Chapter 114 The Divided Team

Chapter 114 The Divided Team

The locker room after the loss felt like a crime scene.

Nobody spoke. The usual post-game chatter had vanished, replaced by the sound of equipment being thrown into bags and zippers being yanked shut. I sat in my stall, still in my gear, staring at the floor. The loss had been bad; four unanswered goals in the third period bad. But that wasn't what made the silence so thick.

Something else was wrong.

I looked up. And my stomach dropped.

The room had split. Players were sitting in groups. The young guys near the far wall, heads together, voices low. The veterans on the other side, arms crossed, faces tight. Nobody was looking at each other. Nobody was looking at me.

Or at Cassian.

He sat three stalls away, still in his gear, head down, shoulders tight. His hands were gripping his knees. His knuckles were white. He hadn't moved since the final horn.

"Torin."

A young player's voice. Quiet. Nervous. I looked up. He was standing near me, not quite meeting my eyes.

"Just wanted you to know. We've got your back."

I opened my mouth to respond.

"You kidding me?" Another voice cut through. Sharp. Angry. A veteran I'd played with for five years. "You've got their back? They've got us answering questions. Cameras everywhere. Reporters asking if we're cheating."

The young player's face went red. "They didn't ask for this."

"Doesn't matter."

A third voice joined. "We've won two Cups with them."

"So?"

"So maybe stop acting like they're the problem."

The discussion grew louder. Voices overlapping. Accusations flying. Nobody was yelling. Yet.

I watched the room carefully. Didn't move. Didn't speak. Cassian didn't either. Neither of us wanted to make things worse.

But I felt the room closing in.

\---

The veteran who'd spoken first stood up. He'd been in the league over a decade. One of the most respected players on the team. When he talked, everyone listened.

Unfortunately, he wasn't defending us.

He walked across the room. Stopped directly in front of Cassian.

"I'm tired."

Silence.

"I'm tired of cameras. I'm tired of reporters. I'm tired of answering questions about your relationship instead of hockey."

Cassian didn't look up. But I saw his hands tighten on his knees.

"You should've shut this down months ago."

"That's not fair." A young player from across the room. "What was he supposed to do? Stop loving him?"

The veteran didn't even glance away from Cassian. "I'm saying the team comes first. You've made everything about the two of you."

The room froze.

Cassian stood.

Slowly. Deliberately. His eyes locked on the veteran.

"So winning championships wasn't enough?"

The veteran shook his head. "This isn't about winning. It's about being selfish."

The word hung in the air like a grenade.

\---

Cassian moved fast. Too fast.

I knew that look. I'd seen it before. In the hallway after the interview. In the alley after the first fight. He was seconds away from throwing a punch.

Several teammates stood instinctively. Some to stop him. Some to stop the veteran.

I reached him first. Grabbed his forearm. Tight.

"Cass."

He didn't move. His eyes were locked on the veteran.

"Cass."

Nothing.

I stepped directly between them. Faced him. Lowered my voice.

"Don't."

He looked at me. His eyes were wild. His chest was heaving.

"He's blaming us."

"I know."

"He's calling us selfish."

"I know."

"He doesn't get to—"

"I know."

Our eyes locked. His fists were still clenched. His jaw was still tight. I could feel the tension vibrating through his arm.

"If you hit him," I said quietly, "everything they believe becomes true."

He stared at me. The seconds stretched. I watched the war in his eyes.

Then slowly, painfully, he unclenched one fist. Then the other.

He stepped back.

The room exhaled.

\---

Raffi slammed his stick against a locker.

The crack echoed through the room like a gunshot. Everyone turned.

"This ends now."

Nobody interrupted. He walked into the center of the room. The veteran. The young players. Everyone.

"I've played this game a long time. I've been in locker rooms that hated each other. They don't win."

He looked around deliberately.

"Families fight. Championship teams fight. But they don't forget who they're fighting beside."

He pointed toward me. "You think this investigation is hurting us?"

Heads nodded.

"Wrong." He pointed around the room. "This is hurting us. The fighting. The blaming. The dividing."

He reminded everyone: the investigation hadn't found anything. The league hadn't accused anyone of cheating. The media created the controversy.

"Now we're creating it inside this room."

He looked at the veteran. "We've won together. We've lost together. You think their relationship is the reason we're here?" He shook his head. "If we start believing them, they already won."

The veteran opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at the floor.

Cassian was still standing. Still rigid. But his fists were open now.

I reached for him. Just a brush of my hand against his. He didn't pull away.

\---

The room stayed silent. But something shifted.

The veteran broke first. He walked over to Cassian. Stood in front of him.

"I shouldn't have said that."

Cassian didn't answer.

"It's not your fault. The investigation. The media. None of it." He paused. "I just want to play hockey. Without everything else."

Cassian's jaw worked. Then he nodded. Once.

The veteran walked back to his stall. The tension didn't disappear. But it lessened.

One by one, players started moving. Packing bags. Heading for showers. The room slowly returned to something resembling normal.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

\---

Cassian and I were the last ones out.

We walked through the empty corridors toward the parking lot. Neither of us spoke. His shoulder brushed mine as we walked. I let it stay there.

"Raffi was right," he said finally.

I looked at him.

"He was right. They didn't split us. We let them."

"We didn't let them. We just didn't stop it."

Cassian stopped walking. Turned to face me.

"Can we stop it?"

I thought about the veteran's words. The young players. The divide that had opened up between people who'd won championships together.

I reached for his hand. Laced my fingers through his.

"We can try."

\---

The investigation closed three days later.

No violations. No competitive advantage. No disciplinary action. Case closed.

The team should have celebrated. Nobody did.

The trust had cracks now. Small ones. Real ones. Some teammates apologized. Others didn't. Everyone remained professional. Polite. But something had changed.

I stood in the locker room before practice, taping my stick, watching the room. People talked. People laughed. But they talked in groups. Laughed in clusters. The divide was still there.

Cassian walked over to me. Sat beside me. Didn't speak.

"We'll fix this," he said quietly.

I looked at him.

"Trust me."

I almost smiled. "I do."

He held my gaze. That look. The one he'd given me across the ice in Montreal. The one that meant everything.

I reached for his hand under the bench. Squeezed once.

We stepped onto the ice. The team followed. Practice began. The passes came. The drills ran. The rhythm returned.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't like before. Not yet.

But we were skating together.

That was where it all started. That was where it would start again.