Asher’s POV
The locker room buzzes with pre-game energy.
Guys tape sticks with practiced precision. Stretch muscles that will be tested in hours. Joke around to burn off nerves that never fully disappear.
Normal. Familiar. The ritual I've performed hundreds of times before.
I keep my head down. Focus on my gear. Lace my skates with mechanical precision. Same pattern every time. Right foot first. Three loops. Pull tight.
Trying not to think about yesterday. The press conference. Blaze's knee pressed against mine under the table.
Our fingers, touching on that water bottle. The electricity that shot through my entire body.
The way he said "that's one word for it" when asked if we were enemies. Like the truth was too heavy to carry alone.
I pull the lace tighter. Focus on the burn against my fingers.
Hockey. That's all that matters today. The game. The ice. The war I actually know how to win.
"Yo, did you guys see Cap at the presser?"
Martinez's voice cuts through my concentration. Loud. Amused. The tone guys use when they're about to roast someone.
I don't look up. Keep working on my skates. Pretend I can't hear.
"Thought he was gonna combust sitting next to Wilson." Martinez elbows Davidson. Both of them laughing. "His face, man. Priceless."
"Dude's in his head rent-free," Davidson agrees. Shaking his head with exaggerated sympathy. "Every time we play Ottawa, Carpenter turns into a different person."
My jaw tightens. Fingers fumble on the lace. I force them to be steady. Just locker room bullshit. Guys talking shit. Means nothing.
"It's honestly weird." Kowalski joins the conversation from across the room. Grinning like this is the funniest thing he's heard all week.
"Like, what did Wilson do to you, man?" He looks in my direction. Eyebrows raised. "Steal your girlfriend or something?"
Laughter erupts. Loud. Echoing off the concrete walls. My blood turns to ice.
"Nah, nah," Martinez wheezes. Barely able to get the words out through his laughter. "It's like watching a bad breakup. You know what I mean?"
More guys are tuning in now. Drawn by the noise. The entertainment.
"When exes have to be in the same room?" Martinez continues. Wiping tears from his eyes. "That's the vibe. One hundred percent."
The laughter doubles. Louder now. The whole room is in on the joke.
The joke about me. About Blaze. About something they'll never understand because I've spent my entire life making sure no one does.
Something snaps.
"Shut the fuck up."
The words rip out of me. Sharp. Vicious. Loud enough to bounce off every wall. The locker room goes dead silent. Laughter dying mid-breath. Every head turning toward me.
Martinez blinks. His smile frozen. Confused. Not understanding what just happened.
"Cap, I was just—"
"I said shut up." I'm on my feet. Don't remember standing. Hands shaking at my sides. "Focus on the goddamn game instead of running your mouth about shit you don't understand."
My voice is too loud. Too aggressive. The reaction of someone with something to hide. Silence. Heavy. Suffocating. Twenty pairs of eyes staring at me like I've grown a second head.
Martinez holds up his hands. Defensive. "Whoa, okay. Sorry, man. Didn't mean anything by it."
I'm breathing hard. Chest heaving. Heart slamming against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
What did I just do?
The realization crashes over me. Cold and horrifying.
I overreacted. Badly. Over a stupid joke. The kind of ribbing that happens in every locker room before every big game.
Normal guys laugh it off. Maybe throw something back. Don't explode like someone just exposed their deepest secret.
Everyone's still staring. Trying to make sense of their captain's meltdown.
Jackson steps forward. Hands raised. That easy smile already sliding into place.
"Alright, alright." His voice is calm. Reasonable. The perfect peacemaker. "Everyone's tense before a big game. Emotions running high. Let's all just cool it down, yeah?"
He positions himself between me and the rest of the room. Creating a buffer. Taking control of the situation. Always perfectly timed. Always exactly where he needs to be.
"Come on, boys." Jackson claps his hands. Shifts the energy. "We've got a game to win. Save the aggression for the ice."
Guys exchange glances. Confusion still lingering. But they return to their routines. One by one. The chatter resuming—quieter now. More careful.
No one looks directly at me. But I feel their attention. The sidelong glances. The whispered questions they're not brave enough to ask out loud.
What the hell was that about?
I sink back onto the bench. Legs suddenly unable to support my weight.
My heart won't stop hammering. Adrenaline flooding my system with nowhere to go. The shaking in my hands spreading to my whole body.
I almost exposed everything. Over a joke.
Martinez wasn't even close to the truth. Just standard locker room bullshit. Teasing the captain about his rivalry. Nothing more.
And I reacted like he'd found the skeleton in my closet.
Anyone paying attention would wonder why. Would start connecting dots I've spent years keeping separate. Would look at me differently. Suspiciously. The way people look when they start to question.
I grab my stick and grip it tight, focusing on the feel of tape against my palms.
Across the room, Ryan watches me. Face unreadable. Eyes holding something I can't interpret from this distance.
He's not laughing with the others. Not participating in the careful normalcy Jackson manufactured. Just watching. Seeing too much. Understanding more than I want him to.
He knows about Blaze. Figured it out that night he found me on the floor surrounded by photos. Hasn't said anything. Hasn't pushed.
But he knows. And now he watched me nearly confirm it in front of twenty teammates.
I hurt him again. Nearly betrayed whatever fragile thing we've been building. Proved that no matter what I say, Blaze still owns pieces of me I can't control.
Our eyes meet across the locker room. His expression shifts. Something sad. Resigned. Then he looks away. Returns to his own preparations. Closes me out.
Fair. That's fair. I deserve that.
Jackson appears beside me. Sitting down on the bench like nothing happened. Casual. Friendly.
"You good, Cap?" His voice is low. Just between us. "That was a lot back there."
"Fine." The word comes out flat. "Just tired of the jokes."
"Sure." He doesn't push. Doesn't probe. Just nods like he understands completely.
Maybe he does. Maybe he's figured it out too. Another person carrying secrets I never meant to share.
"Big game today." Jackson claps my shoulder. Stands up. "Channel that energy into Wilson. Make him regret ever putting on skates."
He walks away. Rejoins the team. Starts joking with Davidson about something unrelated.
The tension in the room slowly dissolves. Guys forgetting my outburst as the game approaches. Other concerns taking priority.
But I don't forget. Can't forget.
I'm losing control. The walls I've spent years building are cracking. Every interaction with Blaze weakens them further.
And now my own teammates are noticing. Making jokes that cut too close to bone. I need to get my shit together. Need to lock this down before I destroy everything completely.
The game starts in two hours. Two hours to rebuild my composure. Two hours to become Captain Carpenter again.
I finish lacing my skates. Pick up my stick. Start my pre-game stretches. The mask slides back into place. Piece by piece. Lie by lie.
I've been wearing it my whole life. Should be easier by now.
It isn't.