Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
The off days were always quieter than Cassie expected them to be.
Luke lay stretched out on her couch, socked feet propped on the armrest, a muted afternoon game playing on the television more out of habit than interest. Cassie sat cross-legged at the other end with her laptop open, hair twisted up, phone within reach.
The windows were cracked despite the cold, letting in the low hum of the street and the distant sound of traffic across the river.
Luke had one of her feet in his hands, thumbs pressing slowly into her arch, methodical and unhurried. He’d started doing it without asking months ago, and she’d never told him to stop.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” she said, eyes still on her screen.
“I am,” he replied. “This is rest.”
She huffed a quiet laugh and flexed her toes experimentally. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“Finding the spot that makes me forget what I was about to write.”
“That’s just good defense,” he said. “Take away the passing lane.”
Cassie rolled her eyes and smiled before she typed a few more sentences, the feature she’d been circling for days finally starting to come together. The Renegades were at a crossroads, she’d written. Competitive, but not complete. A team deciding which version of itself it wanted to be.
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced at it without much thought, then froze.
Luke noticed immediately. “What?”
She picked it up, reading the message again to make sure she wasn’t misinterpreting it. It was from one of her usual sources in the Renegades’ hockey operations department.
“Heads up, we’re finalizing a deal to move Belov in net. Pick + a prospect coming back. Should be done by tonight. Want to give Connor a shot as the No. 1.”
Cassie’s stomach flipped.
“They’re doing it,” she said softly.
Luke’s hands stilled. “Doing what?”
“Trading Belov,” she said. “Clearing the crease.”
Luke sat up a little, attention fully on her now. “For real?”
She nodded, already pulling her laptop closer. “It makes sense. Cap flexibility. Timeline. Connor’s been ready.”
Luke leaned back again, processing it. “He’s earned it.”
Cassie glanced over at him, something warm in her chest. “He has.”
Luke shifted closer, her feet still in his lap, and resumed the slow, steady pressure with his thumbs. Grounding. Present. “You gonna break it?”
“I think I have to,” she said. “If I sit on this and someone else runs with it…”
He nodded. “Then you’d be late.”
Cassie shook her head and began typing, fingers moving quickly now, the words lining up almost too easily. She framed it carefully—what the trade meant, what it signaled, what it didn’t. She didn’t speculate on Connor’s emotions. She didn’t need to. The move spoke for itself.
Luke watched her work, quiet now, hands still moving over her foot like it was something he was entrusted with. When she paused, staring at the screen, he pressed a little firmer, grounding her back into the moment.
“Okay,” she said finally, exhaling. “Sending.”
She hit publish and leaned back against the couch, eyes closed for just a second.
Luke squeezed her foot once, gentle. “Proud of you.”
They sat there for a moment, the television murmuring, the city carrying on outside, the story already making its way through timelines and group chats and front offices.
Then Luke bent and pressed a kiss to the top of her foot, soft and unassuming.
“Still an off day,” he said. “Right?”
Cassie smiled, climbing over him to lay her head down on his chest. “For now.”