Blaze’s POV
Pain.
Blinding, white-hot pain exploding through my leg like lightning made physical. Every nerve, ending screaming at once. Fire and ice and agony beyond anything I've ever experienced.
The world is too loud.
Screaming fans and whistles shrieking from every direction. Voices shouting my name over and over. The roar blends into a wall of sound that crushes me.
Ice cold beneath my back. Seeping through my jersey. Freezing my spine while my leg burns.
Can't move. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but exist inside this moment of pure suffering.
"Blaze! Blaze, can you hear me?"
"Don't try to move him!"
"Get medical out here now!"
The voices blur together until they’re nothing but meaningless sounds. Nothing penetrates the fog of pain consuming my entire existence. Then a face appears above me.
Asher.
White with horror. Skin drained of all color. Eyes wild with something I haven't seen in years. Something he's spent his entire adult life hiding from the world.
Fear. Real fear. Raw and unmasked and devastating.
"Blaze, I'm sorry…" His voice cracks. Breaks completely. "I'm so sorry, I didn't—I didn't see—"
He's almost losing control. Right here. In front of twenty thousand people and countless cameras. The mask slipping away, revealing the man underneath.
The one who used to hold me like I was precious. Irreplaceable. The only thing in the world that mattered.
"It was an accident," I manage through gritted teeth. "I know."
"I didn't mean—God, Blaze, I didn't—"
"Ashy." The nickname slips out before I can stop it. "Breathe."
His hand hovers over my face. Trembling violently. Wanting to touch but afraid to cause more damage. Tears gather in those ice-blue eyes.
For one delirious moment, a thought surfaces through the pain.
Worth it. This was worth it. Just to see that face again.
To see him unguarded. Honest. The Asher I fell in love with before fear built walls around his heart.
"Sir, you need to step back." A paramedic's voice cuts through. "We need access to the patient."
"I'm not leaving him."
"Sir. Now."
Hands pull Asher away. His face disappears from my field of vision. I want to call out. Tell them to let him stay. But the words won't form.
More faces appear above me. Strangers in medical uniforms. Hands probing my leg. Each touch sends fresh waves of agony crashing through me.
"On three. One, two—"
They lift me onto a stretcher. The movement tears a scream from my throat that I couldn't suppress if my life depended on it.
"Blaze! Oh my God, Blaze!"
Sophie's voice. Cutting through everything from somewhere in the stands. Shrill with terror.
I try to find her in the crowd. Try to find Asher. But the arena lights blur and spin above me, and everything goes dark.
***
Hospital.
Sterile lights burning through my eyelids. The sharp smell of antiseptic filling my nostrils. Distant beeping from machines I can't see.
I blink awake slowly. Disoriented. The ceiling above me is white and unfamiliar.
My leg is heavy. Wrong. I lift my head enough to see: a cast encasing me from knee to ankle. Thick and unyielding.
"He's waking up." A nurse's voice from somewhere nearby. "I'll get the doctor."
Footsteps retreat. A door opens and closes.
I let my head fall back against the pillow. Stare at the ceiling. Process what I already know.
Career-threatening injury. The kind that ends seasons. Sometimes, even ends careers entirely. The kind that haunts players long after the bones heal.
I should be devastated. Yet, I'm not.
Because Asher's face keeps replaying behind my eyes. That raw terror. That desperate apology. The tears he couldn't hide. The mask shattering in front of the world.
He still cares.
The thought warms something cold and hollow that's lived in my chest for a year.
He still cares about me.
Warm fingers intertwine with mine. I turn my head.
Sophie is sitting in the chair beside my bed. Face tear-streaked. Mascara smudged beneath her eyes. Hair disheveled from hours of worried waiting.
"Hey." Her voice is barely a whisper. "You're awake."
"Hey."
She looks wrecked. Genuinely, completely wrecked. Not the calculated performance I've sometimes suspected. This is real devastation.
"How long was I out?"
"Four hours." She squeezes my hand tighter. "Surgery went well. The doctor said…" Her voice breaks.
"Said what?"
"Six months minimum. Maybe longer." She wipes her eyes with her free hand. "But you'll skate again. Eventually."
I nod. Process the information without really feeling it. Six months. A lifetime in hockey terms.
"It was horrible," Sophie continues, words tumbling out. "One second you were skating, and then…"
She stops. Swallows hard and blinks back fresh tears.
"You scared the crap out of me, Blaze. I thought… When you didn't get up, I thought…"
"Hey." I reach up with my free hand. Wipe a tear from her cheek. "I'm okay, Soph."
"You're not okay!" Her voice sharpens with frustration. "Your leg is in a cast. Your season is over. How is that okay?"
"I'm alive."
The simple truth settles between us. She stares at me, as something shifts in her expression. Softens. Transforms into something I can't quite read.
Then she leans in.
Her lips find mine. Soft. Gentle. Easy in all the ways my life hasn't been for years. I don't pull away. Part my lips slightly. Let the kiss happen.
It's comfort. Warmth. Someone choosing to be here when everything hurts.
Not fireworks. Not desperation. Not the consuming need I feel with—Movement catches my attention before I could comprehend. Through the glass door of my hospital room.
My heart stops. Asher.
Standing in the hallway. Frozen in place. Face pale. Eyes locked on the scene in front of him.
He saw everything. Our eyes meet through the glass. Hold for an eternal moment.
His face cycles through emotions faster than I can track. Shock at finding me awake. Pain at what he's witnessing. Something shattering beyond repair behind those ice-blue eyes.
Another moment—and he's already turning. Already walking away. Shoulders rigid. Hands clenched at his sides.
He doesn't look back.
I watch him disappear down the corridor. Watch my heart walk away in a body that isn't mine to claim anymore.
Sophie squeezes my hand. Reclaims my attention.
"You okay?" She searches my face. Looking for something I'm not sure I can give. "You zoned out for a second."
"Yeah." The lie comes automatically. Easily. "I'm fine."
"The doctor said you need rest. I can stay if you want."
"That would be nice."
She smiles and settles back in her chair. Her thumb strokes across my knuckles in soothing circles. I stare at the ceiling like I have been.
Asher's face burned into my memory. The horror when he realized what he'd done. The devastation when he saw Sophie kiss me. Me not pulling away.
Both images blend together until I can't separate the pain from the want, from the impossible situation we've created.
I have a woman beside me who cares. Who's present. Who isn't afraid to be seen with me. And a man walking away who owns pieces of my heart I'll never get back.
I'm fine, I told Sophie. I've never been less fine in my entire life.
I was sure Ash and I had come to an end. That we'd resolved everything and left each other in the past, agreed that it’ll be for the better.
But something deep inside, perhaps even a sixth sense, tells me this is only the beginning... And it will bring a lot of pain to us all.
The story only gets more confusing.