Everything broke at once.
Luke was there instantly.
Cassie barely had time to register his movement — the way he crossed the ice in three powerful strides, grabbed the Columbus player from behind, and drove him down, pinning him to the ice with practiced force. It wasn’t rage, it was control. Luke kept the player’s arms tied up, his body between Connor and danger, jaw clenched as officials swarmed.
The Columbus player screamed something unintelligible, still trying to twist free.
Luke didn’t respond. He just held him there until the refs peeled him off.
The Arsenals’ bench exploded in protest. The crowd screamed its approval. Connor stood in the crease, mask still on, watching the officials escort the Columbus player down the tunnel.
The call came quickly: Game misconduct. Automatic ejection. Suspension inevitable.
Cassie typed furiously, hands steady even as her pulse spiked.
Connor skated to the bench during the stoppage, tapping Luke’s shin pad once with his glove in passing. Luke gave a short nod back. Nothing more.
The rest of the game belonged to Connor.
Columbus threw everything they had — point shots, rebounds, net-front chaos — and Connor swallowed it all. No rebounds. No panic. Just calm, infuriating competence.
Tanner Brooks scored an empty-net goal in the final minute. When the horn sounded, the score read 2–0.
Shutout.
Connor was named the No. 1 star, having stopped all 39 of the Arsenals’ shots. When the announcement echoed through the arena, Connor skated out alone, lifted his stick, and took a slow lap around the ice, saluting the crowd like he was conducting an orchestra.
Cassie watched him grin beneath the mask and thought,Of course.
In the locker room afterward, the air buzzed — music louder than usual, laughter sharp-edged with adrenaline. Connor stood at his stall, mask off, hair damp, still riding the high.
Cassie stepped forward, recorder up.
“Walk me through the save,” she said. “What did you see?”
Connor didn’t hesitate. “Traffic. Their guy cut the middle. I lost it for a second, then I didn’t.” He shrugged. “Instinct.”
She nodded. “And what do you think set him off afterward?”
Connor blinked, feigning innocence with impressive commitment. “Set who off?”
“The guy who punched you in the face.”
“Oh.” He tilted his head, considering. “I might’ve said something.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow. “Something?”
Connor pursed his lips, rubbing his chin. “I believe it was, ‘How about that fuckin’ save?’ But I can’t be sure.”
Laughter rippled through the scrum.
Cassie smiled despite herself and clicked off her recorder.
Later, after deadlines and postgame routines and one last careful exit, Cassie met Luke outside, slipping into the passenger seat like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They didn’t talk for a minute. Just drove.
Then Cassie laughed — sudden, uncontrollable.
