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“She asked her advisor to go with her to talk to Coach Green. She wants to make sure she talks to him before he finds out from someone else.”

“That’s fair,” he says, pulling up his socks. “Getting ahead of it makes sense.”

“But,” I add, feeling that warmth spread across my chest that’s specific to Twyler, “one way or the other, we’ve agreed that we’re not hiding our relationship anymore.”

We finish getting dressed and Axel cuts the music when Coach comes in with a few last-minute words of wisdom about kicking ass and not embarrassing him in front of a home crowd. I’m overly aware that Cameron’s here filling in for Twyler. Coach Green gives zero indication of what went down when he spoke with Twyler.

“Reese,” Coach Bryant says, nodding at me. Guess I’m up.

“Circle up, men.” I gesture for them to join me and the team huddles in a circle. As per tradition, our fists meet in the middle. “This is going to be our season,” I tell them. “I can feel it. We’re ready and I know that when we hit the ice, we’re going to go out there like we’re already champions.”

There’s a chorus of “Hell, yeah’s!” “Wittmore!” And one “Fuck’n crush ‘em!” from a pumped up Axel. Starting at three, I count us down, and as a team we shout, “Badgers!”

I push everything out of my mind as I go down the tunnel, reminding myself of my goals: winning this game, then the conference, then the whole fucking thing. From there, I’ll tackle the NHL. That’s my focus as the cold air hits my face and I glide onto the ice, twirling my stick in my hand. Tuning out the crowd, I ignore them and the other team across the ice, and take a hard hitting warmup shot at the goal.

“Dude,” Axel groans when the puck gets past him, sliding into the back of the net. “I want to tell you to fuck off, but keep that up during the game. Change nothing.”

I skate past him, bumping my gloved fist to his, and retrieve the puck. I pass it to Kirby and hear, “Let’s do it, one-five!”

Eyes darting upward, I see her. Twyler’s up in the stands, bundled up in a dark coat with a knit Wittmore hat on her head, sitting next to Nadia. Everything else becomes secondary as I skate over.

“Nice shot,” she grins, meeting me down at the wall that separates the ice from the stands.

“How did your meeting go?” I ask, resting my stick and hands on the top of the barricade. “Coach Green hasn’t let on.”

“It went pretty well. I was nervous, but Professor Purvi was amazing, so that helped.” She tucks a piece of hair under that adorable hat. “After discussing it, I’ve decided to switch internships. Basketball is about to start, and Cameron is ready to take over the reins full time.”

“What? You’re leaving the team?” This wasn’t the plan. She was going to go in and explain there are no rules prohibiting an intern and player dating. The goal was to get everything cleared up, not leave the team.

“I’m not willing to go half-in on this,” she says, and her fingers tug at the zipper of her jacket as she turns her back to me. Underneath, she reveals a Wittmore jersey, my name and number embroidered on it. “I want everyone to know I’m your biggest supporter.”

I swallow. “Sunshine, seeing you in that jersey makes me want to do one thing: slowly peel it off.”

A playful smile curves her lips. “Maybe later?”

“Definitely later.” I raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure about this? Because I don’t want you giving up your dream job for me. If there’s any chance of resentment—”

Leaning over the barricade, she silences me with her mouth, effectively shutting me up with a very public, very territorial kiss. Cheers erupt from around us, led by a whoop from Nadia back up in the stands.

“I never wanted to work with the hockey team,” she admits once we’ve broken apart. “Basketball has always been my favorite sport.”

“Basketball?” I mutter, incredulous. “Are you serious right now?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s freaking freezing in here, Cain. I’m tired of thawing my hands and feet every time I leave work.”

“You’re sure about this?” I ask, taking her hand. “Like, absolutely sure.”

She nods with determination. The thought of her cheering for me from the stands is pretty damn appealing.

“Cain!” Jeff’s shout snaps my attention back. The referees are out on the ice and we’ve only got a few minutes before the game starts.

“Love you,” I tell her, giving her one last kiss.

“Love you too,” she says. “Good luck.”

We part and I glide back onto the ice, heart racing and a newfound fire in my chest. As the arena roars around me, I know that the fact we worked through this means we can get through just about anything, both on and off the ice.

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