Chapter 21 - Cass
Cass
My dad didn’t so much as look at me. Not once.
Not when I passed him on the loading dock, or when I crossed in front of his office with the busted skate sharpener part I was hauling to storage.
I’d even waved that time. But he just turned his back and went on talking to one of the assistant coaches like I wasn’t there.
I didn’t need a memo. I was being iced out.
The air in the arena was tighter than usual, even for a post-loss vibe.
Everyone felt it. Guys stalking through the hallways like they wanted to hit something.
Equipment slamming harder into bins. Raised voices in the locker room.
Frank, who usually had a smart ass comment for everything, barely looked up when I passed him by the vending machines.
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Carter said when I went fishing for information. “The new policy we all had to sign?”
Reinforcement of Conduct Guidelines. That’s what he was talking about. All staff. All departments.
“Everyone’s mad at me because of a policy they had to sign?” I folded my arms across my chest, working hard to seem as nonchalant as possible. Inside, my stomach churned violently. “Shouldn’t they be directing that anger at admin?”
Carter shrugged, absently stacking and restocking empty popcorn boxes. “Because you’re the reason behind admin’s decision to ban… what was it? Oh, right, fraternization.” He fixed me with a cutting look.
“You think I’m the reason?” The laugh that came out of me was tinny, hollow.
A dead giveaway that I was talking through my ass.
I hoped to God he wouldn’t notice. “I’m in the dungeon for most of my shift.
I come up for air when the ice needs resurfacing.
That’s it. What could I possibly be doing to—”
“You mean who could you possibly be doing, don’t you?” And he seemed so smug about it too. Like he had me all figured out. “And I don’t know, Cass. You tell me.”
Heat rose up the back of my neck and slowly crept onto my cheeks. A confusing blend of humiliation and anger. Aside from a few false fire alarms, my work at the arena had been error-free and top quality. Who I dated shouldn’t mean I get treated like a kid.
Worse than that was the realization… If everyone was spreading rumors about me fraternizing, then it’s pretty obvious where my dad’s cold shoulder was coming from.
“You’re all idiots,” I said then, for lack of a better rebound. “I suggest you get a hobby so you’ll have less time to gossip.”
I walked off without saying another word, or waiting for him to retaliate. My ears burned, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other. As long as I did what they paid me to do, there’d be no fuel to add to the fire.
I prepped the Zamboni, finished the fix on the skate sharpener, and cleared debris from the dasher boards. The scrape of my boots on the concrete helped drown out the noise in my head. Kind of.
The team was still on the ice, doing a brutal round of drills.
The boards rattled with every check. My dad stood by the bench, arms folded like he was daring someone to piss him off.
Mason pushed harder than ever, clearly wanting to make up for missing the game.
He blamed himself for the loss, even though that made no sense at all.
The assistant told my dad something about Mason’s form, and I couldn’t help but notice the way he visibly tensed up at the mention of his name.
It could’ve been nothing. Just the residual disappointment of losing in New York. But I didn’t stick around to find out. I kept my head down, did my work, stayed invisible.
It didn’t matter, anyway. The staff could think what they wanted. I wasn’t here to make friends. But no matter how many times I tried to comfort myself with that thought, it didn’t stop the ugly twist in my chest every time I caught someone whispering and glancing my way.
When practice was over, I’d all but disappeared into myself. I was still sweeping up loose tape and sticks near the back hallway when I heard his voice.
“Cass.”
I turned.
Mason stood there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, freshly showered, damp hair curling slightly at his temples. He looked tired, in that bone-deep way grief settles in. But the second I lifted my face to him, something shifted behind his eyes.
“You okay?”
It might’ve seemed like a nothing question to him, but it was all kinds of loaded. How did I begin to explain what I felt? Everything. At the same time.
Guilt over lying to my dad. Jeopardizing his job, essentially.
Miserable for having to keep my distance from Mason, despite every molecule of my body wanting the exact opposite.
Exhilarated by the idea of this guy who seemed to just get me in a way nobody else had before him.
Deeply unsettled by the idea that he might slip through my fingers for the sake of everyone else’s happiness, including his.
“You wanna get out of here?” I tilted my head toward the service entrance in the back hallway where the Zamboni was parked for the night.
He nodded.
We walked in silence. When the heavy garage door clicked shut behind us, muffling the hum of the arena, I finally let out a long breath. It felt like I’d zipped us back inside the bubble where everything was fine and actions didn’t have dire consequences.
The overhead lights buzzed softly. It smelled like motor oil and ice shavings, but also all the possibilities in the history of ever.
I leaned back against the Zamboni, hands in the pockets of my jeans. “Everyone hates me.”
“No they don’t.”
“They do,” I said with a challenging gaze. “They think I’m the reason they had to sign that ‘no fraternization’ clause. Your teammates included.”
He stepped in closer. “None of that matters. It’s all bullshit red tape, and you know it. People trying to control what they can’t have any control over.”
“You didn’t see the way they were looking at me. Even my dad’s weirder than usual.”
“He’s pissed about New York,” he cut in. “Not about you.”
“I’m not so sure.”
Mason reached out, hand brushing my arm. “I am. So if you can’t believe yourself, then at least believe me.”
Something about the way he said it, low and certain, made me feel steadier. The rattling in my brain simmered down.
“What about you?” I asked. “How are you holding up?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. There was something else, but he held that back. Then, after thinking for a bit, he went on. “It was just one game, but everyone’s on their last nerve with playoffs approaching. We were shooting for home ice advantage, and last weekend just made that harder.”
“You did the right thing, Mason. Whatever they think.”
He sighed heavily, but didn’t disagree. “I haven’t really worked through all that stuff, but I know I’m grateful you came home with me. That helped.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to be there for you.”
“Why?”
I wasn’t expecting that, or the intensity in his eyes as they locked with mine. I didn’t have an answer. My heart was beating too fast, and everything that had been barreling through my head all day went quiet. The staff, whispers, my dad’s silence.
My hand lifted before I realized what was happening, and brushed the side of his face. His skin was warm, a little rough with stubble. He leaned into the touch, his eyes dropping closed for a moment.
And when his lips met mine, it wasn’t a question—it was the answer.
I melted into him, my hands finding the collar of his hoodie, his arms coming around my waist. The kiss deepened but stayed tender, full of something pulsing and real. All the tension we’d been holding back finally curled into the open space between us.
“Cass…”
“I know.”
And I didn’t care. Not anymore.
The world beyond the garage didn’t exist. There was just this: the press of his chest against mine, the way his breath caught when I touched him. The comfort of skin meeting skin under layers of clothing as we started tugging each other closer.
This didn’t feel like a mistake at all. It never did.
There was nowhere soft to land in this place, no bed or couch to brace ourselves on. But maybe that was the point. This wasn’t planned or polished. It was raw and real, shaped by the ache we’d been carrying for too long.
Mason walked me back until my shoulder blades bumped the equipment shelves, rattling a few cans of puck wax behind me. We both laughed under our breath, lips touching, kissing still, and the air shifted between us again.
His hands found the bottom of my sweatshirt and dragged it up over my head.
The cool air hit my skin but I was burning up.
He stared like he was trying to take it all in.
Every part of me. His eyes flicked from my collarbone to the pale blue lace of my bra.
His hand came to rest just below my ribs, holding me gently.
“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”
“Come to think of it… no.”
He chuckled softly. “Well, you’re beautiful, Cass. Absolutely breathtaking.”
My fingers curled into the front of his hoodie and I pulled it off him in one clumsy motion. He was all warm skin, faint tan lines, and that hard line of muscle down his stomach that always did things to me. Unspeakable things.
He kissed me again, slower this time, delving into my depths in more ways than one.
His mouth moved along my jaw, down to my throat, each kiss stealing whatever breath I had left.
My legs tangled with his as greedy hands slid down the back of my thighs.
He lifted me easily, and I wrapped myself around him instinctively, trusting him to hold me.
We staggered this way until Mason reached the stacked goalie pads and lowered me on top.
This wasn’t the mezzanine or his garage or my ratty apartment. It was the culmination of something inevitable that neither of us had words for.