Chapter 21
Twenty-One
The secret became their ally and their burden.
They reveled in stolen hours—an after-practice drive to an out-of-the-way diner in the suburbs where no one recognized them, a walk along the rivers at midnight with hats pulled low, late mornings sleeping in at each other’s apartments.
Every meeting was charged with urgency; every parting was an exercise in restraint.
Stan, Cassie’s editor, continued to watch her coverage closely.
She made a point to be harder on Luke in print than she might have been otherwise.
She quoted anonymous scouts criticizing his footwork, praised other defensemen’s breakout passes and omitted Luke’s name entirely on some nights when he played well.
In person, she kissed him for those very plays, proud and torn.
She would sit in the press box, heart thudding, typing that Luke needed to be more physical while secretly texting him a heart.
Luke, for his part, returned to form on the ice.
Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was the grounding influence of the relationship.
He blocked shots, moved the puck crisply and started to get standing ovations again.
Their lovemaking was less tentative now, more confident.
Cassie lost herself in the sensation of his hair brushing against her thighs, the rasp of his stubble against her collarbone, the sound of his voice groaning her name as he entered her.
She whispered his name in return, fingers digging into his shoulders.
They moved together in a rhythm that was their own.
They caught up between kisses—about a new restaurant she wanted to try, about his defensive partner’s habit of leaving his stick in the wrong place.
It was domestic and illicit at the same time.
Afterward, they lay side by side, catching their breath.
They stared at the ceiling, their hands intertwined, savoring the rare quiet.
“I keep thinking someone will knock on the door,” Cassie said, half joking, running her fingers through his hair. Her heart still raced from the adrenaline of the game and the afterglow of their time together.
“Let them,” Luke murmured, eyes closed. “I’m not ashamed. I just don’t want to be the reason you lose your job.” He kissed her palm.
“You won’t,” she replied, though a part of her knew it was a promise she couldn’t guarantee.
For now, they had this room, this night, and the rest could wait.
Later, when she returned to her own room, she wrote a biting column about the team’s penalty-kill.
No one suspected she had been pressed up against the wall of one of the penalty-killers’ hotel suite an hour earlier.
The Renegades’ next game was a home meeting with Philadelphia on Valentine’s Day. Luke left a single white rose on Cassie’s desk in the media room, tucked inside a game notes folder. She bit back a grin all day.