Asher’s POV
The locker room buzzes with post-practice energy—guys peeling off gear, talking shit about the upcoming game against Toronto, the usual background noise of twenty athletes decompressing.
I'm half-listening to Jackson complain about the refs from last night's game when Coach walks in and calls for attention.
"Gather up, everyone. Got an announcement."
I assume it's schedule changes or some new training protocol. Maybe another lecture about media interviews. Standard team business that'll take five minutes and fade into background noise by tomorrow.
I'm not prepared for what comes next.
"Ryan Torres is leaving the Boston Blazers," Coach says, his voice matter-of-fact. "Effective immediately. He's been traded to Denver. We'll have a replacement player joining us next week."
My stomach drops to somewhere around my ankles.
I stare across the room at Ryan, waiting for him to look up. Waiting for some kind of signal—an apologetic glance, a subtle shake of the head that says I wanted to tell you first.
Some acknowledgment that this news should have come from him, not in a fucking team meeting with twenty other guys.
But Ryan keeps his eyes fixed on the floor, jaw clenched tight, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he's trying to disappear into himself.
He won't look at me at all.
"Questions?" Coach asks.
A few guys murmur amongst themselves—some surprised, others already moving on to wondering who the replacement will be. Hockey players are pragmatic like that. People come and go. Lineups change and life moves on.
But I can barely hear any of it over the roar in my head.
Ryan is leaving. Ryan, who's been there through everything—the Blaze scandal, the media shitstorm, the slow rebuilding of something that felt almost like trust between us. Ryan, who held me together when I was falling apart.
And I found out the same way everyone else did.
The moment Coach finishes talking, I'm moving. I catch Ryan's arm before he can slip away with the crowd and pull him toward the back hallway, away from curious eyes and gossip that'll spread through the team like wildfire.
"What the hell, Ryan?" The words come out sharper than I intended, edged with hurt I can't quite hide. "You're leaving? And you didn't think to mention it to me first?"
He finally looks at me, and there's something complicated in those dark eyes. Guilt, maybe. Regret. But also something closed off—a wall he's built that I can't seem to breach.
"It happened fast," he says. His voice is calm, and almost controlled. But there's a distance to it that wasn't there yesterday. "I got an offer from Denver. It was too good to pass up."
"Too good to pass up?" I repeat, incredulous. "You didn't even tell me you were considering other options. I thought we were—" I stop myself before the words can tumble out. I thought we were something. I thought I mattered.
"You thought what?" Ryan's gaze slides away again, like he can't maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.
"I thought you'd at least talk to me about it. We've been…" I gesture vaguely between us. "Things have been good between us lately."
"Good," he repeats, like he's tasting the word. "Yeah. They have been."
"So why leave? Why now?"
Ryan's quiet for a long moment, and I can practically see him choosing his words carefully. "It's just better this way, Ash. Fresh start. New city, new team. You understand."
"No, I don't understand." Frustration bleeds into my voice. "I don't understand at all. What aren't you telling me?"
Something flickers across his expression—pain, maybe, or fear. But it's gone so quickly I almost convince myself I imagined it.
"There's nothing to tell," he says quietly. "Sometimes things just run their course."
"Things?" The word tastes bitter. "Is that what this was to you? Just a thing that ran its course?"
Ryan flinches like I've hit him. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you made a major life decision without considering how it might affect anyone else. Without considering me."
"Ash."
"No, let me finish." The hurt is bleeding through now, raw and obvious. "I've had people walk away from me before, Ryan. I know what it looks like. But I thought you were different. I thought we meant something to each other."
Ryan's face goes pale. "We do. We did. That's not…"
"Then explain it to me. Make me understand why you're running away."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything unspoken. I can see the war happening behind Ryan's eyes—part of him wants to tell me something, but another part is locked down tight.
"I'm not running away," he says finally. "I'm just... moving forward."
"Without me."
"It's not about you." But even as he says it, I can tell he doesn't believe it. "This is about my career. My future."
"Your future doesn't include me in it."
Ryan's jaw tightens. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."
"Harder than what has to be? You still haven't explained why you have to leave at all."
"Because I do, okay?" The words come out sharper than I think he intended. "Because staying here isn't good for either of us."
"Says who?"
"Says me." He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly looking exhausted. "Look, Asher, you're a good guy. You deserve better than someone who's just going to complicate your life."
"Don't I get a say in what I deserve?"
"Not about this."
The finality in his voice hits me like a slap. Whatever his real reasons are, he's made up his mind. This conversation is over before it really started.
"I hope everything works out for you, Ash," Ryan says, his voice softening. "I really do. You deserve good things."
Before I can respond, before I can process what's happening, he steps forward and kisses me.
It's brief and gentle. A goodbye pressed against my lips like punctuation at the end of a sentence. Ryan's hand cups my jaw for just a moment, thumb brushing across my cheek, and I can feel him memorizing the contact.
Then he pulls back.
"Take care of yourself, Captain."
And then he's gone. Walking down the hallway without looking back, disappearing around the corner like he was never there at all.
I stand frozen in the empty corridor, the ghost of that kiss still warm on my mouth. My chest aches with a familiar pain—the specific hurt of being left behind by someone who couldn't stay.
Goodbye kisses.
I'm starting to get allergic to these.
Blaze kissed me goodbye too, once. In the rain outside his apartment, before walking away and leaving me shattered on the pavement. A soft press of lips that felt like forgiveness and condemnation all at once.
Now Ryan. Another kiss. Another departure. Another person choosing to leave rather than stay and fight for whatever we might have built together.
I stand alone in the hallway for a long time, letting the silence swallow me whole. The familiar walls slide back into place around my heart—the ones I'd started letting down, piece by careful piece, over the past few months.
Lesson learned. Again.
Finally, I straighten my shoulders and walk back toward the locker room. Life moves on. It always does, whether I want it to or not.
There's a new player coming next week. The team will adjust. We'll find new chemistry, new rhythms, new ways to win games.
And I'll go back to doing what I do best: keeping everyone at arm's length, where they can't hurt me when they inevitably choose to leave.
Even when part of me wishes they wouldn't.