She didn’t need to. She’d remember.
Practice broke early, not because things had improved, but because they hadn’t. The players peeled off the ice in uneven lines, some muttering to themselves, others silent. Cassie packed up and headed down to the locker room, moving automatically through the narrow corridors that smelled like damp gear.
She was already inside when Luke came off the ice and into the room.
He didn’t look at her. Didn’t look at anyone, really. He dropped his gloves onto the stall bench harder than necessary, ripped his helmet off, and ran a hand back through his hair. Sweatdarkened the collar of his practice jersey. His breathing hadn’t slowed yet.
Cassie busied herself with Connor Martin, asking about the work he had been doing as of late to improve in shootouts. But out of the corner of her eye was hyperaware of Luke in a way she hated—the way she clocked the tightness in his shoulders, the way he sat for a moment without moving, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the floor like he was replaying every mistake at once.
She couldn’t ask him if he was okay. Not with this many people around.
She couldn’t tell him she’d seen the effort underneath the mess.
She couldn’t sayyou’re allowed to have bad days.
Luke exhaled sharply, turning toward Tanner Brooks’ stall where one of the longtime equipment managers, Ronny, was hunched over. Ronny had Tanner’s ancient jock from his days in junior laid out in front of him like a relic—elastic frayed, stitching barely hanging on.
“I swear this thing’s older than half the roster,” Ronny muttered to no one in particular.
Luke said to Ronny, “You ever feel like everything’s just off?” he asked, voice low, teeming with frustration.
Ronny didn’t look up. “This thing’s held together by hope and tape,” he said, tugging at a loose seam. “So, yeah. Constantly.”
Luke huffed out something close to a laugh, then scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he admitted. “I know the systems. I know what they want. And it’s like my body’s a half-beat behind my brain.”
Ronny nodded sympathetically, still focused on the jock. “Happens when you care too much.”
“That’s not helpful,” Luke said.
Ronny finally glanced up. “Didn’t say it was. Just said it was common.”
Cassie watched from across the room, finished speaking with Connor and now pretending to adjust her recorder. The moment felt private despite being anything but. She hated how little she could do—how her role reduced her to witness when all her instincts wanted to intervene.
Luke leaned back against his stall, arms crossed. “Everyone’s watching,” he said. “I can feel it.”
Cassie caught his eye then—just for a second. He didn’t look away immediately. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, something unguarded. Then it was gone, replaced by the neutral mask he wore so well in public spaces.
She looked down at her notebook, heart tight.
As she left the locker room, the image that stayed with her wasn’t the missed drills or Parker’s sharp tone.
It was Luke standing beside an equipment manager arguing with gravity and old elastic, trying to explain something that felt bigger than hockey—and finding no language for it at all.
She carried that with her down the hallway, already knowing it would follow her home.
Thirty-Eight
On a bleak Thursday night in Florida, Luke fought a hulking Tides forward who had taken liberties with Caleb Zheng. He landed one big punch, then took two to the jaw. He skated to the penalty box bleeding but grinning. After the game, Cassie approached his stall. His eye was swollen.
“That was stupid and heroic,” she said under her breath, recorder held up.
He shrugged as his lower lip twitched, fighting back a smile. “Team needed a spark.”
She nodded, fighting the urge to reach up and brush his hair back from his bruised face.
On the flight home, her phone buzzed. Luke:“Coming over later?”She stared at the message. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into his arms. She also knew she had a story to write and a 9 a.m. call with her editor.
“Can’t. Deadline. Sleep,”she replied. Her heart ached.
