Blaze’s POV
The airport terminal is chaos.
Both teams arriving within minutes of each other. Flights landing at adjacent gates. Coincidence or the league's sick sense of humor.
I'm honestly not sure which.
Boston's players cluster near gate twelve. Fresh off their chartered flight. Loud and confident after a winning streak that's put them at the top of the division.
Ottawa's near gate fourteen. My guys. Equally loud. Equally confident. Ready to prove that home ice advantage means something. Close enough to see each other. Close enough to talk shit.
"Hey losers!" Davidson's voice carries across the terminal. Cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. "Ready to get your asses handed to you?"
"In your dreams, Davidson!" Kowalski fires back from my side. Middle finger raised. Grinning like a maniac. "We're gonna wipe the ice with you!"
The usual trash talk erupts from both sides. Teammates puffing chests. Trading insults. Promising destruction in increasingly creative terms.
"Your goalie couldn't stop a beach ball!"
"Your defense is slower than my grandmother!"
"We're gonna score so many goals the scoreboard breaks!"
All in good fun. Mostly. The kind of rivalry theater that fans eat up and coaches pretend to disapprove of.
But I'm not listening. I'm staring at Asher.
He stands apart from his teammates. Not participating in the shouting match. Just watching the chaos unfold with that unreadable expression he's perfected over the years.
Then his eyes find mine.
The terminal noise fades to white static. Everything else disappearing until there's just us. Two men locked in a gaze that says everything words never could.
Neither of us speaks. Neither moves.
Just that look. Heavy. Loaded. Full of press conferences and knee touches and fingers brushing over water bottles.
Full of everything we can't say in a crowded airport. Surrounded by teammates and cameras and the weight of who we're supposed to be.
His eyes are tired. I can see it even from here. The exhaustion that lives beneath his surface. The cracks in his armor that only I know how to find.
I wonder if he sees the same in me. The sleepless nights. The hollow feeling that won't fade no matter how hard I try.
The missing him that never stops.
"Blaze!"
Sophie's voice shatters the moment. Bright and cheerful and completely oblivious to what she just interrupted. She appears from somewhere behind me. Rolling a small suitcase. Face lit up with excitement.
"I found the cafeteria! They have your favorite muffins—the blueberry ones with the streusel topping." She bounces on her heels. "Oh, you're having a friends' meeting?"
Before I can respond, she wraps her arms around me. Full body hug. The kind girlfriends give boyfriends in public places.
I hug back on autopilot. Muscle memory taking over while my brain struggles to shift gears.
My eyes stay locked on Asher over her shoulder. Can't look away. Can't break the connection even with Sophie pressed against my chest.
His expression shifts. The exhaustion disappearing. Something harder taking its place.
He looks at Sophie like she's something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Disgust barely concealed beneath a thin layer of ice.
Sophie pulls back from our hug. Notices the Boston players nearby. Her social instincts kick in immediately.
"Hi there!" She waves at Asher's group. Friendly smile firmly in place. "I'm Sophie. Good luck at the game tomorrow!"
Davidson nods politely. Martinez offers a charming grin. Even Jackson tips an imaginary hat in her direction. Everyone drawn to the beautiful woman on the rival captain's arm.
Everyone except Asher. He looks her up and down. Slow. Deliberate. Taking in every detail with obvious contempt.
Then he turns and walks away. Without a word. Without acknowledgment. Just cold dismissal.
His teammates exchange confused glances. Follow their captain toward the terminal exit. Casting looks back at us like they're not sure what just happened.
"Wow." Sophie's frown is deep. Genuine hurt flickering in her eyes. "That guy really doesn't like me."
She turns to face me fully. Arms crossed over her chest. "What's his problem?"
I force a smile casually and unconcerned. The performance I've been perfecting my whole life. "Ignore him." I sling my arm around her shoulders. Pull her against my side. "He's got fleas."
The words taste like betrayal on my tongue. Reducing Asher to a punchline. Making Sophie laugh at the expense of someone who used to mean everything.
My teammates hear. Of course they do. They've been watching this whole exchange with poorly hidden curiosity.
Whistles erupt. Hollers. Catcalls that echo through the terminal.
"Get it, Cap!"
"Wilson's got himself a good luck charm!"
"Damn, Sophie! You're coming to all our games now, right?"
The attention crashes over me like a wave. Too much. Too public. Too many assumptions being made about what Sophie and I are to each other.
I drop my arm immediately. Step slightly apart from her. Create distance I didn't realize I needed.
"Alright, alright." I hold up my hands. Deflecting. "Save the energy for the game, boys."
They laugh. Return to their rivalry shouting match with Boston's stragglers. The moment passing as quickly as it came.
But I'm not laughing. I'm watching Asher's back disappear through the terminal. Shoulders tense beneath his expensive coat. Fists clenched at his sides.
Walking away from me. Again.
Something twists in my chest. Sharp and familiar. The ache I thought I'd learned to live with.
This is what you wanted. I remind myself. Force the thought through my skull like a mantra. Moving on. Remember?
Sophie is kind. Sophie is easy. Sophie makes my parents happy and my life simple and my future predictable.
Asher is none of those things. Never was. Never will be.
I made a choice. Said goodbye in an alley while rain poured down around us. Meant it. Meant every word about being done chasing the past.
So why does watching him walk away feel like dying?
Why does his disgust toward Sophie burn worse than any insult he could throw at me? Why do I want to run after him? Grab his arm? Demand he look at me with something other than cold dismissal?
"You okay?" Sophie's voice pulls me back. Concern in her eyes. "You seem distracted."
"Fine." The lie comes easy. "Just thinking about the game."
She accepts it. Smiles. Links her arm through mine and starts chattering about the hotel arrangements. The dinner reservations she made. The surprise she has planned for after we win.
I nod in the right places. Make the appropriate sounds. Play the role of attentive almost-boyfriend.
But my eyes keep drifting to the spot where Asher disappeared. The empty space where he used to be.
It doesn't feel like moving on.
The thought surfaces unbidden. Honest in ways I can't afford.
It feels like losing him all over again.
I push it down. Bury it deep with all the other feelings I'm not allowed to have. Focus on Sophie's voice and the game tomorrow and the life I'm supposed to want.
But the ache doesn't fade. Just settles deeper into my bones.
Where it belongs. Where it's always been. Where it will probably stay forever.