Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
They didn’t drive to the game together. Not technically.
Luke dropped Cassie a block from Allegheny Arena, easing the car to the curb like he was parallel parking instead of executing a small, deliberate deception they’d practiced without ever naming. He snuck a kiss before she gathered her bag.
She shut the door, waited until the car pulled away, then started the familiar walk toward the arena, badge already out, shoulders settling into work mode.
By the time she hit security, Luke was just another player somewhere beneath the stands, taping his stick, lacing his skates.
By the time she climbed to the press box, she was just another reporter with a laptop and a deadline.
The game against Columbus was chippy from the opening faceoff.
The Arsenals played fast and mean, crashing the net, testing Connor early with low shots and traffic.
Cassie typed steadily, tracking zone time, noting a couple of clean exits Luke made under pressure.
Pittsburgh didn’t score in the first, but neither did Columbus.
Connor looked sharp — aggressive in his crease, tracking pucks cleanly, talking to his defensemen like he owned the paint.
Midway through the second, Cassie spotted Luke glance up at the press box after a whistle, something that still never failed to give her butterflies.
Early in the third, Elias Johansson finally opened the scoring with a laser of a shot from the point. Now down a goal, Columbus pressed hard.
The Arsenals’ winger cut across the slot, snapped a shot high glove-side through traffic — the kind that beat goalies nine times out of ten. Connor lunged, lost his edge for a split second, then somehow recovered, throwing his arm back across his body in a desperate windmill.
The puck caught leather.
The building erupted.
Cassie felt it in her chest before she heard it — the collective intake, the roar, the disbelief. Connor sprawled, then popped back up, pounding his stick once against the ice like punctuation.
And then, inexplicably, chaos.
The Columbus winger skated past the crease, turned, and without warning swung his fist. The punch landed on Connor’s mask, but hard enough to jolt Connor backward into the crossbar of the goal.
Everything broke at once.
Luke was there instantly.
Cassie barely had time to register his movement — the way he crossed the ice in three powerful strides, grabbed the Columbus player from behind, and drove him down, pinning him to the ice with practiced force.
It wasn’t rage, it was control. Luke kept the player’s arms tied up, his body between Connor and danger, jaw clenched as officials swarmed.
The Columbus player screamed something unintelligible, still trying to twist free.
Luke didn’t respond. He just held him there until the refs peeled him off.
The Arsenals’ bench exploded in protest. The crowd screamed its approval. Connor stood in the crease, mask still on, watching the officials escort the Columbus player down the tunnel.
The call came quickly: Game misconduct. Automatic ejection. Suspension inevitable.
Cassie typed furiously, hands steady even as her pulse spiked.
Connor skated to the bench during the stoppage, tapping Luke’s shin pad once with his glove in passing. Luke gave a short nod back. Nothing more.
The rest of the game belonged to Connor.
Columbus threw everything they had — point shots, rebounds, net-front chaos — and Connor swallowed it all. No rebounds. No panic. Just calm, infuriating competence.
Tanner Brooks scored an empty-net goal in the final minute. When the horn sounded, the score read 2–0.
Shutout.
Connor was named the No. 1 star, having stopped all 39 of the Arsenals’ shots. When the announcement echoed through the arena, Connor skated out alone, lifted his stick, and took a slow lap around the ice, saluting the crowd like he was conducting an orchestra.
Cassie watched him grin beneath the mask and thought, Of course.
In the locker room afterward, the air buzzed — music louder than usual, laughter sharp-edged with adrenaline. Connor stood at his stall, mask off, hair damp, still riding the high.
Cassie stepped forward, recorder up.
“Walk me through the save,” she said. “What did you see?”
Connor didn’t hesitate. “Traffic. Their guy cut the middle. I lost it for a second, then I didn’t.” He shrugged. “Instinct.”
She nodded. “And what do you think set him off afterward?”
Connor blinked, feigning innocence with impressive commitment. “Set who off?”
“The guy who punched you in the face.”
“Oh.” He tilted his head, considering. “I might’ve said something.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow. “Something?”
Connor pursed his lips, rubbing his chin. “I believe it was, ‘How about that fuckin’ save?’ But I can’t be sure.”
Laughter rippled through the scrum.
Cassie smiled despite herself and clicked off her recorder.
Later, after deadlines and postgame routines and one last careful exit, Cassie met Luke outside, slipping into the passenger seat like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They didn’t talk for a minute. Just drove.
Then Cassie laughed — sudden, uncontrollable.
“I can’t believe Connor got decked,” she said. “That chirp was pretty tame…for him, at least.”
Luke shook his head, smiling now. “Connor lives for moments like that.”
Cassie leaned back in her seat, the tension of the night draining out of her. “You know, you tackled that guy like you were breaking up a bar fight.”
“He shouldn’t have touched the goalie.”
“Captain energy,” she teased. “It was pretty hot.”
Luke glanced over at her, eyes warm. “Someone’s gotta keep him alive.”
They drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence, laughter still lingering between them.