Chapter 110 The On-Ice Retaliation

Chapter 110 The On-Ice Retaliation

I knew we were in trouble before the opening faceoff.

Cassian always found me before a game. It never mattered how loud the arena was or how many cameras followed us onto the ice. Somewhere during warmups, he’d glance my way, grin beneath his visor, and tap his stick once against the boards. It had become our ritual, our reminder that no matter what happened over the next sixty minutes, we were in it together.

Tonight, he never looked at me.

He skated hard from the moment he stepped onto the ice, taking shot after shot until the pucks were gone, then circling the zone with the kind of intensity that belonged in the third period of a playoff game.

Not a Tuesday night in January.

Raffi coasted over beside me, following Cassian with his eyes.

“You seeing this?”

“I am.”

“He looks like he wants to kill somebody.”

I didn’t answer.

Because he did.

The national anthem ended, the lights came up, and the crowd exploded as both teams gathered for the opening draw.

Across the red line, Ridgeport’s number twenty-seven laughed at something one of his teammates said.

The same player who had called our relationship “unnatural” on live television.

The same player whose apology had never come.

The league had fined him.

The headlines had condemned him.

Fans had argued for days.

None of it had taken back what he’d said.

None of it had stopped strangers from repeating those same words online.

Cassian had pretended he wasn’t reading the comments.

Then I’d woken up at three in the morning two nights earlier and found him sitting at the end of the bed, phone in his hand, staring at the screen with tears he refused to let fall.

I’d taken the phone away.

He’d smiled and told me he was fine.

He wasn’t.

The puck hit the ice.

The game began.

The first shift was fast enough to make my lungs burn.

Cassian stripped the puck from their winger in the neutral zone and burst into the offensive end. I joined him on the rush, calling for the pass.

He heard me immediately.

The puck landed perfectly on my tape.

I snapped a shot through traffic.

Their goalie got a piece of it with his blocker, and the rebound kicked into the corner.

We changed lines.

As we reached the bench, I caught Cassian’s elbow.

“You’re chasing him.”

He looked at me.

“I’m chasing the puck.”

“No.”

His jaw tightened.

“I’m fine.”

Before I could say another word, Coach Danton tapped his shoulder and sent the next line over the boards.

I watched Cassian skate away.

I didn’t believe him.

Not for a second.

The game turned ugly before the first period was halfway over.

The officials let everything go.

Hooks.

Slashes.

Late hits.

Players started finishing every check a little harder than necessary.

The crowd loved it.

I hated it.

Cassian took two cross-checks in front of the net that should have drawn penalties.

On his next shift, Ridgeport’s defenseman clipped him behind the play with the shaft of his stick.

Still nothing.

Cassian climbed back to his skates every time without saying a word.

That silence scared me more than any fight would have.

When Cassian exploded, everyone knew it.

When he went quiet…

He was holding something back.

Late in the period, play stopped after an icing call.

Both teams gathered near the faceoff circle.

Number twenty-seven drifted towards Cassian.

I couldn’t hear him over the crowd.

I saw his mouth move.

I saw Cassian’s expression change.

The color drained from his face first.

Then came the anger.

I shoved through two players before the officials separated them.

“Cass.”

He didn’t answer.

“Cass.”

“What?”

“What did he say?”

His eyes never left the other player.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be looking at him like that.”

He finally turned towards me.

“He wants me to lose control.”

“And?”

“And maybe he’s about to get what he wants.”

The horn sounded before I could respond.

Coach Danton didn’t even sit down before he started talking.

“We’re playing their game.”

Nobody argued.

Because he was right.

He pointed the marker at Cassian.

“They’re trying to bait you.”

“I know.”

“No.”

Coach’s voice hardened.

“I don’t think you do.”

The room stayed quiet.

Coach looked around at the rest of us.

“They’ve got one objective tonight. Take us off our game; we keep skating and winning battles. We let the scoreboard do the talking.”

Everyone nodded.

Including Cassian.

But I knew him.

He nodded because he understood the words.

Not because he believed he could follow them.

As everyone stood to head back onto the ice, I caught his wrist.

He looked down at my hand before meeting my eyes.

“Listen to me.”

“I am.”

“No matter what he says…”

Cassian sighed.

“I know.”

“You skate away.”

His gaze held mine for a long moment.

“I’ll try.”

It wasn’t the answer I wanted.

He pulled free and disappeared down the tunnel.

I stood there another second before following him.

For the first time since we’d started playing together…

I wasn’t worried about losing the game.

I was worried about losing him.

The third period lasted less than twenty minutes.

It felt like forever.

The puck dropped, and I stayed close enough to Cassian that I could reach him if I had to. Every time Ridgeport’s defenseman came over the boards, my eyes found him before they found the puck.

For the first few shifts, nothing happened.

Cassian played.

I started to believe we’d get through the night.

Then, with just under eight minutes left, the whistle blew after an offside.

Players drifted apart.

Cassian and the defenseman stopped shoulder to shoulder.

I couldn’t hear the first few words.

Then the other player smiled.

“You should’ve stayed in the closet.”

Everything happened at once.

Cassian’s stick came up.

The crack echoed through the arena before I even reached them.

The defenseman hit the ice, clutching his face. Blood streaked across the white surface as both benches exploded. Officials rushed in from every direction while players shoved and shouted.

“Cassian!”

He didn’t look at me.

Two linesmen wrapped themselves around him, dragging him backward as he struggled against their grip.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I shouted.

His helmet turned toward me for only a second.

His face was hard.

Then the officials pulled him down the tunnel.

The arena fell into stunned silence before the announcement came.

“Five-minute major for cross-checking. Game misconduct.”

I closed my eyes for one second.

Then I skated back to the faceoff circle.

We still had a game to finish.

…
We lost.

I barely remembered the handshake line.

By the time I reached the locker room, reporters were already waiting.

“Torin, do you support what Cassian did?”

“No.”

The word came out flat.

“He was wrong.”

Nothing else.

I walked away before anyone could ask another question.

An hour later, the league made it official.

Three-game suspension.

I read the notification once, locked my phone, and drove home in complete silence.

The apartment was dark except for the light above the stove.

Cassian was sitting at the kitchen counter.

He looked up as I walked in.

Neither of us spoke.

I dropped my keys onto the counter.

The sound echoed through the apartment.

Finally, I looked him straight in the eyes.

“You promised me.”

Silence.

Then he lowered his head.