Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
The next day, the locker room looked wrong.
Stalls stood half-empty, nameplates already peeled off in places, duffel bags scattering the floor. The music was low, almost polite. Cleanout day always felt like this—a slow exhale after months of held breath, the season laid bare in piles of gear and unanswered questions.
Cassie moved carefully through the room, notebook tucked under her arm, aware that this was not a day for sharp elbows or aggressive follow-ups. This was the day players talked about bodies and futures, about summer plans and maybes.
She found Tanner Brooks at his stall, folding a practice jersey with deliberate care.
“So,” she said gently, “you coming back?”
He smiled before he answered, the kind of smile that carried both relief and resignation. “Yeah,” he said. “One more.”
Cassie’s recorder hovered between them. “You sound sure.”
“I am,” Tanner said. Then, after a beat, “About this one.”
He leaned back against the stall, crossing his arms. “I promised my wife. Promised the kids too. They know what this year meant, and they’ve been incredible. But next year? That’s it. No more long road trips. No more missing school plays.” He swallowed. “I want to finish on my own terms.”
“And you still believe you can win here? In Pittsburgh?” Cassie asked.
Tanner nodded without hesitation. “More than ever. We were close. Closer than people think.” He looked around the room, at the younger players packing up. “I want them to know what it takes. Then I’ll walk away.”
Cassie thanked him and stepped aside as another reporter moved in. She lingered for a moment, watching him tuck a photo of his kids into the front pocket of his bag before zipping it closed.
Across the room, Luke Anders sat surrounded by microphones.
He looked different today—less armored. Hair loose, shoulders relaxed, a faint bruise still blooming along his jaw. The questions came easily, predictably.
“How would you assess your season, Luke?”
“What changed for you after the slow start?”
Luke brushed a strand of hair out of his face, then looked up.
“I think…” he began, then stopped, choosing his words with care. “I think I learned how to settle in. How to stop trying to be everything at once. Just play my own game.”
A reporter nodded. “Was that tactical? Coaching? Teammates?”
Luke’s gaze flicked—just briefly—to Cassie standing at the edge of the scrum. His lip twitched, fighting back a smile.
“A lot of things,” he said evenly. “Trust. Stability. Having people who…keep you grounded. Remind you why you play.”
It was an answer that could live comfortably on paper. Nothing controversial. Nothing personal.
And yet.
Cassie felt it anyway—the undercurrent, the private meaning threaded beneath the words. She met his eyes for a fraction of a second before looking back down at her notes, her pulse steady but unmistakably present.
Luke continued. “Once I stopped pressing, everything else followed. The game slowed down. I did too.”
Someone asked about next year. About expectations.
“I know what this league demands,” Luke said. “I know what I’m capable of now. That part doesn’t scare me anymore.”
The scrum broke up slowly. Players filtered out with handshakes and jokes and summer plans spoken aloud like promises. Cassie packed up, her work nearly done.
As she headed for the door, Luke caught her eye again—longer this time.
No words. Just understanding.
Cleanout day always marked an ending. But sometimes, it also made room for what came next.