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Bringing his fingertips to his lips, he kisses them and then touches the freezing surface. A place where he’s stood for so many puck drops, a place where he’s heard his name chanted over and over again. A place he’s called home for so many years. He’s a living hockey legend who’s called time on an insane career that’s seen good, great, and some really tough times.

I stop skating and pull off my helmet, swiping a quick glove under my eye. But this time, it’s not sweat impeding my vision.

My teammates give him this moment to connect with his home, with the ice, to say thank you but also farewell to the NHL. It's Zach who makes the first move over to him, which only seems right.

Pushing my feet forward once more, I’m second to arrive on the scene as we form a tight circle on the ice. More of our teammates arrive, but not one word is said. There’s plenty of time to scream and get wrecked later.

Right now, in this moment, we pay homage to one of the greats. To our great.

Skating in a circle slowly, it’s Jon who finally speaks. “I need to get wrecked, boys, or else I’m going to lose my shit right here and now.”

Laughter buzzes around the circle.

“Now you’re talking my language,” I say, breaking from my position opposite Jon and skating over. There’s no way I can liftall six-foot-four and two hundred and thirty pounds, but I’m an idiot, so I try anyway.

“Fuck me, put him down before you slip a disc, you dickhead,” Zach scolds.

I’ve barely lifted him an inch before I set him back down. But Jon doesn’t seem to have noticed at all since he’s fixated over my shoulder.

And I know exactly what’s captured his attention. Felicity, the woman who he has insisted since they got engaged, is already his wife. Soon to be in only four weeks.

But where there’s Felicity, there’s blonde and…

Wait.

Jessie Callaghan’s fucking jersey?!

“You havegotto be kidding me,” I rumble darkly.

“Say what?” Zach nudges my shoulder with this. A smug grin on his face when he sets his eyes on Luna.

“Nothing,” I bite out.

The circle breaks apart entirely, and the boys skate to their respective partners and family members. Mom and Dad haven’t made it down yet, so I’m left standing here, simmering in my rage.

Usually, she barely makes eye contact with me, but tonight, she looks me straight in the eyes when Jon bends down and she hugs him, resting her chin on his padded shoulder.

She’s barely twenty feet away, so I don’t miss the smug twitch to her lips when she watches me scan her top half, taking in number forty-four stamped on the right sleeve of her black and white Scorpions jersey.

No, scratch that. Not her jersey—Jessie’s.

I could rip it from her in one motion and revel in how the material tears apart.

Her lips curve into a full-blown smirk, and I know my expression screams rage. I keep my skates planted where theyare. If I move any closer, I will likely go through with my thoughts.

Call the thought police.

My princess is full of surprises tonight as she pulls away from Jon and confidently steps across the ice in her white Converse and tight as fuck blue jeans. Did she spray those on? They’d be hard work to peel dow?—

“Congratulations. Well played.”

For the first time in weeks, even though we’ve spent time together as a group, she speaks directly to me. But her tone is as cold as the ice we’re standing on, and her bright blue eyes are sharp as she folds her arms across her chest, looking up at me.

Her long blonde hair falls around her shoulders, and the tiny brown beauty spot sitting just below her left eye draws my attention, as it always does.

I wonder if it’s make-up or natural. I wonder how much of Kate Monroe is real. She carries herself with confidence, but I’ve never been convinced she’s as secure as she lets on.

There’s an element of chaos beneath that perfectly put-together exterior.