Chapter 95 The Confrontation

Chapter 95 The Confrontation


I knew Mateo was getting too comfortable the second he started circling behind me on the drill.

Practice had already turned rough by then. It was the kind of practice that usually left everyone too busy to think about anything except the next puck. Danton had us moving hard, and the ice was loud with skates, sticks, and voices calling out routes.

Mateo was still trying too hard.

Not in the way rookies usually did when they were nervous. He had passed nervous two days ago, now he was trying to make a point. Every movement had a little extra edge. Every rep looked like he wanted somebody to notice him. Most of the veterans ignored it.

I had not.

I was on the wall, taking a short outlet and turning up ice when I felt him come from behind. A shove between the shoulders, low and late enough to make my balance go wrong.

Then his stick clipped my skates.

My body hit the ice before my brain caught up.

For half a second I just lay there on the ice with my breath knocked out and the room around me still moving. Then I pushed up to one knee and turned on instinct, already knowing exactly who it had been.

Mateo was standing over me.

Not backing off or apologizing.

He had that grin on his face again, the same one he had been wearing all week like he thought it made him look confident instead of reckless. One of the assistants started to skate over, but I was already on my feet.

“Watch yourself,” I said.

He lifted both hands in a fake show of innocence. “It was an accident.”

I heard the lie in it immediately.

So did he, because his eyes sharpened a fraction after he said it.

I took one step towards him and his smile dropped.

“Try that again,” I said.

He kept his chin up. “What? You think I meant to do it?”

“Yes.”

That pulled a few heads in the drill. The noise around us had changed. Sticks still moving, skates still cutting, but the room had gone tense in that way it always did when one player made it obvious another had crossed a line.

Mateo glanced around like he was checking whether the rest of the rink was watching.

They were.

I felt my gloves tighten in my hands.

He looked back at me and gave a shrug that would have been harmless if his face had not been so clearly pleased with itself. “You okay?”

I stepped in closer, and before I could say anything else, Cassian was there.

He cut between us so fast I almost did not see him move. One arm came up lightly across my chest, not holding me back exactly, just stopping me from taking the next step before the whole thing turned into something uglier. His body was between mine and Mateo’s before the rookie could react.

Cassian looked at Mateo and said, very calmly, “Not here, not now.”

The ice got quieter.

Mateo looked from Cassian to me and back again, the grin returning in a smaller, meaner shape. “Relax. It was just a drill.”

Cassian did not move. “You heard me.”

Mateo’s jaw flexed.

For a second it looked like he might push it. He had that kind of stupid confidence in him, the kind that only showed up when a player had not yet learned that veterans were usually a lot more patient than they looked. But Cassian standing in front of me changed the whole tone of the thing. He did not have to raise his voice or square his shoulders. He just stood there, solid and calm and completely unwilling to let Mateo make a scene in front of the whole team.

Mateo finally backed off half a step.

“Sure,” he said.

Cassian’s eyes stayed on him long enough to make the word feel useless.

Then the whistle blew and the drill reset, but the damage was already done.

I spent the rest of practice skating through the reps with my jaw tight and my blood hotter than it should have been. Mateo kept his distance after that, but every time I looked up I could feel him watching. 

Cassian did not look at him again.

He looked at me.

That was almost worse.

Because every time I caught his eye, I felt the same heat that had been sitting between us all week. 

He had looked at me like he knew I was one second from snapping.

He had been right.

By the time practice ended, I was in a foul mood that had nothing to do with the drill anymore.

The rookies were still milling around the room when I got to my stall. Sticks leaned against the wall, tape was being peeled off in strips. Danton was already talking to one of the assistants near the door. Somebody had music going low from a speaker that no one had bothered to turn down. The whole room felt like it was still waiting for the spark to catch again.

Cassian came in a few minutes later with his hair damp and his jaw set, carrying his bag over one shoulder. He looked like he had been trying to keep his expression normal the entire walk back from the ice, which usually meant he was already aware of whatever I was about to say.

He sat down at his stall, then looked at me across the aisle.

I grabbed my bottle, took one drink, and said, “He is trying to replace me.”

Cassian paused with one hand on his skate guard.

The room kept moving around us, but I barely noticed. My eyes were on him, and his attention was already fully on me. 

“He is not trying to replace you,” Cassian said.

I let out a short breath. “You saw what he did.”

“I saw a rookie trying too hard.”

“He pushed me from behind.”

Cassian’s face changed a degree. “I know.”

“And you just stood there like he had not been trying to get under my skin all week.”

His gaze held mine. “I stepped in.”

“After.”

“He was about to make it worse.”

I looked at him hard. “That is not the point.”

Cassian slowly stood up and came across the aisle toward me. That alone made the temperature in the room shift. He stopped just in front of my stall, close enough that I had to tilt my head a little to keep looking at him. The air between us had changed already. It always did when we were both carrying too much and neither of us wanted to admit it out loud.

His voice dropped. “Then what is the point?”

I stared at him, angry enough that I almost forgot how good he looked when he was standing this close after practice. Sweat drying at the collar. Hair slightly damp. Shirt clinging just enough to his chest to make it difficult to remember I was upset with him and not in a much more complicated mood.

“The point,” I said, “is that he keeps watching you like he wants something.”

Cassian’s brow lifted slightly.

I kept going before he could interrupt. “And he keeps skating like he is trying to prove he can do what you do.”

Cassian said nothing.

“And maybe I am not crazy for noticing that.”

The corner of his mouth moved, just a little.

I narrowed my eyes. “Do not do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look amused.”

“I am not amused.”

“Cassian.”

He leaned one hand against the stall beside me and looked at me with that infuriating calm he got when he knew he was about to say something that would get under my skin. “You are jealous.”

I stared at him.

The room around us kept humming. 

“I am not jealous,” I said.

His eyes stayed on mine. “You are.”

I pushed off the stall and stood, which put us too close immediately. 

“I am not jealous,” I repeated.

He looked like he wanted to laugh, and he knew I could tell. “You are very obviously jealous.”

My jaw tightened. “He checked me from behind.”

“Yes.”

“And you think this is funny.”

“No.” His voice softened a fraction. “I think you are reading too much into a rookie who has not learned his limits.”

“He is trying to get your attention.”

Cassian lowered his voice. “Tor.”

The way he said my name made my pulse jump despite myself.

I kept my face still.

He stepped in closer, not enough to make a scene, just enough that the edge of his shoulder almost touched mine. “You are allowed to not like him,” he said. “You are not allowed to act like I am going to be impressed by every kid who tries to skate like he invented me.”

That hit hard enough to make my breath catch for half a second.

His gaze held mine. “No one can replace you.”

I looked at him, and for a second I did not have anything useful to say. Because the words landed exactly where they were supposed to. Under the anger and the irritation. Right into the part of me that had been sitting under this all day and refusing to name it properly.

He knew me too well now. He knew where to touch and where to leave alone, when to step in and when to make me say the thing I did not want to say.

I looked at him and let out a slow breath. “You say that like I should believe you immediately.”

“You should.”

“Because you mean it?”

“Yes.”

That almost undid me more than the fight had.

I glanced towards the empty rink door, then back at him. “He is still trying.”

Cassian’s mouth softened by the tiniest amount. “Then let him try.”

I stared at him.

His hand brushed once against my wrist as he shifted his bag.

I held his gaze for another second too long and felt the tension between us settle into something familiar and hot. 

Then he smiled, very slightly, and said, “But your jealousy is showing.”

I stared at him.

He looked far too pleased with himself.

I should have denied it again. Instead I looked at him and felt the corner of my mouth threaten to move despite me.

He caught it immediately and grinned, brief and private and entirely unfair in a room full of people. Then he leaned in just enough for only me to hear.

“You were watching him watch me,” he murmured.

I did not answer.

His eyes held mine. “And now you are glaring at him like he is the problem.”

“He is a problem.”

Cassian’s smile deepened by a fraction. “You are really bad at pretending you do not care.”

I gave him a look that should have warned him off.

It did not.

He stepped past me then, brushing close enough that his shoulder grazed mine, and headed toward the showers like none of this had happened. Like I had not just wanted to drag him into the empty corner of the room and forget the rest of camp existed for a second.

He paused at the doorway and looked back.

His expression was warm enough to make the whole locker room feel too small again.

Then he said, loud enough for me to hear and quiet enough that nobody else would understand why I went still, “Try not to murder the rookie before tomorrow.”

I glared at him as he disappeared into the showers.

Across the room, Mateo was still packing up his gear, talking too much, laughing too hard, trying too visibly to belong.

I looked from him to the doorway Cassian had just gone through and felt the last of my irritation settle into something sharper.

This season was already becoming a problem.