Page 140 of On Ice

I try to contain my laughter. I really do. But the sight of him emerging from the water, his perfect hair plastered to his forehead, indignation written across his features, breaks something loose in my chest. I double over, laughing harder than I have in months.

“Perfect balance, huh?” I guffaw.

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” he says, but there’s no heat in it. His lips twitch, fighting a smile.

“Try again,” I encourage, once I’ve caught my breath. “It takes practice.”

He does, with the same determination that characterizes everything he does. And he falls again. And again. By the fifth attempt, he’s laughing too, a rare, uninhibited sound that makes my heart swell.

On his seventh try, he manages to stay upright for almost thirty seconds before a stronger gust catches him off guard. Progress. But he looks pissed that he isn’t perfect immediately.

“Your turn,” he says, swimming the board back to me. “Show me how it’s done, Captain.”

I take the board, settling into a stance that feels like muscle memory despite the years since I last did this. The sail comes up smoothly, and I position myself, feeling the wind fill the canvas. Then I’m off, skimming across the water’s surface, making a wide turn to circle back toward him.

“Show-off,” he calls, but he actually looks proud of me.

I cut through the water again, the exhilaration of speed and balance momentarily washing away everything else, the lingering grief, the pressure of being a champion, the responsibilities waiting for me back home. For these minutes, I’m just a man on water, chasing the wind.

When I finally return to shore, Luca is waiting, a towel in his hands.

“That was impressive,” he admits, wrapping the towel around my shoulders.

“Years of practice. And a low center of gravity, according to my junior coach.”

He smiles, genuinely this time. “Want to get dinner? The resort chef mentioned something about freshly caught grouper today.”

“In a minute.” I take a seat on the warm sand, patting the spot beside me. “Let’s just sit for a while. I want to enjoy the moment with my sexy mob boss boytoy.”

“That’s quite a mouthful.” He snorts a laugh, joining me, his shoulder against mine. We watch the horizon in comfortable silence, the rhythm of the waves a soothing constant.

The sand is still warm beneath me, even though the sun’s starting to dip. It presses up through the towel and into my palms as I lean back. The tide rolls in and out, soft and steady. Gulls flutter above us, crying out with throaty screeches. The wind carries the tang of salt and sunscreen, with just a whisper of bonfire smoke drifting down from further up the beach. My skin’s sticky from saltwater, the edges of my swim trunks stiff with dried ocean water.

“This is perfect. Thank you for bringing me here, Luca,” I say softly, turning to meet his dark gaze.

“I’ve wanted to run away with you many times.” He smiles.

I return his smile. “It’s so weird how I used to think winning at hockey was everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” I sigh. “Back in January, when we were in that awful slump, I’d have given anything for a single win. My entire world narrowed down to that next game, that next point in the standings.”

Luca listens, his eyes on the distant edge where blue meets blue.

“I still remember that game against the Blazers, my head pounding, legs burning, but none of it mattered except getting those two points.” I dig my toes into the warm sand. “I thought that feeling during Game 7, lifting the Cup, I thought that would be the pinnacle. The moment that made everything worth it.”

“Wasn’t it?” Luca asks quietly.

I consider this, thinking of the confetti falling from the rafters, the weight of the Cup in my hands, my teammates’ faces transformed by joy. “It was incredible,” I acknowledge. “Everything I’d dreamed of. But it wasn’t... enough. Not by itself.”

A small hermit crab scuttles past our feet, barely diving under the sand before a seagull eats it for dinner.

“When Mom died that same night—” My voice catches, but I push through. “It put everything in perspective. The Cup was a dream come true, but it’s still just a thing. A beautiful, historicthing, but still just metal and memories. I’d give it up in a second to have her back. With her memories intact, and healthy again.” My eyes burn.

Luca’s hand finds mine in the sand, his fingers threading through mine.

“But this,” I continue, squeezing his hand. “This is what makes the wins sweeter and the losses bearable. Having someone who understands both.”

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