Chapter 15
Fifteen
If the early part of the season had been rocky for Luke, December and January were a grind.
His game improved incrementally, but the Renegades hit a skid.
The schedule took them from Pittsburgh to Edmonton, then to Calgary, Vancouver and Seattle.
Cassie’s life became a blur of airports and hotels.
She wrote game stories at one in the morning, sprinted across airports to make connections, and subsisted on hotel breakfasts and coffee.
Cassie occasionally caught sight of Luke in hotel corridors at odd hours or passing through the lobby after a team meal.
In Vancouver, a snowstorm stranded them and several other reporters and players in the same hotel for an extra day.
Cassie spent the afternoon in the lobby, writing and listening to Luke and a teammate play cards at a nearby table.
When Luke’s teammate left, he walked over and sat down across from her.
“Crazy weather,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” she replied, typing. She fought the urge to look up and memorize the way his hair curled when damp.
They chatted about the schedule, about the best places to eat in Nashville and the worst arenas in the league. The conversation hovered at the edge of personal and professional, like a skater balancing on the blue line.
A throat cleared. “Hope I’m not interrupting date night,” a voice drawled.
They turned to see Connor Martin, still in his workout gear, balancing a smoothie in one hand and his phone in the other.
The 22-year-old goalie had swagger to spare — flashy pads, a quick smile, a penchant for calling his glove hand “the glove” like it was a separate entity — and he grinned as if he’d caught a teammate out past curfew.
His dark hair flopped over one eye, and he raised his brows in exaggerated innocence.
Cassie felt her stomach drop. “We were just talking about tomorrow’s piece,” she said, too quickly. Luke coughed and nodded, turning back to Cassie. “Right, uh… as I was saying, Detroit thrives on odd-man rushes. We’ve got to tighten that up before we play them.”
Connor’s grin widened.
“Sure you were,” he said, drawling out the syllables. “Just don’t let Coach catch you two strategizing without him.” He winked at Cassie, then sauntered toward the elevators, whistling. Luke wanted to melt into the hotel carpet.
Later, as players crammed into the elevator to head upstairs, Connor sidled up next to Luke.
The doors slid shut and the carriage lurched upward.
Connor bumped his shoulder lightly. “Didn’t take you for a man of mystery, Anders,” he murmured under his breath, keeping his voice low enough that only Luke could hear over the buzz of conversation.
Luke shot him a warning look. “Drop it, kid.”
Connor just chuckled. “Relax. I’m not going to tweet about it.
Hell, I kind of respect it. She’s smart, she asks good questions and she didn’t flinch when I told her my pre-game meal is three chocolate chip cookies.
Could do worse.” His tone was teasing, but his eyes were earnest. Luke realized this was Connor’s way of saying he was on his side.
“You got a big mouth,” Luke muttered, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Only when I’m chirping,” Connor replied. “Seriously, though, heads up. The vets gossip more than you think.” The elevator dinged, and Connor clapped Luke on the back as he stepped out. “See you at dinner, secret agent.”
As the doors closed, Luke exhaled. The kid was cocky, but there was substance beneath the swagger.
It dawned on Luke that Connor was part of the new generation of players who grew up with social media, reality TV and a different sense of privacy.
He seemed to navigate the attention with a shrug.
Luke, meanwhile, felt suddenly ten years older.
He also felt oddly relieved — if Connor knew and wasn’t making a fuss, maybe their secret wasn’t as bad as he feared.
He texted Cassie later: “We may have been caught. Connor says hi.” She sent back a string of eye-roll emojis and a laughing one, her ability to find humor in the tightrope act making his chest lighten.