Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Cassie’s first feature of camp was on Lexi.
She followed her through film sessions, watching Lexi pause videos and rewind with precision, pointing out details that players missed.
Lexi explained how she used software to diagram power-play rotations, how she advocated for zone entries over dump-and-chase, and how she navigated a male-dominated environment with both firmness and humor.
Cassie related. In her piece, she compared the still-new presence of female coaches in the men’s hockey to her own early days on the beat.
Luke read the article before bed and texted: “Made me think about my foot positioning on breakouts. Also, maybe you two should start a club.” Cassie laughed aloud and replied with a winking emoji.
Scrimmages allowed Cassie to observe player interactions.
Luke and Nick meshed quickly, their communication almost telepathic.
Luke’s long strides carried him to gaps before they formed; Nick stayed back, ready to bail him out if he pinched.
During one drill, Luke misread a puck rim and collided with a rookie.
He skated to the bench shaking his head.
“Too eager,” he muttered. Cassie filed it away.
She was always on the lookout for signs of his impatience—a weakness she both admired and feared.
Cassie scribbled observations and quotes, her mind half on the stories she would file, half on the man weaving through breakout drills below.
After practice, she waited with the scrum outside the locker room.
Luke emerged, his hair damp, towel around his neck.
Cameras flashed. He talked about systems and structure, about wanting to start the season strong.
Cassie kept her recorder steady and her face impassive.
When another reporter asked if he’d worked on anything specific over the summer, Luke smiled and said, “Shooting from the point. My girlfriend makes fun of my lack of one-timers.”
Cassie almost choked. The group laughed, assuming he was joking. Only she knew the truth—that she had teased him in his kitchen when he missed the net while firing shot after shot at a foam target he’d propped on his balcony.
Off the ice, their routines resumed. Cassie juggled features and preseason gamers.
She took notes on power-play entries, defensive coverage and faceoff percentages.
Luke spent mornings at the rink, afternoons in the weight room and evenings cooking pasta or stretching his shoulders.
Their stolen moments were rarer. Once, they squeezed in a coffee on the North Side, tucked into a back corner where no one would recognize them.
Cassie wore a baseball cap low. Luke kept his hair pulled back.
They spoke in hushed tones about home décor and sports science as much as about hockey.
They both felt the gnawing ache of wanting more time.
“What if we just told people?” Luke said once, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. “What are they going to do? Fire you? You’re the best on the beat.”
Cassie shook her head. “It’s not that simple. Remember what happened when I was seen even just talking to Michal in his rookie year? People will always assume the worst about me. And if we go public now, every story I write will be questioned. It would ruin my reputation.”
Luke leaned back, frustration flickering in his brown eyes. “So we keep sneaking around?”
“For now,” she replied, squeezing his hand beneath the table. “Our time will come.”