Asher’s POV
Unfamiliar ceiling.
That's the first thing I registered. White plaster instead of the exposed brick I wake up to every morning. Wrong texture. Wrong shadows. Wrong everything.
My head pounds. Mouth tastes like regret and cheap bourbon. I sit up too fast and the room tilts dangerously.
Jackson's apartment. The sleek furniture. The dark sheets tangled around my naked legs.
Last night crashes back in brutal fragments.
The bar. The drinks. Following him home like a stray dog desperate for scraps of affection. His mouth on me. My hands on him.
The sounds he made. The sounds I made. Instant regret floods my system like ice water.
I feel dirty. Wrong. Like I've betrayed something sacred even though Blaze isn't mine to betray anymore. Hasn't been for a year.
But my body doesn't understand logic. My heart doesn't recognize timelines.
I scrub my face with both hands, trying to erase the memory of Jackson's touch. It doesn't work. Nothing works.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I grab it, squinting at the screen.
Ryan: "Still on for tonight? Got that new beer you wanted to try. My place, 7pm?"
"Fuck."
The word echoes in the empty bedroom. I completely forgot. Made plans with Ryan days ago—casual hangout, watching the game, the kind of normal ‘friendship’ activity that keeps him hoping for more.
I checked the time and it’s already 5pm. I slept the entire day away in Jackson Blake's bed. Like some kind of—
I need to shower. Get across town and pretend I didn't just hook up with my assistant captain while the man I actually want haunts my every waking moment.
Footsteps in the hallway. Jackson appears in the doorway, two coffees in hand. He's dressed casually—sweats, t-shirt, hair still damp from his own shower.
Infuriatingly casual. Like this is normal. Like we do this all the time.
"You're up." He extends one cup toward me. "Sleep okay?"
I take the coffee but don't sit back down. Can't stay in this bed another second.
"Last night…" I start.
"No strings, remember?" Jackson cuts in smoothly. His smile is easy, practiced. "Two guys blowing off steam after a tough game. Doesn't have to mean anything."
I search his face for signs of deception. For the manipulation I remember from college. For any hint that this is part of some larger game.
Nothing. Just friendly concern and morning-after casualness.
"We're good, Cap," he adds. "Seriously. This doesn't change anything between us. Just forget it happened."
I nod, relieved but unsettled. Something feels off, but I can't pinpoint what. Maybe I'm just paranoid. Maybe years of hiding have made me see threats everywhere.
"I should go." I gather my clothes from the floor. "Early practice tomorrow."
"Sure thing." Jackson leans against the doorframe, sipping his coffee. "See you there."
I dress quickly, not caring that he's watching. Modesty feels ridiculous after last night. After everything.
The walk of shame through his apartment is mercifully short. I don't look back when the door closes behind me.
The Uber ride home gives me too much time to think.
I replay the night in excruciating detail. Every touch. Every sound. Every moment I could have stopped and didn't.
I used Jackson to forget Blaze. Classic deflection. Textbook self-destruction.
And it didn't even work. Blaze's face still flashes behind my eyes. His gasp in that locker room. The way he said my name.
I shower at my apartment until the water runs cold. Scrubbing skin that won't feel clean. Washing away evidence that clings like guilt.
By the time I reach Ryan's place, I'm running on autopilot.
He opens the door with that warm smile. The one that always makes me feel worse about myself because I know I don't deserve it.
"Hey! Come in. The game's about to start."
His apartment is small but comfortable. Posters on the walls, hockey memorabilia scattered on shelves, the kind of organized chaos that speaks to an actual life outside the rink.
Unlike my sterile showroom of an apartment. All clean lines and empty spaces.
"Got that IPA you mentioned." Ryan hands me a bottle, fingers brushing mine. "Local brewery. Supposed to be really good."
"Thanks." I say, because one word is all that I can manage.
We settle on opposite ends of his couch. The game plays on the TV—some Western Conference matchup I don't care about. Background noise to fill the silence.
Ryan glances at me. I feel his eyes without looking.
"You okay?" he asks softly. "You seem... distant."
"Fine. Just tired."
The lie tastes like ash. He knows it's a lie. I know he knows.
But Ryan doesn't push. He never does. Just nods and turns back to the game, giving me the space I don't deserve.
His patience is endless and his warmth is genuine. He's been here for months—showing up, checking in, offering comfort without demanding anything in return.
And I repay him by sleeping with someone else. By sitting here pretending everything's fine while my body still carries evidence of Jackson's touch.
I'm a terrible person. The thought isn't new, but it hits different tonight. Heavier. More permanent.
Ryan deserves better than someone who's using him as a placeholder. Better than a captain who can't commit to anything beyond the next game.
Better than a coward who loves someone else and fucks strangers to forget.
"That goal was insane," Ryan says, gesturing at the replay. "Did you see that deke?"
"Yeah. Impressive." Two words this time. Progress.
We drink our beers. Watch players skate across the screen. Sit in silence that should be comfortable but feels suffocating instead.
I catch myself thinking about Blaze again. Wondering what he's doing right now. If he's thinking about that locker room. If he's as haunted as I am.
Probably not. He's moved on. Has his team and his fans and his life without me in it. I'm the only one still drowning.
"Hey." Ryan's voice pulls me back. "You sure you're okay? You've been staring at the wall for like five minutes."
Have I? Time blurs when I'm lost in my head.
"Just processing the game yesterday," I lie. "Tough loss."
"The Ottawa game?" Ryan shifts slightly closer. "That was brutal. But we'll get them next time."
We. Like he's part of it. Part of me.
I should tell him the truth. Should explain that I'm broken in ways he can't fix. That waiting for me to come around is a waste of his time and his heart.
Instead, I take another sip of beer and say nothing.
Because I'm selfish. Because his presence dulls the loneliness even when I don't deserve the comfort. Because pushing him away would leave me completely alone with my thoughts.
And I'm terrified of what I'd do then.
The game ends. Neither of us really watched. Ryan offers another beer. I decline.
"I should head out. Early practice."
"Right." He walks me to the door, hovering like he wants to say something more. I don't give him the chance.
"Thanks for tonight." I'm already stepping into the hallway. "See you tomorrow."
The door closes between us before he can respond.
I stand in the corridor for a long moment. Breathing and trying to feel something other than empty.
It doesn't work.
The walk home is cold. Dark. My thoughts spiral in familiar patterns.
Blaze. Jackson. Ryan. Three men tangled in my disaster of a life. Three reminders of everything I'm doing wrong.
I don't know how to be better. Don't know how to stop hurting people who care about me. Don't know how to want the ones who want me back.
So I stay cold. Stay distant. Stay locked inside a prison of my own making.
And hate myself a little more with every step.