Training camp opened with the smell of fresh ice and the echoes of skates carving into it. Reporters lined the rail above the practice rink. Cassie stood among them, hair pulled into a ponytail, her Pilates-toned frame dwarfed by the men around her. She had always been early, always prepared; this year she was doubly so. She felt the buzz of Luke’s presence before she saw him. When he stepped onto the ice in his familiar No. 48, chestnut hair flowing from under his helmet, her breath caught. Their eyes met for the briefest second. He skated past without acknowledgement.
On the ice, the team looked different. Tanner Brooks, now 40 years old, still captain and still the beating heart of the locker room, barked instructions with a raspy voice. The new additions— the big, 28-year-old winger from Saskatchewan, Damien Morris, nicknamed Diesel for his ability to drive through bodies; Nick Delgado, an understated stay-at-home defenseman from New Jersey; Caleb Zheng, a 24-year-old Chinese-Canadian winger from Ottawa with hands as quick as his wit; and Alexis “Lexi” Hartley, a female video coach, the first woman in the role in the league—added layers to the room.
Cassie’s first feature of camp was on Lexi. She followed her through film sessions, watching Lexi pause videos and rewind with precision, pointing out details that players missed. Lexi explained how she used software to diagrampower-play rotations, how she advocated for zone entries over dump-and-chase, and how she navigated a male-dominated environment with both firmness and humor. Cassie related. In her piece, she compared the still-new presence of female coaches in the men’s hockey to her own early days on the beat. Luke read the article before bed and texted:“Made me think about my foot positioning on breakouts. Also, maybe you two should start a club.”Cassie laughed aloud and replied with a winking emoji.
Scrimmages allowed Cassie to observe player interactions. Luke and Nick meshed quickly, their communication almost telepathic. Luke’s long strides carried him to gaps before they formed; Nick stayed back, ready to bail him out if he pinched. During one drill, Luke misread a puck rim and collided with a rookie. He skated to the bench shaking his head. “Too eager,” he muttered. Cassie filed it away. She was always on the lookout for signs of his impatience—a weakness she both admired and feared.
Cassie scribbled observations and quotes, her mind half on the stories she would file, half on the man weaving through breakout drills below. After practice, she waited with the scrum outside the locker room. Luke emerged, his hair damp, towel around his neck. Cameras flashed. He talked about systems and structure, about wanting to start the season strong. Cassie kept her recorder steady and her face impassive. When another reporter asked if he’d worked on anything specific over the summer, Luke smiled and said, “Shooting from the point. My girlfriend makes fun of my lack of one-timers.”
Cassie almost choked. The group laughed, assuming he was joking. Only she knew the truth—that she had teased him in his kitchen when he missed the net while firing shot after shot at a foam target he’d propped on his balcony.
Off the ice, their routines resumed. Cassie juggled features and preseason gamers. She took notes on power-play entries, defensive coverage and faceoff percentages. Luke spent mornings at the rink, afternoons in the weight room and evenings cooking pasta or stretching his shoulders. Their stolen moments were rarer. Once, they squeezed in a coffee on the North Side, tucked into a back corner where no one would recognize them. Cassie wore a baseball cap low. Luke kept his hair pulled back. They spoke in hushed tones about home décor and sports science as much as about hockey. They both felt the gnawing ache of wanting more time.
“What if we just told people?” Luke said once, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. “What are they going to do? Fire you? You’re the best on the beat.”
Cassie shook her head. “It’s not that simple. Remember what happened when I was seen even just talking to Michal in his rookie year? People will always assume the worst about me. And if we go public now, every story I write will be questioned. It would ruin my reputation.”
Luke leaned back, frustration flickering in his brown eyes. “So we keep sneaking around?”
“For now,” she replied, squeezing his hand beneath the table. “Our time will come.”
Thirty
The lobby of the children’s hospital buzzed with a different kind of anticipation than an arena. Not loud, not electric — just contained excitement, the kind that lived in quick glances and whispered questions and nurses trying unsuccessfully to keep order.
Cassie clipped her press badge to her coat and signed in, scanning the schedule taped to the front desk.Renegades Community Visit — Opening Week.She’d covered these before. Charity days were part of the rhythm of the season, another obligation folded into the calendar between practices and media availabilities.
Still, there was something about the timing that made this one feel different.
Training camp was over. Rosters were nearly set. The season was days away. Everything felt on the brink of motion.
The team arrived in a cluster of black and gold Renegades jackets and matching track pants. A few kids spotted them immediately, eyes widening as they watched through the windows.
Tanner Brooks was the first one off the bus, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off stiffness rather than nerves. He paused to thank the driver by name before walking inside.
Connor Martin was impossible to miss. He strode next, goalie posture unmistakable even out of gear, already doing his best impression of a queen’s wave.
“Well,” he said loudly, scanning the room, “this is already better than bag skates.”
Damien Morris followed, carrying a stack of two large cardboard boxes stamped with the Renegades logo, full of folded jerseys. He set it down with exaggerated care, like it might bite him.
“Why am I the one carrying everything?” Damien muttered.
“Because you’re just so strong,” Nick Delgado replied, dry as ever, taking another box from a staff member and setting it beside Damien’s two.
Elias Johansson arrived quieter, nodding politely to hospital staff, his gaze moving through the room with a kind of alertness Cassie recognized from the ice. He clocked everything — who was nervous, who was tired, where he might be needed.
Caleb Zheng hops down lightly, earbuds still in, nodding along to whatever he’s listening to before tucking them into his pocket when he sees kids watching through the glass doors. Cassie notices he lingers near the back of the group, not out of nerves but patience, letting others go first.
Luke came in last.
He wasn’t trying to make an entrance. He rarely did. Team jacket zipped, hair pushed back behind his ears, hands loose at his sides. But Cassie felt it anyway — the subtle shift when he walked into a space, the way attention bent toward him without effort.
Their eyes met briefly.
Just long enough to acknowledge each other.
Then they both looked away.
