Score me, Captain

Chapter 150

Asher's POV

Six months later

I'm watching Sophie struggle with a box labeled "FRAGILE - BOOKS" while Eric insists he can carry it himself despite clearly lacking the upper body strength for the task.

"Just let me help," Sophie laughs, grabbing one end. "Your masculinity will survive accepting assistance."

"My masculinity is fine. My back, however, is staging a protest."

Blaze swoops in before either of them can drop the carton, hoisting it with the ease of someone who spent years conditioning his body for professional athletics. "Where does this go?"

"Office. Second door on the left." Sophie gestures vaguely while wiping sweat from her forehead. "And thank you for being the only useful person here."

"Hey," I protest from my position assembling a bookshelf. "I'm being extremely useful. This shelf is going to be perfectly level."

"It's been forty-five minutes, Asher. It's one shelf."

"Precision takes time."

The easy camaraderie between the four of us fills their new apartment with warmth that has nothing to do with the summer heat outside.

Sophie has finally decided to move in with Eric officially, and we've naturally volunteered to help with the transition. It feels right, somehow—the four of us working together, building something new.

I watch Blaze coordinate the chaos with military precision, directing furniture placement and organizing boxes with the same leadership instincts that made him such an effective captain.

He's thriving these days, and the evidence is written in every confident gesture, every genuine smile.

His coaching position with the local junior league has given him purpose beyond our relationship—his own source of fulfillment that doesn't depend on my schedule or my success.

The players adore him, responding to his combination of high expectations and genuine warmth. Parents specifically request that their kids be placed on his roster.

Watching him light up when discussing a promising player's development or a successful practice fills me with pride and relief.

We both needed this. Our own identities, our own achievements, our own reasons to feel valuable.

"Break time!" Eric announces, emerging from the kitchen with bottles of water for everyone. "I refuse to be responsible for anyone's heat stroke."

We collapse onto various pieces of furniture—some assembled, some still in boxes—and the conversation flows easily. Sophie tells us about her plans for the company she's been building, finally free from her father's shadow.

Eric describes a promotion he's been offered, seeking Sophie's input on whether he should accept. Blaze shares a story about a player who scored his first goal last week, his face glowing with vicarious pride.

This is what I almost lost. This friendship, this community, this sense of belonging to something larger than myself.

Six months ago, I nearly destroyed my marriage through a combination of neglect, poor communication, and stubborn conviction that I could handle everything alone.

I kept secrets to "protect" Blaze, prioritized my career above our relationship, and assumed he would always be there no matter how many times I chose hockey over him.

I was wrong. About almost everything.

"You're being quiet," Blaze observes, settling onto the arm of my chair. His hand finds my shoulder, squeezing gently. "Everything okay?"

"Better than okay." I lean into his touch, still marveling at how natural this feels again. "Just thinking about how lucky I am."

"Gross," Sophie calls from across the room. "Keep your marital bliss to yourselves."

"You're one to talk," I counter. "I saw you making heart eyes at Eric while he failed to lift that box."

"I was not making heart eyes. I was expressing concern for his physical wellbeing."

"Sure you were."

The afternoon wears on as Sophie's belongings find new homes in Eric's space. We work and laugh and take too many breaks, the task stretching longer than it needs to because none of us are in a hurry to end the day.

There's something precious about this ordinariness—four people who've weathered individual storms finding calm harbor together.

By evening, the apartment looks lived-in rather than chaotic.

Eric orders pizza while Sophie arranges books on the shelf I finally finished. Blaze and I exchange a look that communicates years of shared history—satisfaction, contentment, readiness to go home.

"We should head out," I announce, gathering our things. "Let you two enjoy your first night in your new place."

Sophie hugs us both fiercely, gratitude evident in her grip. "Thank you. For everything—not just today, but... everything."

"That's what friends do," Blaze says simply. "We show up."

The drive home is quiet, comfortable. Blaze's hand rests on my thigh, his thumb tracing absent patterns that still send warmth spreading through my chest. Some things haven't changed—the effect he has on me, the way my heart recognizes him as home.

Other things have changed dramatically.

I've learned to set boundaries with my career that seemed impossible before nearly losing my marriage. Hockey still burns in my blood with the same intensity, but now it coexists with my personal life rather than consuming it.

I've discovered that being a good captain doesn't require sacrificing everything else that matters. My team respects me more, not less, for having a life outside the rink.

Our apartment glows with lamplight when we enter, the familiar space welcoming us back. Blaze disappears into the bedroom while I pour wine, returning with something small clutched in his hands.

"I've been waiting for the right moment to give you this," he says, settling beside me on the couch. "I bought it months ago, actually. Before everything fell apart."

He opens his palm to reveal a pendant—a small compass on a delicate chain, elegant in its simplicity. When I look closer, I see coordinates engraved on the back.

The cottage—where we first admitted our love, where everything really began.

"I thought..." Blaze's voice catches slightly. "I thought it could symbolize us finding our way. No matter how lost we get, we always come back to each other."

Tears prick unexpectedly at my eyes. This gift, offered now, feels different than it would have six months ago.

Then, it might have felt like desperation—a plea for connection we weren't capable of maintaining. Now, it feels like a celebration, a promise. Like a proof that we've learned from our mistakes.

"Will you put it on me?" I ask, my voice rough.

Blaze moves behind me, and I feel the cool weight of the pendant settle against my chest as he fastens the chain. His lips brush the nape of my neck, tender and sure.

"To always finding our way back to each other," he murmurs.

I turn in his arms, pulling him close. "Always."

We hold each other in the peaceful aftermath of a day spent helping friends build their future, and I realize we've all learned the same essential lesson.

Love isn't just a feeling—it's a choice. It requires honest communication, even when truth is uncomfortable. It demands individual growth alongside partnership. It asks for courage to choose each other repeatedly, especially when it's difficult.

Sophie and Eric have found this with each other. Blaze and I have rediscovered it, stronger for having nearly lost everything.

The compass pendant rests warm against my heart, coordinates pointing toward our beginning. But as I look at my husband, this man I've loved since I was sixteen, who I'll love until I take my last breath, I know the real direction has always been forward.

Together—whatever comes next.