Score me, Captain

Chapter 51

Asher’s POV

Morning light feels like an assault.

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles bruise the skin beneath my eyes. My hands won't stop trembling no matter how tightly I grip the sink.

I look like death and I feel much worse.

The group breakfast started twenty minutes ago—all the All-Star players gathering in the hotel restaurant, cameras documenting every interaction for social media content.

I can't go down there. Can't sit across from Blaze pretending nothing happened. Can't eat eggs and smile for photos while my entire world crumbles.

I stripped the bed at 4 AM but the scent clings to my skin anyway.

I grab my wallet and head for the lobby instead. Coffee is what I need right now. Caffeine and distance and maybe the earth will stop tilting beneath my feet.

The lobby café is mercifully quiet. I order a black coffee. Wait at the counter. Try to breathe normally.

"Yo, Carpenter!"

I turn. A defenseman from Chicago—we played together at some charity event years ago. His name escapes me. His grin doesn't.

He saunters over, clapping my shoulder like we're old friends.

"Hell of a weekend, right?" He leans closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. "Heard some action through your wall last night, man."

My blood turns to ice.

"What?"

"Come on." He winks knowingly. "Who's the lucky lady? She sounded pretty enthusiastic. Or was that you?"

He laughs. But I can't move. Can't think. Can't do anything but stand frozen while my worst nightmare plays out in broad daylight.

"Just the TV," I manage. The words scrape out like broken glass. "Couldn't sleep."

"Sure, man." Another laugh. Another wink. "Your secret's safe with me."

Your secret's safe. The same words. The exact same words from that anonymous text.

My vision tunnels. The lobby shrinks to a pinpoint that makes sound distort into underwater echoes.

Someone heard us. Someone knows. It's over.

I stumble away from the counter leaving the coffee forgotten. The elevator feels miles away.

Every face in the lobby becomes a threat. Every glance a judgment. Every whisper about me.

My career. My family. My entire carefully constructed life—collapsing because I couldn't control myself for one night.

The elevator doors close. I sag against the wall. Force air into lungs that refuse to cooperate.

The hallway stretches endless before me. I make it three steps before my legs threaten to give out.

Walls closing in. Chest crushing. Can't breathe. Can't see straight.

"Ash?"

No. No, no, no. Not now.

Blaze stands outside his room. Fresh from the breakfast I skipped. Concern already creasing his forehead.

I try to push past him. "I'm fine."

"You're shaking." His hand catches my arm. "You're white as a sheet."

"I said I'm fine."

"And I said you're lying." He pulls me sideways. Through a door I didn't notice. Into a service corridor—dim, narrow, hidden from the main hallway.

Private. Isolated. The opposite of what I need right now.

"Let me go."

"No." He positions himself between me and the exit. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Nothing's going on."

"Bullshit." His voice sharpens. "I've been watching you fall apart for weeks. The flinching. The paranoia. Whatever happened in that lobby just now—you looked like you saw a ghost."

"It's none of your business."

"You were my business for four years, Ash. You think I can just turn that off?"

I want to fight. Want to shove past him and retreat to my room and pretend this conversation never happened.

But I'm so tired. So goddamn tired of carrying this alone.

Something cracks inside me. Maybe it's exhaustion. Maybe it's the lingering warmth from last night. Maybe it's just reaching the end of a rope I've been dangling from for weeks.

"Someone knows."

The words spill out before I can stop them.

Blaze goes still. "Knows what?"

"About me." My voice breaks. Shatters. "I've been getting messages. Anonymous texts. Someone saw me at a gay club. They're threatening to expose me."

Silence. Heavy and suffocating.

"What?" Blaze's face cycles through shock, anger, fear. "Since when?"

"Weeks." I press my palms against my eyes. Try to hold myself together. "I don't know who. I don't know what they want. They just keep reminding me they're watching."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you?" A bitter laugh escapes. "We weren't exactly speaking, Blaze."

"This is serious, Ash. This is…"

"And just now." I cut him off. Can't stop the flood now that it's started. "Someone heard us. Last night. Through the wall."

Blaze pales. "What?"

"A guy from Chicago. Made a joke about hearing 'action' from my room." My hands are shaking again. Violently. "He winked. Said my secret was safe. The same words—the exact same words as the text."

"That doesn't mean—"

"If they figure out it was you…" My voice rises. Edges toward hysteria. "If anyone connects the sounds to you being next door…"

"Hey." Blaze's hands cup my face. Force eye contact. "Breathe. Ash, look at me. Breathe."

I try. Fail. Try again.

"We'll figure this out," he says. Steady. Certain.

"There is no 'we.’" The words taste like acid. "You made that clear when you left."

Something flickers in his eyes. Pain. Frustration. Old wounds reopening.

"You kicked me out last night," he says quietly. "I left a year ago because you wouldn't let me stay. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"Yes." His thumbs stroke my cheekbones. Gentle despite the tension in his jaw. "And I'm here now. Whether you like it or not."

"You shouldn't be."

"Probably not." His mouth quirks. Sad. "But since when has 'should' ever applied to us?"

I want to argue. Want to push him away like I always do. Protect him from the fallout of being associated with my disaster of a life.

Instead, I crumble. My forehead drops to his shoulder. The fight drains out of me all at once, leaving nothing but exhaustion and fear and the desperate need to not be alone with this anymore.

Blaze doesn't hesitate. His arms wrap around me. One hand in my hair. The other steady on my back.

We stand there in the dim service corridor. Two rival captains clinging to each other where no one can see. The irony isn't lost on me.

"We'll figure it out," he repeats. Murmuring into my hair. "Together. Whoever's doing this—we'll find them. We'll stop them."

I don't believe him. Don't believe any of this can end without destruction. But for one moment, held in his arms, I let myself pretend.

Pretend we can fix this. Pretend the walls aren't closing in. Pretend the man holding me won't end up collateral damage in the explosion heading my way.

His heartbeat thrums against my ear. Steady. Strong. I close my eyes and memorize the sound.

Just in case it's the last time I hear it.