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“I keep worrying that this is a bad idea,” Gavin said under his breath, leaning in as Morgan Reynolds, finished reading the lineup card, was making his rounds through the locker room, acting like he practically owned it.

Zach wasn’t unhappy about it; Gavin could complain about Morgan all he wanted, if he was going to do it this close to Zach.

They’d been trying to keep some distance between them at the rink, and around the guys, but ever since a few nights ago, Zach had felt like he was five seconds away from pinning Gavin to the nearest flat surface and ravaging him.

Because he could now. It was not only allowed, it was encouraged.

“We both talked to Finn about it. He’s solid, he and Morgan are doing so much better. Besides,” Zach added, “he’s still Morgan Reynolds. Maybe he can inspire the guys.”

“I think they know Finn a little too well to let Reynolds go to their heads,” Gavin said. He was probably not wrong.

Zach shrugged. Morgan was finishing up, nudging Elliott, the pair of them laughing together. Malcolm was next to Elliott in his stall, looking like he wanted to forcibly remove Morgan’s hand from Elliott’s arm.

“Score one for me,” Morgan said laughing, and Elliott just cackled. Malcolm relaxed a fraction.

“You got it, boss,” Elliott said.

Morgan made his way over then. “Team’s looking good,” he said to Gavin.

“Thanks,” Gavin said dryly.

“Wheeler,” Morgan said, inclining his head in Zach’s direction, expression more guarded.

He had to know Zach was Hayes’ best friend; it was not exactly a secret they’d played together for the Mavs and that they’d been close.

“Hey,” Zach said, shoving his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t be tempted to punch Morgan in the face.

“I was surprised to see you retired so young,” Morgan said, because of course he fucking did.

Zach shrugged. “It was time. Got other things to do.”

“Or you worried you wouldn’t be able to produce without Monty,” Morgan said, his smile suddenly lethal.

Gavin reached out and grasped Zach’s arm. Like he too was suddenly afraid that Zach might do something he wouldn’t regret at all.

Honestly Zach didn’t know what pissed him off more—that he’d implied Zach’s success had only been because of Hayes or that he’d called him Monty , like he deserved to have any bit of Hayes in his mouth at all, nevermind a nickname that only his friends called him.

Morgan had never been Hayes’ friend .

“Come on,” Gavin hissed under his breath. “Don’t be an ass, Reynolds.”

Morgan shrugged. “ I never thought it, I was just wondering if Zach thought it.”

“Zach doesn’t,” Zach said flatly.

“Well, there you go.” Morgan grinned like it was one great big joke.

“God, I hate that guy,” Zach said as soon as he was gone.

Gavin looked over at him, surprised. “Really?”

Okay, maybe he’d sounded a little vehement for what had only been a pretty mild chirp. He’d heard hundreds of things way worse when he’d played.

“He’s just an asshole,” Zach muttered.

“It’s weird he brought up Hayes,” Gavin said thoughtfully.

Gavin would think it was weird. Zach didn’t think it was weird at all, and he definitely wasn’t going to tell Hayes, because if he did, Hayes would probably correctly assume Morgan hadn’t been able to keep his name out of his mouth.

Which begged the question—if he was that desperate, why had Morgan not gone to Tampa and done his own share of begging for forgiveness?

“Not really,” Zach said flatly.

Gavin looked over at him. “No, no ,” he said, comprehension dawning on his face.

“You said it, not me.” Zach pushed off from the wall. “Come on, it’s nearly warmups.”

It was easy-ish to let the flow of warmups and then the game empty his brain of anything that wasn’t hockey .

The first period started slow, both teams feeling each other out, until Elliott grabbed the puck and flew across the ice.

It felt like the whole arena held its collective breath.

Elliott held it a breath longer than he normally did, maneuvering around to the goalie’s right side and then shot.

He pulled it a little too much, and it bounced right off the post. Ell made a face, and then the lines were switching again.

“Find some urgency,” Gavin told the guys the intermission after the first period ended. He sounded calm, like he wasn’t really worried, and Zach wasn’t either.

This was a beatable team, and the Evergreens had overcome slow starts before.

But a slow second period was a different story. Mal took a great shot, and by some fucking miracle, the goalie managed to deflect it, a miracle of a save that would probably end up on his end of season highlight reel.

But it piled up. Shot after shot, some of them even high quality, none of them going in. Zach could tell Elliott was getting frustrated, because he barked at Mal the next time they were on the bench, Ivan leaning over and putting a reassuring hand on his arm.

Finn was playing great, too, beautiful in the crease and not looking perturbed at all when they headed out for the third period. But it didn’t matter how good of a shutout he was putting together. They couldn’t win the game if they couldn’t score goals.

It was only late in the third, when Brody stole the puck and sent it Ramsey’s way. That was the beginning of a lot of their best setups. With his chess-master’s brain and the way he saw the ice, he always knew the best place to send it after that.

But this time he didn’t pass it. He took the shot himself, finding the perfect angle through all the traffic between him and the goal.

The goalie hadn’t expected Ramsey to take it and wasn’t ready, the puck hitting the back of the net.

The arena erupted, Ramsey flinging his arms in the air, Brody crashing into him.

Zach let out the breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding, and next to him, he felt Gavin fractionally relax.

Now they just needed to hold the lead for the next few minutes.

The Sabretooths pulled their goalie in the last minute, but it didn’t matter, because the Evergreens’ crushing defense, led by Ramsey and Brody, stifled them before they could get anything going, even a man up.

Elliott looked unusually subdued in the locker room after the win, quiet as he pulled his equipment off.

Gavin didn’t have to send him over—or even give him a glance. Zach saw and he was already planning on taking care of it.

“Hey,” Zach said, heading over and knocking a fist against Elliott’s. “Great game.”

Elliott didn’t look convinced. “We were fucking ineffectual out there.”

Next to him, Malcolm grunted his agreement .

“You weren’t bad. Sometimes no matter how many shots you take, they just don’t go in,” Zach said. “You had some good setups, especially on the power play—”

“Yeah, exactly,” Elliott retorted.

Zach wasn’t going to bring up the second power play team; he wasn’t that stupid.

Elliott would just demand for the hundredth time they double shift him.

“We’re the top line on the team,” Mal said in a low, frustrated voice.

“The top line in the conference ,” Elliott reminded him.

Zach sighed. “And sometimes that means jack shit.”

“We’re gonna get it together,” Mal promised Zach. “More drills. More practice.”

This was not what he’d come over here for. “It’s fine,” Zach said, but he had a feeling nothing he said was going to stick. Maybe if they went and fucked out their frustration after this, they’d see what had happened more clearly.

Zach could only hope.

“I’m gonna practice that shot a million goddamn times,” Elliott said under his breath.

“And you’d make it ninety-nine percent of the time,” Zach said.

But Elliott was already turning away.

When Zach finished making his rounds—high-fiving Ramsey and Brody, thanking them for the goal and the extraordinary defensive effort, and congratulating Finn on another killer shutout—he headed to Gavin’s office .

Sure enough, there he was, slumped on the couch, in the dark.

Not a great sign.

“Finished with the media?” he asked.

Gavin shrugged.

Zach perched his ass on the side of the couch. Nudged his hand right up next to Gavin’s thigh, as close as he dared, when they were here, at the rink. “Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to give you a pep talk, too,” he teased.

Gavin rolled his eyes, but then he asked, “What kind of pep talk?”

“The one where I tell you that we take the win. That Ivan’s line will sort itself out. That Finn was so fucking solid out there.”

“Yeah,” Gavin agreed, but the confidence that was always in his voice was not quite there.

“We’ll have to keep them from over-practicing this week,” Zach said. “Ell in particular.”

“He should’ve made that shot,” Gavin said. Zach smacked him on the thigh.

“Not you too.”

Gavin shot him a helpless look. “He wants to make it, he needs that shot.”

“He has it,” Zach reminded him.

But Gavin didn’t say anything.

“Hey, let’s go grab a late dinner,” Zach said.

Gavin’s forehead creased. “You want to go have dinner? ”

“I don’t want to go over the tape. Not tonight. Dinner,” Zach said and shot Gavin the most predatory smile he could muster, “and then dessert after. No thinking about hockey.”

“Like a . . .like a date?” Gavin looked uncertain.

Zach’s heartbeat didn’t flutter with concern. It definitely did not. They hadn’t used the d word. They’d used the other d word frequently enough in the last few days, but dating was not dick .

He remembered, a little too well, how adamantly Gavin had been against dating. He didn’t seem adamantly against dick, enthusiastic in a way that had practically short-circuited Zach’s brain.

“Yeah,” Zach said hesitantly.

But Gavin’s face melted into a smile. “That sounds . . .actually, that sounds really nice.”

“Yeah? We’ll head over to Sullivan’s, then,” Zach said. “I’m sure they’ve got a quiet corner for the Evergreens’ famous hockey coach.”

Gavin flushed, and Zach loved it, tapping him on the leg. “Come on, let’s go.”

Gavin didn’t like trading on his name, but when it came to Zach, he’d do worse, with zero compunction.