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I crash my stick on the ice and head toward him, making the potential pass even more straightforward.

But he refuses to acknowledge my support, let alone make use of it.

His split-second defiance is met with an Evans-style Kronwall, and Tyler crashes into the side and hits the ice hard.

Fuck.

The turnover is on, and Callaghan must be thinking it’s his lucky day as he nets in the top right with a deke and wrist shot as near perfect as mine a couple of weeks back.

I know Jon said we can fight, but my aching legs feel even heavier as we make our way back to center ice.

“Nice assist.” I can’t help my sarcasm as Tyler skates past without a word.

Seeing red, he spins around and heads straight for me.

Sawyer joins shortly afterward. “All right, guys, let’s cool it,” he says, trying to calm the building tension.

“Punch me,” I goad, all professionalism right out the window as the final threads of my composure snap. “Punch me and get yourself traded. No one fucking likes you.”

My eyes flick over Tyler’s shoulder and up high into the arena, where the family boxes are located. I know this is being beamed on the Jumbotron, and I know Kendra will have eyes on us. That’s the only thing holding me back from going further.

Tyler knocks his helmet against mine, our eyes locked on each other. “You think you’re so damn clever, don’t you? This is all about getting one up on me, isn’t it?”

The ref makes his way over right as Zach Evans arrives, an unusual move for an opposing player, let alone their captain. Major penalties are normally power-play gifts.

“You touch him, and I’ll make sure my next hit breaks bones.” Zach focuses his attention solely on Tyler as he says it. “I have zero boundaries when it comes to touching the opposition, and when that player is Morgan, I will bury you. No one messes with family.”

“Yeah, and you’ll have a problem with me too.” Jessie Callaghan joins his captain, eyes boring into Tyler. “I’m not ordinarily a guy to Kronwall someone, but for you, Bennett, I can make an exception.”

I look between Zach and Jessie. I’ve spent a lot of time with these guys, especially before Jon retired. Part of me wants to say thanks, but I know they’re not doing it solely for my benefit. Jon is a best friend to them both, and there are some relationships that rivalries will never outrank.

When Tyler slides back just in time for the ref to join us, Zach and Jessie spin around, heading back toward their team.

“Have we got a problem?” the ref asks, looking between us all.

“Just a little tactical talk,” Sawyer responds.

Checking his watch, he thumbs toward center ice. “Talking’s over. Time to play.”

When the game restarts and the clock ticks down, the Scorpions fans, who have traveled to New York, drown out the home crowd. And as I switch out for the final time and take a seat on the bench, I notice as Jon visibly deflates.

Zero to four is not what he was hoping for. None of us were.

Emmett Richards, a defenseman, drops his head and whispers under his breath, “Bennett’s in the can if he keeps this up.”

I haven’t spoken to him as much as some of the other guys, but I know Sawyer trusts him. They’ve played together for multiple seasons.

“He needs to clean up his act,” I reply, adding nothing more.

When my eyes travel back to Jon, I follow his line of vision to where it’s fixed on the other side of the rink.

The fuck?

Sitting in an ice-level suite generally reserved for VIPs, my dad accepts another drink from the server as he leans across and talks with a dark-haired guy I don’t recognize.

All fucking time stands still as I watch on and ignore the game in front of me, the final few seconds playing out.

Dad sits back in his seat, laughing as he runs a casual hand through his dark hair.