Score me, Captain

Chapter 85

Blaze's POV

I return home in a daze, my mind fractured into a thousand pieces I can't seem to reassemble.

The confrontation with Asher plays on an endless loop—those ice-blue eyes burning with something that looked terrifyingly like desperation, the words don't quit echoing in the hollow space where my certainty used to live.

The apartment smells like Sophie's cooking, warm and domestic and safe. I should feel relieved to be here, surrounded by the life we're building together. Instead, I feel like I'm drowning.

"Hey, you're back early," Sophie calls from the kitchen. "How was training?"

I hang my jacket on the hook by the door, my movements mechanical. "It was... complicated."

Sophie appears in the doorway, dish towel in her hands, and takes one look at my face. Her expression immediately shifts into that gentle concern that's become her default setting around me—soft eyes, tilted head, the instinctive need to comfort.

"What happened?" She moves toward me, reaching up to touch my cheek. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

The metaphor is more accurate than she knows.

"I ran into someone," I say, sinking onto the couch. "Someone from my past."

Sophie settles beside me, close enough that our knees touch. "Do you want to talk about it?"

For once, I don't deflect. Don't change the subject or make a joke to lighten the mood. Something about seeing Asher tonight, seeing the desperation in his eyes when he told me not to quit, has cracked me open in ways I'm not prepared for.

"It was Asher," I say quietly. "My old... partner."

The word feels inadequate for everything we were, but I don't know how else to describe it to someone who wasn't there.

Sophie's eyebrows rise slightly. "Partner?"

"We played on the same team in the junior league. Same college team. We were..." I search for the right words. "Close. Very close. For years."

"Close," Sophie repeats, understanding flickering in her eyes. "And now?"

"Now we're rivals. Play for different teams. Haven't spoken since the game before my injury… until tonight."

"What did he want?"

I run my hands through my hair, still trying to process it myself. "He heard about me considering retirement. Came to tell me I was making a mistake."

"And what do you think?"

The question catches me off guard. Not what did you tell him or what's his problem. Just... what do I think.

"I don't know," I admit. "That's the problem."

Sophie shifts closer, her hand finding mine. "Tell me what he said. All of it."

So I do. I tell her about Asher appearing on the ice like some kind of specter, about his anger when I said I had other priorities now. About the way he looked when he asked me not to quit—like something was breaking inside him that he couldn't fix.

"He seemed... desperate," I say finally. "Like this wasn't just about hockey."

"What else would it be about?"

The question hangs in the air between us. Sophie asks it casually, but I can see the careful attention in her eyes. She's listening for something specific.

"We have history," I say slowly. "A lot of history. Things ended badly between us."

"What kind of history?"

I look at her—really look at her. Sweet Sophie with her patient smile and her gentle questions. She deserves honesty, even if it's painful.

"We were together," I say. "For three years. I was in love with him."

Sophie doesn't flinch. Doesn't pull away. Just nods like this makes perfect sense.

"And now?"

The question I've been avoiding. The one I've buried under moving boxes and domestic bliss and plans for a future that feels both real and impossible.

"I thought I was over it," I whisper. "Over him. But seeing him tonight..."

"Brought everything back."

"Yeah." The admission feels like breaking a dam. "All of it. The good, the bad, the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world. The way he could make me feel invincible and completely destroyed in the same conversation."

"Do you think he still has feelings for you?"

I close my eyes, remembering the desperation in Asher's voice. The way he couldn't quite meet my eyes when he told me the league needed me.

"I think he wanted to say something else tonight. Something he couldn't get out."

"Like what?"

"Like maybe he misses me too. Like maybe he regrets how things ended between us."

Sophie is quiet for a long moment, her thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.

"Do you agree with him?" she asks finally. "About not quitting hockey?"

"I... maybe. I don't know anymore."

"Is staying in hockey what you personally want? Not what anyone else thinks you should do. Not what would make other people happy. What would make you happy?"

The questions crack something open inside me that I've been trying to keep sealed shut. Because the truth is, I don't know what would make me happy anymore.

I thought it was this—Sophie, domestic life, a future that doesn't involve getting my brains beaten twice a week. But sitting here talking about Asher, I feel something stirring that I thought was dead.

"I used to love it," I say quietly. "Hockey. Not just playing it, but everything about it. The competition, the adrenaline, the way it felt to be perfectly in sync with someone else on the ice."

"Someone like Asher."

"Yeah. Someone like Asher."

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on us.

"Blaze," Sophie says gently, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you think maybe we rushed into this? Moving in together, talking about the future... maybe we moved too fast?"

My stomach drops. The question hits like a physical blow, panic flooding my system instantly.

"No," I say quickly, turning to face her fully. "Sophie, no. I didn't mean it like that. I don't want you thinking I'm having second thoughts just because my ex showed up out of nowhere. That's not what this is about."

"I know," she says softly. "I didn't think that."

"I'm sorry if it came across that way. You're here, you're real, you're good for me. Asher is just... he's complicated. He always was. But that doesn't change what we have."

Sophie smiles, but there's something sad in her eyes. "I know, Blaze. I understand."

She moves into my arms, and I hold her close, breathing in her familiar scent of vanilla and lavender. She feels warm and solid against me, a reminder of all the good things we've built together.

"I love you," I murmur into her hair.

"I love you too."

But even as I hold her, even as I say the words I mean, guilt twists through me like a knife. Because the doubts are still there, lurking beneath the surface where I try to keep them buried.

And after tonight, after seeing Asher's desperation and feeling that old familiar pull, I'm not sure how much longer I can pretend they aren't there.

Or what it means for both of us if I can't.