Blaze’s POV
The plane lands in Ottawa and I feel like I've been torn in half.
One piece of me stayed behind in that hotel. In that service corridor where Asher trembled in my arms and finally told me the truth.
Someone is blackmailing him. Anonymous threats. Watching him. Waiting. And I left him there alone. Because what else could I do?
Asher won't let me stay. Never has. Even when he's falling apart, even when he needs someone desperately, he pushes everyone away.
Pushes me away.
All-Star Weekend replays on loop as I collect my luggage. The skills competition where we moved like one person. The hot tub where my foot traced up his leg.
The elevator where I almost kissed him in front of everyone. Then the connecting door. His room. His body beneath mine.
Desperate sex that felt like coming home and saying goodbye at the same time. And afterward—being kicked out. Again. Dismissed like I was nothing more than a convenient release.
The corridor the next morning changes everything though. Asher's confession. His panic attack. The way he crumbled into my arms like he couldn't hold himself up anymore.
Someone is threatening to destroy his life. Someone saw him at a club and now holds that weapon over his head.
I should have stayed. Should have demanded answers. Should have done something more than hold him and make promises I don't know how to keep.
Instead, I got on a plane and flew home. Left him to face his demons alone. The guilt sits heavy in my stomach.
My apartment building looms ahead. Gray and familiar and completely unwelcoming after the chaos of the weekend.
I trudge up the stairs. Key in the lock. Push open the door. And freeze. The lights are on. Music plays softly from somewhere. The smell of garlic and wine fills the air.
"Surprise!"
Sophie emerges from the kitchen. Apron tied around her waist. Wooden spoon in hand. Smile radiant enough to light up the whole room.
"Figured you'd be exhausted after all that travel." She crosses to me, rises on tiptoes, kisses my cheek. "Made your favorite. Pasta primavera with that wine you like."
I stare at her. Process the scene. Try to shift gears from Asher's panic to Sophie's warmth.
"How did you get in?"
"You gave me a spare key last week, remember?" She tugs my bag from my shoulder. "When you asked me to water your plants while you were gone?"
Right. I did that. It feels like a lifetime ago.
"You didn't have to cook."
"I wanted to." She guides me toward the kitchen. "You take care of everyone else, Blaze. Let someone take care of you for once."
She's been doing this lately. Showing up unexpectedly. Anticipating my needs before I voice them. Filling the silence that used to echo through these rooms.
It should feel intrusive. Someone entering my space without warning and making themselves at home in my life.
Instead, it feels like relief. Someone who actually wants to be present. Who doesn't push me away after every moment of connection.
Dinner is delicious. Sophie filled the table with candles. Poured the wine. Created the kind of atmosphere I'd never bother creating for myself.
"So." She twirls pasta around her fork. "Tell me about the weekend. How was the All-Star?"
"Fine." I take a long sip of wine. "Media circus as usual. Skills competition went well."
"I watched! You and Carpenter were incredible together." Her eyes sparkle with genuine enthusiasm. "The chemistry was insane. Everyone online was losing their minds."
My stomach clenches at his name. At the word chemistry. At how right she is without knowing any of it.
"Yeah. We work well on the ice."
"Obviously." She grins. "What else happened? Any good parties? Scandalous gossip?"
I think about the hot tub. The elevator. The connecting door. Asher's skin against mine.
"Nothing exciting," I lie. "Just the usual team bonding stuff."
Sophie tilts her head. Studies me with those perceptive dark eyes.
"You seem off," she observes. "More than just tired. Want to talk about it?"
I don't. Can't. How do you explain that you slept with your ex-rival? That you held him through a panic attack about anonymous threats? That you're worried sick about someone you should hate but can't stop loving?
"Just exhausted," I manage. "Long weekend."
She accepts the deflection. Moves on to lighter topics. Her job. A funny story about her neighbor's cat. Plans for the upcoming week.
I half-listen. Nod in the right places. Let her voice wash over me like background music.
Halfway through dessert, she reaches across the table. Squeezes my hand.
"You know what I've been thinking about lately?"
"What?"
"Your parents."
I stiffen. The fork freezes halfway to my mouth.
"You mentioned you haven't spoken to them in years," Sophie continues gently. "That's a long time to carry that weight around, Blaze."
The wound throbs. Nine years of silence. My father's voice echoing through memory like a curse–You're not my son.
"It's complicated," I manage.
"I know." Her thumb strokes across my knuckles. Soothing. "But maybe it's time to try again? People change. Perspectives shift. They're still your parents."
"They made their choice."
"And maybe they regret it." She leans forward, earnest. "You've built this incredible life, Blaze. Captain of an NHL team. Successful. Happy. Maybe seeing who you've become would change things."
Happy. The word tastes like ash. But I don't correct her.
"I could come with you," she offers. "Make it easier. Sometimes having someone there for support helps."
I think about walking up to that front door. Facing my father's disgust. My mother's silence. Everything that shattered the day I told them who I was.
The thought makes my chest tight.
But Sophie's eyes are so hopeful. So genuinely caring. She wants to help. Wants to fix the broken pieces she can see.
She doesn't know about the pieces she can't see. The ones shaped like Asher. The ones that bleed fresh every time I think about him alone in Boston, stalked by anonymous threats.
"I don't know, Soph."
"Just think about it." Her smile is warm. Understanding. "No pressure. But you deserve to have family in your life. Everyone does."
Family. The word echoes strangely. My parents stopped being family the moment they chose their prejudice over their son. Nine years of silence proved that.
But maybe Sophie's right. Maybe people can change. Maybe time heals even the deepest wounds.
Or maybe I'm just desperate to believe something good is possible. That not every relationship has to end in destruction.
"I'll think about it," I say finally.
Her smile brightens. "That's all I ask."
We finish dinner. She insists on handling the dishes. I stand at the window, staring at the city lights.
Later, alone in bed, I stare at the ceiling. Asher's face haunts me. The terror in his eyes. The way he shook in my arms. The confession tore from him like bleeding.
Someone is hunting him. And I'm here, three hundred miles away, eating pasta with a woman who doesn't know anything about our long and complicated story.
But maybe that's okay. Maybe simple is what I need right now. Someone uncomplicated. Someone who doesn't make me feel like I'm drowning.
Sophie's suggestion circles back. My parents. Reconciliation. A chance to rebuild something broken.
Nine years is a long time to grieve. A long time to carry anger and rejection like stones in my chest.
Maybe it's time to put them down. Maybe she's right. Maybe it's time.