Chapter 116 The Bad Timing

Chapter 116 The Bad Timing


Reynolds changed the system in his third practice with us.

The new drills were faster, more structured, and completely foreign to the way Cassian and I had played together for years. He wanted shorter shifts, quicker exits out of the defensive zone, wingers cutting to the middle instead of stretching the ice. The system demanded precision, timing, and a level of speed I hadn't needed to sustain since my early twenties.

Cassian and I struggled immediately.

I caught myself hesitating on a breakout pass. Half a second. A beat too long. Reynolds stopped the drill with a sharp whistle.

"Vance, you're holding it too long. The lane closed while you were waiting. Two passes, not three. We're not building sculptures out here."

I nodded. 

Reset.

The next rep, I released the puck earlier. It hit Cassian's stick, but he was already a step ahead of where the pass landed. The timing was off. The rhythm was wrong.

Reynolds blew the whistle again. "Pike, you're anticipating. Stay in the system. The read is the read, don't guess."

Cassian's jaw tightened. He didn't argue. He just reset and waited.

By the end of practice, I felt like I'd played three games. Not physically. Mentally. The system required constant calculation, constant adjustment, constant second-guessing. I was thinking instead of reacting, and Reynolds noticed every mistake.

He stood near the bench, tablet in hand, marking notes with his stylus. I knew what he was writing. I didn't need to see it.

\---

The game that night was worse.

Reynolds was behind the bench beside Danton. I caught him leaning toward Danton during the first period, pointing at something on his tablet, then gesturing toward the ice. Toward me.

I didn't get benched immediately.

But I knew it was coming.

The second period started. I took a shift. The system asked me to pinch on a zone entry, but I hesitated for a split second. Their winger slipped past me. The puck went the other way. They scored.

Reynolds turned to Danton. Said something. Danton shook his head.

Two shifts later, I was on the bench for longer than usual. Then longer than that. The line changed around me. I was still waiting.

Then Reynolds leaned over and said, "You're done for tonight. Rest."

I stared at him. "Done?"

"You're too slow tonight. We can't afford mistakes."

The words landed like a check I didn't see coming. Too slow. I had never been too slow. I had been injured. Tired. Gassed. But never too slow.

From the ice, Cassian was watching.

I didn't need to look up to feel his eyes on me. He was at the far end of the rink, near the blue line, his body angled toward the bench. I could feel the question in his posture. The concern. The anger already building.

I gave him the smallest shake of my head. Don't. Not now.

He held my gaze for a moment longer. Then he turned back to the play.

Danton finally had enough. He called timeout, pulled Reynolds aside, and I watched them argue. Danton was calm but firm. Reynolds was measured, professional, and completely convinced he was right. I couldn't hear the words, but I saw the gestures. Danton pointing at the scoreboard. Reynolds gesturing toward his tablet.

Danton won the argument. He turned to me and nodded. "You're back in."

I stepped onto the ice. The crowd had noticed the benching. I heard murmurs in the stands. I blocked it out.

It wasn't domination. It wasn't redemption. It was one sequence. One moment where I read the play before it developed. A pass to Cassian that found his tape without me looking. He took it, drove the net, and buried it. The goal happened because we'd been doing this long enough to know where the other would be, regardless of the system.

I glided past him after the goal. He bumped my shoulder.

"That was yours."

"Find me again."

I nodded. We went back to work.

\---

After practice the next day, Cassian didn't change out of his gear. He went straight to Reynolds' office.

I caught him in the hallway and followed.

He didn't knock. He just walked in.

Reynolds looked up from his desk. "Can I help you?"

Cassian stood in the middle of the room, still in his sweaty practice jersey, his hands fisted at his sides. "You benched him."

Reynolds didn't flinch. "I benched a player whose performance wasn't meeting expectations."

"I've watched you push him all week. New system. New rules. New everything. And now you're telling him he's too slow."

"His speed is a liability in the system we're implementing."

The word hit me like a shot. I wasn't a liability, I'd been playing through pain for years to avoid being a liability.

Cassian stepped forward. "You're telling me he's done."

Reynolds didn't blink. "He's past his prime. Both of you are."

Cassian went for him.

I saw it happen before I could stop it. His arm pulled back. His fist closed. I crossed the room in three strides, caught his arm, and pulled him back.

"Cass."

He resisted for a moment. His whole body was shaking.

"Cass."

He stopped.

"Look at me."

He did. His eyes were wild. His chest was heaving. But he was listening.

I held his arm and kept my voice low. "Not here. Not like this."

Reynolds watched us without moving. "I'm not going to apologize for doing my job."

I didn't look at him. I kept my eyes on Cassian. "We're leaving."

Cassian held Reynolds' gaze for one more moment. Then he let me pull him out of the office.

\---

That night, we sat in my apartment.

The lights were off. The city hummed outside. Cassian was pacing again. I was on the couch, watching him.

"I almost hit him," he said.

"I know."

"He called us past our prime."

"He did."

"And you didn't say anything."

I leaned forward. "What was I supposed to say?"

"That he was wrong."

"He wasn't wrong about everything."

Cassian stopped. "What?"

I didn't want to say it. But I had to be honest. With myself. With him.

"He's right that we're older. He's right that the team is thinking about the future. I've known that. I've known it for a while."

Cassian stared at me. "So you agree with him?"

"No. I agree that the question is real." I stood. Crossed to him. "I don't agree with how he answered it. But I can't pretend the front office isn't asking it."

Cassian was quiet for a long moment. "What do we do?"

I didn't have an answer. Not the kind he wanted. Not the kind I wanted.

"We fight," I said. "Or we leave."

"Leave?"

"Request trades. Before they decide for us."

The word hung in the air. He stared at me. I stared back.

"Is that what you want?" he asked.

I looked at him. This man who had crashed into my life and broken every wall I'd built. This man who had stayed when everyone else left.

"I want to keep playing with you," I said. "I don't care where."

He closed the distance between us. His hands found my face.

"Then we figure it out. Whatever happens. We figure it out together."

I pulled him close. He let me hold him.

The future wasn't clear. The path wasn't certain. The team might trade us. Reynolds might win. The front office might decide we were liabilities.

But right now, in this room, we were still together.

That was the only answer I needed.