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“No matter what happens tonight or in Minnesota, it’s been a hell of a season,” Zach said quietly. Like he was feeling the nostalgia of watching their final warmup on home ice the same way Gavin was.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Gavin said, glancing over and meeting his eyes.

Some days he could only see the twenty-seven-year-old Zach, the man who’d arrived at his cabin this summer in the broadness of his chest and shoulders, the occasional shadows in his blue eyes.

But other days, he could see a whole progression of Zachs, overlaid on top of each other.

The grownup Zach, and the eighteen-year-old he’d coached for the first time, the nineteen-year-old he’d sent off to the NHL.

The twenty-three-year-old who’d clawed his way up in the Mavs organization, making himself more valuable after each minute of ice time he earned with his blood, sweat, and tears.

In different ways, he’d loved all those Zachs .

But he couldn’t deny he loved this Zach, his Zach, most of all.

He was so goddamn lucky, to find this kind of life-altering, life-defining love, twice, and to get to share his favorite thing in the world with him, too.

Maybe a less selfish man would let this record go.

Decide that having it all was truly an embarrassment of riches. But Gavin wanted it all, still.

Wanted to carve their names, this team , so deeply in the record books nobody could ever think of forgetting them.

“Literally you couldn’t have done it without me,” Zach teased lightly, nudging him with his shoulder. “If I hadn’t gone and begged you to take the job, everything would be different. You wouldn’t be here at all.”

“Different and so much worse,” Gavin said. “Come on, let’s go win this, okay?”

Zach grinned. “We got you, Coach.”

Gavin knew it wasn’t only that—he had them, too—but always before, he’d have made a point of it, that he was the coach and the leader. That it was only his team.

But it wasn’t anymore, and he knew it.

So he only smiled back.

Elliott and Mal were on fire from the moment Ivan took the first faceoff.

It wasn’t the last time they’d ever play together. There was Minnesota and the Frozen Four coming up, and there’d be other games. But none like this.

They felt it, pushing deep into the opposing teams’ offensive zone as easy as breathing, Elliott literally skating circles around one of the defensemen, flicking the puck around his skates, passing it to Mal, then receiving it back, tape to tape like they were sharing the same brain, the same physical body.

He made an aborted move like he was going to shoot it, let the goalie sink into his block, before sending the puck Mal’s direction and he sank it in the opposite side of the net.

The way it started was the way the game kept going.

The Evergreens were up 1-0, then 2-0, then the second power play team scored, Ethan, the youngest rookie at seventeen and the one center on the team Gavin thought might have the most upside, grabbing the rebound from one of Mal’s deflected shots.

It was a great game. Easy and fun , Finn looking almost bored at the nearly abandoned end of the ice.

Between the second and third period, Elliott danced around the locker room, Mal smiling at him, looking lighter than Gavin could remember him ever looking.

“Those two,” Ramsey said to Gavin as he walked up next to him, shaking his head. “They’re absolutely going to do something against the rules after this game.”

Gavin shot him a look full of disbelief. “What do they think is against the rules?”

“Not what we think is against the rules, or God forbid what Elliott thinks is against the rules, but what does Malcolm think is against the rules?”

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Gavin said, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Maybe don’t tell me anything more.”

“Just a hunch, Coach. Might want to clear out of the locker room early and leave it that way,” Ramsey said, laughing.

“God. ”

“Don’t think he’s gonna be around much, either,” Ramsey cackled.

The third period started, and the Evergreens kicked it off with a power play. Their opponents came out of the intermission apparently deciding that if they couldn’t beat them with their sticks and the puck, they could do with their fists.

“Sloppy and shitty,” Zach hissed under his breath, as one of the team’s biggest defenders went right after Brody, slamming him up against the boards.

Brody shook it off, but a look crossed Ramsey’s face that promised retribution.

Gavin just hoped it was the scoring kind of retribution.

“Ivan,” Gavin said, giving the first line center a nod. “Get your guys out there.”

“We got this, Coach,” Ivan promised, exchanging a knowing look with Ramsey.

“Don’t lose your temper,” Zach reminded them. “You’ve got them exactly where you want them.”

Ramsey grinned evilly and smacked Brody’s back. “Believe me, I know it.”

Gavin couldn’t ever doubt Ramsey’s defensive bonafides. He was a smooth, effortless skater, quick and lethal out there, but when he decided he wanted to go on an offensive push, he was almost as effective. And he wanted it today, Ivan passing him the puck like they’d already agreed on this.

“Did you draw this one up?” Gavin asked Zach, who just shrugged.

“Well, I’d say by this point they know what they’re doing,” Gavin murmured. Also they were up 3-0, and they were clearly having fun, so there wasn’t much harm if they wanted to work out something new.

Maybe some coaches were into that micromanagement shit, but not Gavin. He’d never been big into it, but this year had taught him to mellow in even more new and unique ways. It was why Zach had known he was perfect for this team—and they were perfect for him, too.

Zach grinned as Ramsey wove his way through defenders like they didn’t even exist, breaking ankles like he had been holding back before now. He passed the puck to Elliott, who shot it right back. “I’d say.”

Ramsey found an opening a second later, and the goal horn blared, making it 4-0.

The players surrounded him, pushing him into the boards as he laughed and pointed right at the bench at where Brody was grinning right back.

“Well, that went well,” Zach said, and that was the fucking understatement of the century.

Gavin couldn’t say he held his breath for the next ten minutes, because while they weren’t in the habit of blowing a big lead, weirder things happened.

Finn did give up a goal nearly at the end of the game, but it was a fluke, him shrugging a little helplessly as he pushed his helmet up after.

Mal shot another beauty in, right after that, going on a breakaway, keeping their four-goal buffer.

“That was damn impressive,” Zach said to him, leaning over him when he settled back down on the bench .

“No shit,” Elliott retorted fondly, his gloved hand patting Mal on the upper thigh and just resting there after he was done.

Normally Gavin might clear his throat, force Elliott to actually not be groping his teammate during a game, but there was only a minute left, and maybe it made him a pushover, but he was too happy to say a word.

Besides, wasn’t his shoulder pressing right up against Zach’s in a way he’d normally never allow?

Gavin decided there wasn’t anything wrong with making a few exceptions.

Especially tonight.

And when the final buzzer sounded, he turned to Zach and the smile on his face lit up a space inside Gavin that he wasn’t sure anything had ever touched.

Pure joy cascaded through him, and he didn’t lean in to kiss Zach, but it was a near thing. Cupping his face and staring in his eyes, trying to tell him everything he felt, everything new and strange and perfect blooming inside him, while the bench dissolved into chaos and celebration, was enough.

“Love you,” Zach said roughly, leaning into his hand.

But it wasn’t just enough, it was everything .