Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
They clinched on the second-to-last night of the season.
In the locker room afterward, the mood was muted joy. Relief more than celebration. Music played, but not loudly. Tanner Brooks stood in the center, still in half his gear, and addressed the room with a quiet authority that made the words feel heavier.
“This is what we wanted,” he said. “Now we earn it.”
Philadelphia loomed immediately.
The Liberty were everything the Renegades were not—fast, ruthless through the neutral zone.
Their forecheck suffocated teams into mistakes.
Their fans were loud and unforgiving. Cassie knew the matchup well; she’d written about it for days, breaking down tendencies and matchups, trying to convince herself that this wasn’t a death sentence disguised as a first-round series.
Game 1 in Philadelphia set the tone.
It was tight, suffocating hockey. No space.
No room to breathe. Luke logged over twenty-six minutes, closing gaps, blocking shots, absorbing hits.
The Renegades scored first on a deflection in the second period.
The Liberty answered less than three minutes later on a rebound chaos goal that left everyone staring at the crease in disbelief.
Overtime came quickly and cruelly. A misread at the blue line. A two-on-one. A shot that beat the goalie far side.
Cassie typed the word “grit” more times than she wanted to admit.
Game 2 was better. The Renegades adjusted, slowed the game down, clogged the middle.
Luke assisted on the opening goal with a clean breakout pass that sprang Tanner in stride.
They protected the lead like it was fragile glass.
When the final horn sounded on a 3–2 win, the bench erupted. Series tied.
Back in Pittsburgh, the city leaned in.
Game 3 was one of the best games Cassie had ever covered. End-to-end. Physical. Smart. Luke was everywhere—breaking up rushes, killing penalties, clearing bodies from the front of the net. The Renegades won 2–1, and for the first time, belief cracked open.
Game 4 took it back.
Philadelphia adjusted again, forcing turnovers, punishing mistakes. Luke took a late hooking penalty trying to stop a breakaway. The Liberty scored on the ensuing power play. The Renegades pushed late but couldn’t break through. 3–1 loss. Series tied 2–2.
The margins were razor thin now.
Cassie barely slept between games. She lived on caffeine and adrenaline, rewriting the same ledes with slightly different verbs. Luke moved through days in a fog of soreness and focus. They barely spoke, but when they did, it mattered.
Game 5 in Philadelphia was heartbreak.
The Renegades led 2–0 entering the third. Luke blocked two shots in the first five minutes of the period, grimacing but staying in the lane. Then the Liberty scored. Then again. The tying goal came with under four minutes left, off a puck that ricocheted in a way no one could control.
Overtime again.
This time, Philadelphia didn’t waste it.
Cassie watched Luke skate slowly off the ice, jaw clenched, hair plastered to his forehead. She wrote the gamer with hands that wouldn’t quite stop shaking.
Down 3–2 in the series, the Renegades came home facing elimination.
Game 6 was desperation hockey.
The crowd was deafening. The bench short. Every shift felt like a season. Luke played over thirty minutes, throwing his body in front of everything. Tanner Brooks scored in the second period, jamming a puck through traffic, and raised both arms like a man who refused to go quietly.
Philadelphia answered late in the third.
Tie game.
Overtime.
Cassie’s stomach twisted as she watched from the press box, nails digging into her palm. Luke nearly ended it five minutes in—his shot rang off the post, the sound sharp enough to make the entire building gasp.
Moments later, the Liberty broke the other way.
A clean shot sailed past the veteran Ilya Belov. The red light turned on.
Silence fell like a held breath finally released.
The Renegades were eliminated in six games.
In the locker room, the air was heavy. Some players sat motionless. Others stripped gear mechanically. Tanner Brooks stood at his stall long after the media cleared, staring at the floor. Luke leaned forward, elbows on his knees, breathing slow and controlled.
Cassie didn’t write right away.
She stood in the hallway afterward, notebook pressed to her chest, listening to the muffled sounds of a season ending behind closed doors. She knew this might be Tanner’s last game. She knew it had been close. Too close.
When she finally filed, her words were quiet and deliberate.
Not about failure.
About how thin the line was. About how the Renegades had learned they belonged—even if they weren’t ready yet.
Later, Luke found her outside the locker room, eyes tired but steady.
“We were right there,” he said.
“I know,” she replied, reaching out to touch his forearm.
They stood alone together in the empty hallway, no urgency now, no games left to chase—just the echo of what might have been.
The season was over.