We spent New Year’s Eve kissing under Rosalie’s floral pastel sheets and the twinkling lights hung round her bedroom, saying <i>I love you</i> until it wore out on our tongues.


    It never does.


    Our first hockey practice back is always earlier than the start of the semester, so I needed to be in Waterfell. Now we’re a week into the new semester, preparing for the first game of the new year. Ro and Sadie are both downstairs in the Hockey House—decked in their now-signature jackets, our numbers painted on their cheeks—as Rhys, Bet, and I descend the stairs with our bags in tow.


    “What’s this, Gray?” my captain says, a smirk evident in his tone.


    When Ro and Sadie indulged in a girls’ nightst week, Rhys spent the evening with me, sans Bet. We grabbed burgers from our favorite local spot and he told me everything—his struggles after the hitst spring, his PTSD and night terrors, going to therapy. All of it.


    And then, after several tight hugs, he told me a bit more about his angry figure skater girlfriend and her brothers.


    “I should apologize to Sadie,” I told him, hand to my forehead at the high-top.


    Rhys shook his head. “No. I can almost guarantee that response won’t be ideal. And she feels just as bad for judging you with Ro.” He smiles at me, reaching out a hand to squeeze my arm. “You’re both protective people. And I love that about you, Freddy. You and Bet—I wouldn’t have made it through thest six months without either of you. I need you, just as much as I need Sadie.”


    Every crack that had formed between us started to mend from there. It didn’t hurt that our girlfriends were best friends.


    “Personal cheerleaders?” Rhys asks, crossing his arms.


    “You wish, hotshot,” Sadie snaps at the same time Ro grins and yells, “Yeah!”


    Iugh openly and jump thest two stairs to grab my girlfriend’snky body up in my arms. I spin her, delighting in her squeal, before kissing her forehead as we watch the other couple in the room.


    Rhys mutters to Sadie in Russian, low and sultry—and though I <i>know</i> Sadie doesn’t understand the words, she flushes red beneath his attention.


    “I’m so proud of you,” Ro says, pulling my attention. “You’re gonna kill it, Matty.”<hr ss="secbreak">


    Before we left, Ro tied one of the ribbons from her hair onto my bag. <i>For good luck</i>, she told me. I’m practically preening, shuffling my bag nearly into the center of the dressing room for the guys to see it. To ask me about it.


    <i>It’s from my girlfriend</i>, I almost scream when Holden finally asks.


    I’m made of smiles. Every one of them finally <i>real</i>.


    As I leave the tunnel and step onto the ice for warmups, I spot them.


    Rosalie, in her usual spot, but not alone—an entire crew decked in Waterfell colors surrounds her. But not just Sadie and the boys—Ro’s parents are here. Her dad is bundled up and seated, smiling. Her mom holds up a sign with Ro that says I Love 27! with hearts and stars doodled all over it.


    And on Ro’s left, right at the ss, is Archer.


    My stomach somersaults, memories swirling. Archer at my games; Archer and my mom at my games, together, shouting at the refs and cheering me on.


    I shake my head, realizing I’m standing just off the ice, blocking everyone’s path, when Rhys gently pushes me aside.


    “You good?” he asks.


    “Yeah.” I smile. “Just surprised.”


    “I like the fan club over there.” My captain ps my helmet and shakes me. “No one deserves it more, Freddy. Let’s go win a hockey game.”<hr ss="secbreak">


    I’m ying the game of my life—barely into the second period. Sweat soaks my uniform, hair wet as I readjust my cage and hop the boards for another face-off.


    Rhys wins it easily—he’s nearly perfect on face-off wins, shooting it to me quickly. I pass it back to my captain, but one of the opposing yers scoops it away. I hard stop on my skates, shaking my head and trying not to get too caught up in the anger.


    I can’t help but flick my eyes toward Archer, seeing his concentrated gaze on me—always on me. <i>You got this, kid</i>, he shouts when I get close enough to hear. It pumps in my blood like a shot of pure adrenaline.


    <i>You’ve got this.</i>


    One of the guys on the other team makes a bad pass and it bounces off his defenseman’s boot, swinging right toward me. I check my cement—there’s <i>no one</i> around me, most in the middle of a change.


    So I take it—racing toward the on a breakaway. I can hear the screaming ratcheting up to immeasurable levels, only spurring me forward.


    My shot is a goddamn beauty, soaring in glove side, high.


    Cheers erupt from all around as my entire line excitedly ms into me, but I’m looking at them—Archer, arms around my girlfriend in a hug as they jump up and down and scream for me.


    They’re here for me. <i>My family.</i>


    Is this how it feels for Rhys when his parents show up? For Bet with Adam Reiner in the stands? I can’t imagine they’re riding this kind of high every game. And <i>God</i> is it a high—having the support of people I love, people who love me, cheering me on at the game I love. At the sport I’m fucking incredible at.


    It’s the best game I’ve had. And I owe it all to the girl I love.<hr ss="secbreak">


    We win.


    I score my first hat trick of the season, racking up points. My third goal is on the side where Archer sits and I m face first into the ss, like I can hug him through it.


    It’s a highlight reel night.


    The boys award me the trophy—a frayed rope ofs cut and tied together. A sacred tradition for the Wolves. I can barely speak, because I’m too excited to see my… my family.


    I give a quick speech, showering and changing out faster than I ever have before. My whole body is tense and twitching, thrumming with energy as I dismiss myself and head through the exit where friends and family—and fans—wait for us to leave the arena.


    It’s early enough that there are only a few lingering nearby, but I bypass them, eyes flicking around until I spot him.


    Archer, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, standing down a little hallway, away from themotion of the crowds exiting.


    Part of me wants to run to him—hug him, if only to expel some of the bundled nervous energy I’m carrying. Instead, I hurry toward him and stop, getting his attention immediately.


    “Hey, kid.”


    His voice is exactly as I remember, soothing and soft, deep. I’ve never heard him raise it in anger—as a coach or as a man. He looks the same, too: ck hair, a beard of wisps of silver and gray, deep olive skin, and a nose that looks like it’s been broken one too many times. Brown eyes that are kind and empathetic, that look over me now with a watery gaze.


    “You were incredible out there, Matty.”


    “Thanks,” I manage to push out, eyes glistening. “Foring.”


    Archer smiles and shakes his head. “Thank your girl. She and her parents got me out here. But, I’m d that…” He clears his throat, like he’s feeling the clog of emotion stuck there the same way I do. “I’m d that you wanted me here.”


    There’s a pause then, where we both stare at each other, unsure. Apprehensive.


    But then his head tilts toward my cor. “Do you remember when she got that chain?”


    I remembered everything about that day. She’d gone through each myth that was depicted on all the pendants in the store, telling me each story, patient with all my questions.


    <i>“But this one is my favorite,”</i> she’d said, fingers ghosting over the Psyche and Cupid carving as she told me their story, her hand on my arm, Archer’s hand on her shoulder.


    “Yeah.” I nod. “On the beach trip, after Granddad’s funeral. I was like five or—”


    “You were six.”


    His words are confident, sure. I don’t think my dad would know my age <i>now,</i> let alone back then, when he had even more of himself and his life to focus on. But Archer… he’s always been there.


    “Were you… You were there, but I thought it was because my dad sent you. That he couldn’te and didn’t want my mom to be alone.”


    Archer shakes his head.


    “No. I came because your mom had just lost her dad and didn’t need to be alone—no matter how much she thought that. And because I loved her.” Tears well in his eyes, and he tries hopelessly to wipe them away before they truly fall. “I still do. I always will.


    “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you after her death. I s-should’ve tried harder. I know John’s mentality, and I knew it wasn’t good—that he wasn’t good to you. But… he’s your dad. And I was—”


    “You were important to me, too,” I say, but it doesn’t feel like enough. “You were important to Mom. She—she loved you, I think. I didn’t understand it before, but I’m starting to.”


    He smiles, blinding and brilliant even with the redness of his eyes and tear-stained cheeks.


    “Elsie was the best thing in my life. I loved her when we were kids—she was my best friend, my personal cheerleader for our small-town hockey team. And then I fell in love with her when she spent an entire summer dedicated to helping me recover enough to y. When she cried with me after the second injury, drank with me all night when I found out I’d never y again… I <i>always</i> knew… I knew I was hers. And for me, that was enough. Just to be there for her, even if she’d never be just mine.”


    <i>God, why does my heart feel like it’s exploding?</i>


    He lifts the chain out of his own cor, the pendant shiny, clearly well taken care of—and an identical match to the one around my own neck.


    “It was the only thing I had of her for a long time.” He huffs out a near sobbing breath. “Besides you.”


    “Me?”


    “Matty.” He steps forward, putting a hand to my neck. “I love you like you’re my own son. And I will always, <i>always</i> be here for you. If you want me.”


    A broken sound bursts from my lips as he presses his forehead to mine before tucking me into his embrace.


    “Cut yourself some ck,” I mumble into his embrace. “I wasn’t doing that great, either. I did some stupid shit freshman year.”


    He pulls away. “Yeah, well, at least you kept it together at her service.”


    My brow wrinkles. “What do you mean? You were like a freaking statue while I cried my eyes out.”


    Archer nearly chokes on augh. “Matty, I nearly tried to murder your father when he showed up to the funeral. We got into a fight in the hallway until a few guys pulled us apart.”


    A shock ofughter bursts from me, and we stare at each other.


    I don’t look like Archer, but right now it <i>feels</i> like I do—watery eyes and happy-sad smiles to match.


    I hug him again and he lets me. That’s better than any goal.