Asher’s POV
I haven't slept.
The message burns in my mind on repeat. A brand seared into my brain that won't fade no matter how many times I close my eyes.
"Saw you at Velvet last month. Your secret's safe... for now."
Who sent it? The question spirals through my skull like a tornado, destroying everything in its path.
Someone from the club? A stranger who recognized me despite the hat and hood? A teammate who followed me there? One of the staff?
The possibilities multiply with each passing hour. Each one is worse than the last.
What if they tell the media? I can see the headlines now. Boston Captain's Secret Life Exposed. NHL Star Caught at Gay Club. Everything I've built, reduced to tabloid fodder.
What if the team finds out? The locker room whispers. The sidelong glances. Teammates who used to respect me suddenly questioning everything.
What if management finds out? Contract negotiations derailed. Trade rumors swirling. My career as captain ending not with triumph but with scandal.
Sponsors. The endorsement deals would evaporate overnight. Companies don't want controversy. They want clean images and family values.
My parents. God, my parents.
My chest tightens as the room around me tilts dangerously. Suddenly I can't breathe. Can't see straight. Can't feel my legs beneath me.
I'm shaking. Cold from the inside out. Like ice flooding my veins and crystallizing in my lungs.
The walls close in. The ceiling presses down and everything narrows to a single point of panic that consumes all rational thought.
I stagger backward. My hip catches the dresser. The impact sends the drawer, that drawer, the one I opened hours ago, sliding out completely.
It crashes to the floor.
Blaze's hoodie spills across the hardwood. The photos scatter like fallen leaves. The stupid pine tree keychain skitters under the bed.
Evidence–All of it. Spread around me like a crime scene. My knees buckle. I go down hard, palms slapping against the floor. Gasping. Trembling. Drowning in air that won't fill my lungs.
A knock at the door.
No. No, no, no.
"Ash?" Ryan's voice, muffled through the wood. "You left your wrist guards at practice. Thought I'd drop them off."
The door opens. Ryan freezes in the doorway.
His eyes sweep the scene—me on the floor, gasping like a dying fish. The hoodie that clearly isn't mine. The photos of two men on a dock. The scattered remnants of a relationship I've tried to bury.
Understanding flickers across his face. Then something else. Something that looks like pain.
He swallows it down before I can fully register it.
"Hey." He's beside me instantly, knees hitting the floor, hands steady on my shoulders. "Hey, look at me. Ash. Look at me."
I force my eyes to focus on his face.
"Breathe," he says. Calm. Controlled. "In through your nose. Out through your mouth. You're okay."
I try to follow his instructions. In. Out. In. Out.
"That's it. Keep going. You're safe. Whatever this is, you're safe right now."
Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Time loses meaning when you're fighting for every breath.
Slowly, the panic recedes. The ice in my veins thaws and the room stops spinning quite so violently.
Ryan's eyes flick to the hoodie beside us. To the photos. To all the pieces of Blaze scattered across my bedroom floor.
Hurt flashes across his features. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to see it and feel the guilt twist in my gut.
Then it's gone. Buried beneath the patient concern I don't deserve.
"We're playing New York next week," he says quietly. His hands still rest on my shoulders, grounding me. "You taught us to leave everything outside the building walls. Time to practice what you preach, Captain."
I nod weakly. He's right. He's absolutely right.
But the message still burns. And I don't know how to put out a fire I can't even see.
***
Hotel gym. Days before the New York game.
I'm still on edge. Every sound makes me flinch. Every buzz of my phone sends my heart racing into my throat.
I check the screen obsessively. Waiting for another message. Another threat. Another crack in walls that are already crumbling.
The weight room is mostly empty. Just me and the iron and the paranoia radiating off my skin like heat.
I focus on the movements. Curl, extend and repeat until I exhaust my body enough that my mind will finally shut up.
A hand lands on my shoulder. I jerk violently. Spin around with fists raised. Heart slamming against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
Blaze stands there. Eyes wide. Hand still extended where my shoulder used to be.
Of course. Of course he's here. Same hotel. Different team. Both preparing for upcoming games. The universe loves its cruel jokes.
I force composure into my features. Too late as the damage is done.
Blaze's eyes narrow. Concern replacing surprise. He sees too much. Always has.
"Everything okay?"
"Fine." I turn back to the weights. Grip the barbell tighter than necessary.
"You nearly took my head off."
"Startled me. That's all."
Silence stretches between us. I can feel him staring at my back. Feel the questions forming on his tongue.
"Ash, seriously…"
"Captain." Ryan's voice cuts through the tension.
He appears beside me, stepping close. Too close. His hand comes to rest on the small of my back. Familiar. Possessive. A clear message to anyone watching.
"You're looking pale," Ryan says, fingers pressing gently against my spine. "Let's get some air."
I should pull away. Should maintain professional distance. Should not let him touch me like this in front of Blaze.
But I can't think straight. Can barely breathe around the anxiety still choking me.
So I let myself be guided away. Don't protest when Ryan's fingers brush my hip as we walk. Don't look back at the man we're leaving behind.
But I know Blaze sees everything.
The touches. The glances. The way Ryan's body angles toward mine like he has every right to be there. Like we've shared things that grant him this intimacy.
We have. That's the worst part. We have shared things, nights and beds and bodies, even if none of it meant what Ryan hoped it would.
This isn't tabloid rumors about some model arranged by publicists. These aren't staged photos for magazines. This is real. Obvious. Undeniable.
A man's hand on my back. A man's concern in his voice. A man guiding me away with the easy familiarity of lovers.
Blaze watches us disappear through the gym doors. I feel his gaze burning into my spine until the moment we turn the corner.
I don't see his expression. Don't see the way his jaw tightens or his hands clench at his sides. Don't see the bitter, burning thing that floods his chest as understanding dawns.
But I know it's there. Can feel it echoing across the distance between us like a wound that won't stop bleeding.
Right now, I can't care. Can barely function through the panic still humming beneath my skin.
He thinks I've moved on. Thinks Ryan is what I chose instead of him. Maybe that's better. Maybe believing I'm happy without him will finally set him free.
Or maybe it will just add another crack to everything that's already broken between us.