Chapter 30
Thirty
The lobby of the children’s hospital buzzed with a different kind of anticipation than an arena. Not loud, not electric — just contained excitement, the kind that lived in quick glances and whispered questions and nurses trying unsuccessfully to keep order.
Cassie clipped her press badge to her coat and signed in, scanning the schedule taped to the front desk.
Renegades Community Visit — Opening Week.
She’d covered these before. Charity days were part of the rhythm of the season, another obligation folded into the calendar between practices and media availabilities.
Still, there was something about the timing that made this one feel different.
Training camp was over. Rosters were nearly set. The season was days away. Everything felt on the brink of motion.
The team arrived in a cluster of black and gold Renegades jackets and matching track pants. A few kids spotted them immediately, eyes widening as they watched through the windows.
Tanner Brooks was the first one off the bus, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off stiffness rather than nerves. He paused to thank the driver by name before walking inside.
Connor Martin was impossible to miss. He strode next, goalie posture unmistakable even out of gear, already doing his best impression of a queen’s wave.
“Well,” he said loudly, scanning the room, “this is already better than bag skates.”
Damien Morris followed, carrying a stack of two large cardboard boxes stamped with the Renegades logo, full of folded jerseys. He set it down with exaggerated care, like it might bite him.
“Why am I the one carrying everything?” Damien muttered.
“Because you’re just so strong,” Nick Delgado replied, dry as ever, taking another box from a staff member and setting it beside Damien’s two.
Elias Johansson arrived quieter, nodding politely to hospital staff, his gaze moving through the room with a kind of alertness Cassie recognized from the ice. He clocked everything — who was nervous, who was tired, where he might be needed.
Caleb Zheng hops down lightly, earbuds still in, nodding along to whatever he’s listening to before tucking them into his pocket when he sees kids watching through the glass doors. Cassie notices he lingers near the back of the group, not out of nerves but patience, letting others go first.
Luke came in last.
He wasn’t trying to make an entrance. He rarely did. Team jacket zipped, hair pushed back behind his ears, hands loose at his sides. But Cassie felt it anyway — the subtle shift when he walked into a space, the way attention bent toward him without effort.
Their eyes met briefly.
Just long enough to acknowledge each other.
Then they both looked away.
The PR rep gathered them near the elevators, voice practiced and warm. “Okay, we’ll split into two groups. Jerseys and merch will go out on each floor. Please let the kids choose sizes when they can — it means more when it fits. We’ll rotate every twenty minutes.”
Cassie tucked her notebook into her bag. She wasn’t here to quote anyone today. She was here to watch.
The pediatric wing was brighter than she remembered — murals of cartoon animals skating across the walls, banners reading WELCOME RENEGADES taped crookedly near doorways.
Kids clustered in the common area, some in wheelchairs, some leaning against parents, some clutching IV poles decorated with stickers.
Connor dropped to a knee in front of a boy wearing a faded Renegades hat.
“Hey,” Connor said, tapping the brim. “That’s last season’s logo. Vintage.”
The kid squinted. “It’s my brother’s.”
“Sounds like you need one of your own,” Connor said, pulling a brand-new hat out of one of the boxes. “I’ll sign it for you, but only if you promise you won’t sell it on the internet.”
The boy laughed as Connor pulled out a marker, covering the whole brim of the hat with his autograph before handing it to the boy.
Damien hovered near the jersey boxes, unsure how to insert himself until a nurse handed him a stack and pointed toward a group of kids arguing over sizes. He approached cautiously, like a man diffusing a bomb.
“Uh,” Damien said. “We’ve got small, medium, large… and very large.”
A girl with braids shot him a look. “I want the goalie one.”
Connor, overhearing, pumped his fist. “Yes! Another believer.”
Nick Delgado knelt beside a boy struggling to pull a jersey over his cast, helping carefully, fingers patient and precise. He didn’t speak much — just smiled when the boy finally managed it and raised his arms in triumph.
Elias sat cross-legged on the floor with two boys who wanted to know if he was friends with Tanner. Elias smiled, saying that Tanner was one of his best friends.
“Who’s better at fighting?” one asked.
Elias considered this. “Probably you.”
Cassie smiled despite herself.
When a shy girl seemed a little nervous to be around the players, Caleb sat beside her without pushing, scrolling through photos of practice on his phone until the girl leaned closer on her own.
Later, when a boy tried on his hat and refused to give it back, Caleb pretended to consider a trade before conceding defeat.
Tanner ended up in a corner of the common room with a boy who couldn’t have been older than ten, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a jersey folded carefully in his lap. The kid looked up at him, studying his face like he was solving a puzzle.
“Are you really the captain?” he asked.
Tanner smiled faintly. “That’s what they tell me.”
The boy frowned. “Does that mean you get to tell everyone what to do?”
“Not really,” Tanner said. He thought about it for a moment. “It mostly means you have to listen better than everyone else.”
The boy nodded, considering this. “That sounds hard.”
Tanner huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. It is.”
The boy slid the jersey over his head, grinning. “I think I could do it.”
Tanner reached out and tugged the fabric straight, careful and gentle. “I think you could too.”
Cassie spotted Luke down the hallway near the individual rooms, holding a folded jersey against his chest like it mattered. He knocked gently before entering, crouching almost immediately once inside.
She stayed back, leaning against the wall, giving him space.
Inside the room, a small boy lay propped up with pillows, a Renegades blanket tucked around his legs. Luke held up the jersey.
“Forty-eight,” Luke said. “That’s mine. You sure you want it? I’m no Tanner Brooks.”
The boy nodded fiercely.
Luke helped him pull it on, adjusting the fabric so it didn’t bunch awkwardly. He didn’t rush. He didn’t joke loudly. He just stayed there, listening while the boy talked about watching games on TV and wanting to learn how to skate again.
Luke nodded at the right places. Asked questions that didn’t pry.
When the nurse tapped the doorframe gently to signal time, Luke thanked her — like she’d done him a favor — and gave the boy a careful fist bump.
Cassie felt something shift in her chest. She’d seen Luke under scrutiny — under lights, under boos, under the quiet pressure of expectation — but this was different.
Here, there was no crowd to impress, no narrative to control.
He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t even aware he was being watched.
He was just…there, patient and attentive, giving his time without calculation.
Luke stepped back into the hallway and lifted his head, as if sensing her gaze before he saw her.
Their eyes met. For a split second, he looked almost caught — not guilty, just surprised — and then something in his expression eased when he realized it was her.
He held her look, open and unguarded, like he understood exactly what she’d witnessed.
Cassie didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She gave him the smallest nod, an acknowledgment more than a gesture, and Luke’s mouth curved faintly in response. It wasn’t flirtation or secrecy, just recognition — of being seen clearly, and loved for it.
Then someone called his name down the hall, the spell broke, and they folded back into the group, carrying the moment with them as quietly as they carried everything else.
The visit wrapped with photos in the lobby, jerseys bright against hospital lighting.
Nick threw an arm around Damien’s shoulders.
Elias and Caleb stood politely to the side.
Tanner folded his hands, posture calm. Connor laid on his side in the front, putting his hand on his hip like he was posing for a calendar shoot.
Luke knelt next to Connor, a few feet from Cassie.
Outside, the cold air snapped her back into herself.
Her phone buzzed almost immediately — an editor asking for one last tweak on her season preview, a deadline reminder.
The season was starting.
Cassie typed back “On it” and slipped her phone away. She didn’t look back at the bus as it pulled away, didn’t search for Luke among the faces pressed to the windows.
She didn’t need to.
What she’d seen today was something new to carry, to file away alongside everything else she knew about Luke Anders.
Opening night was days away. There would be games to break down, systems to analyze, stories to tell.
For now, this was enough.