Blaze’s POV
The bar is packed with teammates, and I'm exactly where I want to be—center of attention, surrounded by people who actually want to be around me.
Unlike a certain grumpy asshole nursing a drink in the corner booth like he's allergic to fun.
I tell another story about my old college team, making everyone laugh, but my eyes keep drifting across the room. Asher sits alone, jaw tight, glaring at his glass like it personally offended him.
He hasn't looked up once. Hasn't acknowledged that I exist.
One week. I've been here one week, and he's treated me like a stranger. Worse than a stranger. Like an enemy. Like I didn't spend years dreaming about this exact moment—us, together, on the same ice again.
I tried being nice. Tried being patient. Tried giving him space to come around on his own.
Fine. If he wants to act unreasonable, I'll give him unreasonable.
"Ash!" I call out, loud enough to cut through the noise. "Stop hiding in the corner like a brooding vampire and get over here."
He doesn't move. Just stares at me with that flat, cold expression that makes my blood heat in ways I refuse to examine.
I tilt my head, letting a smirk curl my lips. If he wants to play this game, I'll play it better.
"What, afraid you can't handle being near me outside the rink?" I lean back, spreading my arms wide. "Scared I'll bite?"
Heat flickers in his eyes. Good. Anger is better than that icy indifference. Anger means he feels something.
"I'm not scared of anything. Especially not you."
"Prove it then."
The challenge hangs between us. Teammates glance back and forth, sensing the tension crackling through the air, but I don't care. Let them wonder. Let them see that their precious Asher Carpenter isn't as untouchable as he pretends to be.
Asher's jaw tightens. Then he turns to Amelia, cups her face in his hands, and kisses her. Not a quick peck—a deep, deliberate, possessive kiss that goes on long enough to make a few teammates whistle and cheer. His eyes stay open the entire time.
Locked on mine. Defiant. Challenging.
Look what I have. Look what you can't touch.
Something hot and ugly twists in my chest. I keep my smile fixed in place, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing it land. When he finally releases her, Amelia looks dazed, pleased, cheeks flushed.
She has no idea she's just been used as a weapon.
I let my smile falter—just for a second, just enough for him to see—before someone else demands my attention. I turn away, launching into another story, but the moment lingers. The taste of defeat. The image of his mouth on hers, burned into my retinas.
I hate that it worked.
Hate that I'm still hoping for something he clearly doesn't want to give.
The night drags on. Teammates filter out one by one until the bar grows quiet. I watch Amelia kiss Asher's cheek, say something about an early class, grab her jacket and leave. He doesn't offer to drive her home. Doesn't even walk her to the door. Just watches her go with an expression I can't read, then orders another drink.
Interesting. The girlfriend leaves, but he stays.
Eventually, he slips toward the back exit, shoulders hunched, probably thinking I won't notice.
He should know better by now. I notice everything about him.
I follow him into the dim hallway, footsteps deliberate. Let him hear me coming. Let him feel the awareness crawling up his spine the same way I feel it whenever he's near.
"Running away again?"
He stops. Turns. Those ice-blue eyes narrow. "I'm going home. Some of us have early practice."
"Bullshit." I close the distance between us, backing him against the wall. Trapped. Exactly where I want him. "You've been avoiding me all week. Running every time I get close."
"Maybe I just don't want to be around you."
I lean closer, close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath. Close enough to see his pulse jumping in his throat.
"Starting to think you're not just annoyed, Ash." I drop my voice, letting it turn teasing. Intimate. "Starting to think I'm the one who makes you nervous."
His jaw tightens. "You don't make me anything except tired."
"Liar." I say it soft, almost gentle, watching the way his breath catches. "You tense up the second I walk into a room. Your eyes track me even when you pretend they don't."
I tilt my head, studying those blue eyes that have haunted my dreams for years. "I notice everything about you, Ash. Always have."
Something shifts in his expression. A crack in that armor he's built so carefully.
I press my advantage further. "I thought you'd be happy we're finally together again. Same ice, same team. Everything we promised each other when we were kids."
The words land harder than I intended. His walls start crumbling—I can see it happening—but then they slam back up twice as strong.
"Yeah, it was a promise," he snaps, voice rough with barely contained fury. "But never to steal someone else's dream. Never to show up out of nowhere and take everything I worked for."
So that's what this is about. The captaincy.
"Steal?" I blink, genuinely confused. "Ash, I didn't steal anything."
"The captaincy was supposed to be mine." His voice cracks. "Three years I worked for it. Three years of being first on the ice and last off. Then you waltz in and it's just handed to you."
The pain in his voice cuts through my frustration. But I'm tired of being punished for something I didn't ask for. Tired of apologizing for being good at the thing we both love.
If he wants to blame me, fine. I'll give him something to blame.
I lean even closer this time, closing the last gap until we're sharing breath. "I didn't steal it, Ash." I let my voice drop low, provocative. "I claimed it. There's a difference."
Fury blazes in his eyes. His hands curl into fists. "Get out of my face."
"Make me."
We're inches apart now. The air crackles between us. Every nerve in my body screams to close the distance, to do something about this tension that's been building since I walked back into his life.
But beneath the anger, I see something else. Something that looks terrifyingly like longing.
The teasing drains out of me. I'm tired of games. Tired of pretending I don't feel what I feel.
"Just talk to me." My voice cracks, and I let it. Let him see the real me beneath all the bravado. "Tell me what I did wrong and I'll fix it. Whatever it takes."
I pause, heart pounding against my ribs.
"I missed you, Ash. Every single day for years, I missed you… This truly isn't the way I thought things would go with you after all these years."
The confession hangs in the air, naked and terrifying.
For one breathless moment, I see his walls crumble completely. See the boy I grew up with, the one who taught me to love hockey. The one I've been in love with since before I understood what that meant.
Then his expression hardens. "We were kids, Blaze. Promises don't mean anything."
He shoves past me, hard enough to make me stumble. I don't follow when he walks away and disappears behind the corner. Don't call after him.
What's the point?
The back door slams. Silence swallows everything. I stand alone in the dim hallway, chest aching, replaying the way he kissed her while staring at me—like he was trying to prove something to me or to himself.
He's lying. He has to be. There's something beneath the anger about the captaincy, something he won't let himself admit.
I grab my jacket and head into the cold night.
Later, lying in bed, I replay his words. We were kids. Promises don't mean anything.
But the way his breath caught when I got close. The way he kissed his girlfriend like a performance meant for my eyes only. He felt it too. I know he did.
Asher Carpenter thinks if he pushes hard enough, I'll give up and walk away.
He should know better. I've waited years for this. For him. And I'm not giving up that easily.