Chapter 98 The New City

Chapter 98 The New City


The bus ride into the city felt colder than it should have.

Cassian sat beside me with his head leaned back against the window, eyes half closed, headphones in but not really listening to anything. His knee brushed mine every time the bus hit a bump. He did not move away, neither did I.

Across the aisle, someone joked about dinner after the game. Nobody really laughed.

Cassian opened his eyes when the bus slowed near the arena loading zone. The moment the building came into view, I felt his posture shift slightly. 

He pulled out one earbud.

“Fun place,” he said flatly.

I glanced at him. “You think so?”

“No.”

That made me look at him properly. There was a faint tension in his jaw, but his expression stayed calm. He had gotten good at that this season. Too good, sometimes.

The bus stopped.

The noise outside reached us before the doors even opened.

Boos, shouts, camera shutters. A crowd that had not even seen us skate yet and already had opinions.

Danton stood up first. “Stick together, Ignore them. We play hockey, not headlines.”

Nobody argued.

We stepped off the bus and into it.

The media tunnel was packed tighter than usual. Cameras leaned in too close, voices overlapped, microphones extended like spears. Cassian walked slightly ahead of me, shoulders squared, eyes forward.

That was when the first real question came.

It was not directed at me.

It was aimed at him.

“Cassian Pike,” a reporter called, stepping into our path. “Do you think your lifestyle is appropriate for children watching professional sports?”

The tunnel went sharp and quiet in a way that never happened naturally. Even the cameras seemed to pause.

Cassian stopped walking.

For a fraction of a second, I saw it land on him. Not the question itself, the intention behind it. The way it was phrased to sound like concern while clearly meant to provoke.

He did not answer right away.

His jaw tightened once as his eyes flicked towards the microphone, then towards the reporter, then briefly towards me without turning his head fully.

I stepped closer.

The reporter pressed again. “Fans are asking if your relationship sets a good example for young viewers.”

Cassian’s hand curled slightly at his side, I saw it.

Before he could speak, I reached forward and took the microphone.

The reporter blinked.

Cassian turned his head towards me, a quick look that carried more warning than words.

I did not look away from the cameras.

“I think,” I said evenly, “you are asking the wrong question.”

The reporter hesitated. “Excuse me?”

I held the mic steady. “You are asking whether love is appropriate for children watching a sport.”

A few people shifted behind the cameras, the noise in the tunnel dropped further.

I continued before anyone could interrupt.

“I think love is always appropriate. What is not appropriate is teaching kids that it has to look one specific way to be valid.”

Silence.

Cassian was still beside me, I felt him watching me now instead of the cameras.

The reporter tried again, voice sharper. “So you are saying there is no issue with public displays of affection in professional sports environments?”

I turned slightly towards him.

“I am saying,” I replied, “that what matters is how you treat people. On and off the ice.”

A beat passed.

Then I handed the microphone back without waiting for permission.

Cassian looked at me for a second longer than necessary.

He didn’t look surprised, just…..fixed.

Like something had settled into place.

Then he stepped forward again and started walking.

I followed.

The tunnel slowly reopened into motion around us. The reporters kept talking behind us, but the weight of the moment had already shifted, Cassian did not speak until we reached the locker room corridor.

Only then did he slow.

“Was that necessary?” he asked.

His voice was calm. But there was something underneath it.

I stopped beside him. “Yes.”

Cassian turned his head slightly. His eyes held mine.

“You did not have to take it.”

“I wanted to.”

That answer made something flicker in his expression. Something that had to do with trust and exposure and the fact that I had just stepped into a spotlight I did not need, just to keep it off him.

We stood there for a second longer than we should have.

Players passed us in the hallway, gear bags slung over shoulders, voices bouncing off walls. Nobody stopped, but a few looked.

Cassian lowered his voice. “They are going to keep doing that.”

“I know.”

“You are going to keep answering for it.”

I stepped closer, just enough that the space between us stopped feeling like part of the hallway.

“I am not answering for it,” I said. “I am standing in it.”

His eyes held mine.

The noise around us faded again, not because it disappeared, but because it stopped mattering in that narrow space between us.

Cassian exhaled slowly.

Then he nodded once. “Okay.”

That was it.

No argument or pushback.

Just acceptance in a way that meant he trusted me to understand what I was stepping into.

We moved into the locker room after that.

It was already half full, gear being dropped, tape being pulled. It was the usual noise of pregame routine filling the space. But there was a different energy in the air now, word had clearly spread about the tunnel.

Cassian sat down at his stall and started taping his stick.

I sat beside him.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

I watched his hands move in a familiar rhythm he always used before games like this. He was focused now, but I could still see the edges of what had just happened sitting somewhere under the surface.

He did not look at me when he spoke.

“You made it worse,” he said.

I leaned back slightly. “I did not.”

Cassian gave a quiet breath that almost passed for a laugh. “You did.”

I looked at him. “They were going to keep pushing until someone stopped them.”

That made him pause.

His hands stopped moving for half a second, then continued.

“You did not have to be that person,” he said.

I lowered my voice. “I chose to be.”

That time he did look at me.

Properly.

The room noise faded again in my head, because his attention had shifted fully onto me. That look had nothing to do with media or reporters or anything outside this room.

It was just him.

And me.

Cassian leaned slightly closer, just enough that no one else would hear.

“You do not get to keep doing that,” he said quietly.

“Doing what?”

“Making me feel like I am not alone in it.”

My chest tightened in a way I did not show on my face.

I held his gaze. “You are not alone in it.”

His eyes searched mine for a second longer than necessary.

Then he nodded once, small, controlled.

“Good,” he said.

We stayed like that for a moment longer than either of us acknowledged.

Then Danton called for line prep, and the room snapped back into motion.

Cassian stood first.

Before he left the stall, he looked at me again.

This time there was no hesitation in it.

Just something steady.

Something locked in.

“Let’s go play,” he said.

I nodded. “Let’s go.”