Chapter 72: The Ejection

CASSIAN’S POV

I sat down on the bench and stared at my hands.

They were still shaking.

That made it worse.

I had not meant to lose it, I had not planned to jump the guy. I had not even thought in a clean line from the moment I saw him hit Torin to the moment I was already off the bench, gloves gone, fists moving.

I just remembered the hit.

The way Torin went down.

The way he tried to get back up and the guy leaned into him again like he wanted to make a point.

After that, everything went red.

Now the game was over, the series had shifted, and the room around me felt too quiet in all the wrong places.

I heard the door open behind me and did not turn right away.

I knew who it was.

The bench creaked when Torin sat beside me.

He did not say anything.

That was somehow worse than if he had. If he had started yelling, I could have taken it. If he had called me stupid, reckless, insane, any of the things I had already thought about myself on the walk back here, I could have argued. But he just sat there in silence, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, close enough that I knew he was trying not to make this harder than it already was.

My head was still down, my  gloves sat in a heap beside my skates, the room was full of the sounds of the team changing around us, but our corner of it felt sealed off.

I could not keep looking at the floor forever.

So I said it first, because he was not going to break the silence.

“I am sorry.”

Torin did not answer.

The words sat there between us. I hated them the second they came out because they were too small for what had happened.

I swallowed hard and tried again.

“I lost it,” I said.

Still nothing.

That was almost worse than his anger would have been.

I turned my head just enough to see him from the side. He was staring straight ahead, elbows on his knees, forearms tense, jaw tight in that way that told me he was keeping himself under control by force.

I let out a breath and looked back down. “I saw him hit you and I just.”

I stopped because I did not have a clean ending.

Because there was no clean ending.

Torin’s voice came out quiet beside me. “I know.”

That nearly broke me more than if he had shouted.

I kept my eyes on my hands. “I cost us the game.”

His answer came without hesitation. “We lost as a team.”

I shut my eyes for a second.

That was the right answer, and it still hurt because it meant he was being kind to me when I did not feel like I deserved it. The whole room felt heavier for it.

One of the trainers crossed the room near the showers. The noise of the team moved around us in waves. Someone was slamming a locker, someone else was muttering about the refs. Danton was still somewhere behind the door with the media, probably saying the right things in the right order so he would not say something he regretted.

I did not deserve the quiet Torin was giving me.

I also needed it.

I finally looked at him.

He was not looking at me yet. He was staring at the floor like the answer might be there if he kept his eyes down long enough. His knee was bent, one hand loose between his legs, the other braced on the bench beside him. He looked tired, not just from the game, from everything.

I said his name softly. “Tor.”

He turned his head.

The second his eyes met mine, I felt the whole room change. There was anger there, not at me, not exactly. Fear. Enough of it to make the air feel thin.

I should have looked away first, I did not.

He said, “You know I am not mad at you.”

That was not the same as feeling okay.

I nodded once. “You should be.”

His mouth tightened. “I am not.”

I looked at him, trying to read the part he was not saying. The part underneath the control. It was there. I could feel it. The way he held himself too still, like if he moved wrong, the rest of it would come spilling out.

He let out a slow breath. “I am terrified.”

That landed harder than any lecture could have.

I stared at him.

He kept going, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “Because when you fight for me like that, you put yourself at risk. And I cannot.”

His throat moved once. He stopped, then started again.

“I cannot lose you,” he said.

My whole body seemed to stop moving for a second.

I turned fully towards  him.

Torin looked straight ahead for one beat too long, like he was trying not to show me how hard that had been to say, then finally looked back at me.

There was nothing casual left in his face.

The fear was there, clean and open now.

I felt my chest tighten so sharply it nearly hurt.

“Tor,” I said, but my voice came out thinner than I wanted.

He shook his head once, like he was stopping me before I tried to make it less serious than it was. “Not for anything.”

My throat went dry.

He stayed very still, but I could see it in him now. The anger was still there, so was the frustration.

Torin looked at me like I had scared him more than the loss.

That hit harder than the ejection had.

I stared at him and realized with a sick twist in my chest that I had not only thrown the fight, I had thrown him into a night where he had to sit in the locker room and wonder what would have happened if the check had landed worse, if the hit had gone differently, if I had not gotten there fast enough.

That was the part I could not stand.

I dragged a hand over my face and lowered my voice. “I am sorry.”

He looked at me sharply. “Do not apologize like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you are going to say it and then keep doing whatever you want anyway.”

That got me.

I turned toward him completely. “I did not do this because I wanted to start a fight.”

“I know that.”

“I did it because I saw him hit you.”

“I know that too.”

He sounded tired now, not less upset.

I sat forward and planted my elbows on my knees, not looking at anyone else in the room.

“I am sorry,” I said again, quieter this time. “I saw him hit you and I just.”

Torin’s hand moved on the bench, his fingers curling once, then stilling. He was listening now. Really listening.

“I saw red,” I finished.

He gave a slow nod. “I know.”

I looked at him. “Do you?”

That made him turn fully towards me.

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

The way he said it made my chest tighten all over again.

I should have let it stay there. I should have left it at apology, anger, fear, and the rest of the team around us pretending not to listen. Instead I looked at him too long and saw the shape of what he was still holding back.

I moved first.

I let my knee brush his under the bench.

His breath changed immediately.

That tiny reaction nearly wrecked me.

I lowered my voice. “You are not mad?”

Torin let out a short breath through his nose. “I am furious.”

That did not help the knot in my stomach.

I swallowed. “Then why are you so calm?”

His mouth twitched, but there was no humor in it. “Because if I start yelling at you, I might not stop.”

I stared at him.

He leaned back slightly and looked down at his hands. “And because I am trying very hard not to scare you more than you already are.”

He was protecting me even while he was the one who had been terrified enough to say he could not lose me.

I leaned closer before I could stop myself, not touching him yet, just enough for him to feel the shift.

He looked at me immediately.

The room fell away around that look. The frustration, the loss, the loss of the game, the penalty, the ejection, the stupid defender, the media waiting outside. None of it felt as important as the fact that we were sitting side by side in the aftermath and Torin still looked at me like he was one second from reaching for me.

I said, quieter now, “You are not going to lose me.”

His eyes held mine.

“I am right here,” I added.

Something in his face shifted.

His voice was low when he said, “You scared me.”

I nodded once. “I know.”

“You were reckless.”

“Yes.”

He gave a tiny, tired laugh that sounded like the edge of anger finally losing ground to the rest of it. “You could at least pretend you disagree.”

I almost smiled. “You were hurt.”

He looked at me, and the whole room seemed to go quiet around the force of that look. Then he said, very carefully, “And you were ejected.”

I met his eyes. “Yes.”

He squeezed my hand once. “Idiot.”

That one got a breath out of me that might have been a laugh if my chest had not still felt too tight for it.

He looked at me for a long second, then said softly, “I am still scared.”

I swallowed. “I know.”

“I do not like this.”

“I know.”

“Do not do that again.”

I nodded once. “I will try.”

That made his mouth tighten. “Try harder.”

Mine went there too.

The silence got heavier immediately.

He saw it and his hand tightened in mine under the bench.

He leaned in a fraction, not enough for anybody else to notice, just enough for me to feel the pull of it all over again.

Then he said, very quietly, “Do not make me think about kissing you in this room.”

I stared at him for half a second.

The corner of my mouth twitched before I could stop it. “That sounds like your problem.”

His eyes darkened slightly. “It is.”

That almost made me smile for real.

I said the only thing that felt true in the moment.

“I am here.”

His eyes held mine.

Then he squeezed my hand once more and answered in a voice that was rougher than before.

“I know.”