebook balanced on her knee.
Loving her meant accepting that some things had to wait.
