The memory ambushes me without warning.
Junior year. That storage closet behind the equipment room, the one with the broken lock that nobody ever bothered to fix. We'd stolen maybe three minutes between practice drills—three minutes that felt like a lifetime.
"We shouldn't be doing this here," I'd whispered, even as my back hit the wall, even as my fingers curled into Blaze's jersey and pulled him closer.
"Then stop me." His voice was rough, challenging. His eyes burned in the dim light filtering through the gap beneath the door.
His mouth crashed into mine—hungry, desperate, tasting like Gatorade and recklessness. My lips parted on a gasp and he took full advantage, tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees threaten to buckle.
His hands fisted in my jersey, yanking me flush against him until I could feel every hard line of his body through our practice gear.
"Fuck, Ash," he breathed against my lips. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
His fingers slid beneath my collar, finding bare skin, and I shuddered at the contact. Heat pooled low in my stomach as he pressed me harder into the wall, his thigh slotting between mine in a way that made coherent thought impossible.
"Someone could walk in," I managed, but my head was already tipping back, giving him access to my throat.
"Let them." His teeth grazed my pulse point, and I bit down on my lip to trap the moan threatening to escape. "I'm so fucking tired of hiding this."
His mouth found mine again, softer now but no less intense. He kissed me like I was sacred. Like he was memorizing the shape of my lips, the taste of my tongue, the small sounds I couldn't quite swallow.
His thumb traced my jaw with devastating tenderness while his other hand slid into my hair, tilting my head for a better angle.
"Blaze…" His name came out broken, desperate.
"I know, baby. I know."
Then footsteps. Heavy, approaching, unmistakably Coach Davidson's cadence.
We separated so fast I felt the absence like a physical wound. Blaze grabbed a broken stick and pretended to examine it while I fumbled with a gear bag that wasn't even mine.
My heart hammered so violently I was certain Coach could hear it from the doorway. My lips felt swollen, obvious, branded with evidence of what we'd been doing.
"You boys lost?" Coach had asked, eyes narrowed.
"Just looking for replacement tape," Blaze answered, voice impossibly steady. "Ash said there might be some back here."
The lie rolled off his tongue so smoothly. We'd gotten good at lying by then.
Coach grunted something about checking the supply room and disappeared. We stood frozen for a full minute afterward, terror coating my tongue like copper.
That was the first time I understood what we were risking. The first time fear became something physical—a cold weight that never fully left.
We got more careful after that, built higher walls. And eventually, those walls grew tall enough to separate us entirely.
The concrete step catches my toe wrong. My body pitches forward, arms windmilling uselessly—
A hand clamps around my arm, yanking me back.
"Careful, Captain." Jackson's grip is firm, steadying. His expression is warm with concern. "Where's your head at? You almost ate concrete."
Heat floods my cheeks. "Just distracted. It's nothing."
"Doesn't look like nothing." Jackson releases my arm but falls into step beside me as we continue down the stairs. "Talk to me. What's going on with you lately? You've been somewhere else for weeks."
The question opens a floodgate I didn't realize was straining. Words spill out before I can stop them—about Ryan leaving without explanation, about Chad's impenetrable coldness, about feeling untethered and isolated in ways I can't articulate.
"I don't get it," I say, pushing through the parking garage doors. "I'm trying to be a good captain. Trying to build chemistry with the new guy. But it's like he doesn't want to be here."
"Some people are just wired differently," Jackson says, listening attentively. "Doesn't mean he's not committed to the team."
"And Ryan—I thought we had something. I thought we were building something real. Then he just... disappeared."
"Maybe he needed space to figure out what he wanted. Fresh start, new city—sometimes people need that."
"Without even explaining why?"
"Not everyone's good at goodbyes, Ash. Doesn't mean it was about you."
The advice makes sense. Practical. Rational. It feels good to have someone in my corner who isn't disappearing or pulling away.
"Yeah, I know how hard this must be for you," Jackson continues, his tone shifting to something more casual. Almost too casual. "Especially considering your ex and his new flame are moving in together..."
I stop walking. The words hit like a bucket of ice water.
"What are you talking about?"
Jackson blinks, surprise flickering across his features. "You didn't know?" He reaches for his phone, thumbs moving across the screen. "Sophie posted about it. Here…"
He turns the phone toward me. Sophie Chen's Instagram fills the screen—a photo of her and Blaze surrounded by moving boxes, both grinning at the camera like they've won the lottery.
The caption reads: New beginnings and building a home together. So excited for this next chapter! With two emojis of flying hearts and a house.
The comments are flooded with heart emojis and congratulations.
My vision tunnels. My chest constricts so tightly I can barely breathe. Sophie and Blaze are moving in together. Permanently. While I'm here, alone, texting someone who won't respond and trying to connect with someone who won't let me.
"Why the hell do you even follow her?" I force the question out, working to keep my voice level.
Jackson smirks, sliding the phone back into his pocket. "Almost the entire team does, actually. Ever since that meeting at the airport—you know, when she introduced herself to everyone? The guys really liked her."
Of course they did. Sophie's likeable. Sweet. Easy to be around. Everything I'm apparently not.
"They say Blaze hit the jackpot with that one," Jackson continues, something knowing in his eyes. "Beautiful, sweet, totally devoted to him. Can't really argue with that assessment."
Every word is a knife sliding between my ribs. I want to scream. Want to put my fist through the nearest car window. Want to demand how Blaze could move on so completely, so publicly, while I'm still drowning in the wreckage of what we used to be.
But I won't give Jackson the satisfaction of seeing me break.
I swallow the fury. Bury the jealousy beneath layers of carefully constructed indifference. When I speak, my voice is steady. Almost bored.
"Good for them." I start walking again, forcing my legs to move normally despite the earthquake happening inside my chest. "Hey, tell everyone we're hitting Murphy's tonight. Drinks are on me."
Jackson raises an eyebrow but doesn't question the sudden subject change. "Generous. Any particular occasion?"
"Do I need one?"
"Guess not." Jackson grins, clapping me on the shoulder. "I'll spread the word. This'll be good for team morale."
Yeah. Team morale. Not because I need to get spectacularly drunk before I do something stupid like drive to Ottawa and demand answers I have no right to ask for.
Not because the thought of Blaze building a future with someone else makes me want to tear my own skin off.
Just team morale.
"Perfect," I say, my smile feeling like broken glass. "Let's make it a night to remember."
Jackson's already pulling out his phone to text the group chat. And I'm already planning how much alcohol it's going to take to forget that photo exists.
Spoiler alert: it's going to be a lot.