Page 84 of Second Shot

“Yeah.”

“Now we just need to beat the Nashville Nighthawks tomorrow night. Then life will be pretty damn near perfect.” He sits up on his elbow. “You think our on ice magic will be back on track?”

I smile. “Absolutely. I can already read your mind again.”

“Oh, yeah?” He grins. “What am I thinking right now?”

“You’re thinking that you love me more than anything.” I smirk. “And that you’ve missed my cooking.”

He chuckles, reaching out to touch my cheek. “Damn, you nailed it, Gabe.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty amazing that way.”

He slips his arm around my waist, and pulls me down on top of him. “You’re amazing in every way.”

“No, I’m not.” I kiss him gently. “And I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you who I was right away. I was scared of losing you, but then I almost lost you anyway.”

“Who would know how to handle a bizarre situation like ours?” His gaze is earnest. “I still struggle with the fact that I was responsible for making your life hell all those years ago, but that you’re willing to forgive me.”

“Eleven year old me wouldn’t have believed it was possible.” I laugh sheepishly. “But twenty-five year old me has no other option.”

“I’ll spend the rest of my days making it up to you, Gabe,” he says. “If you’ll let me.”

“The past is the past. We get a do-over, Ry. We had our rematch, and somehow, we both came out winners.” I smile. “How about we let the past rest and just love each other?”

“If you’re going to let me out of the penalty box that easily, I’m not going to argue.” He grins.

“I’m a lover, not a fighter.” I smirk. “I’d rather drop pants with you than drop gloves.”

He slips his hands down to my ass. “And on that note…”

Chapter Twenty

Ryan

Gabe and I are back on track personally and professionally.

The warm-up drills flow like they used to, passing sequences that feel telepathic, positioning that’s perfectly synchronized, the kind of chemistry that can’t be faked or forced. Three days ago, we played Nashville and came out on top, with four goals between us and the kind of connection that finally delivered on the promise everyone saw when I got traded here. Tonight feels even better.

Tonight we face the Serpents in our final game of the regular season. The Coastal Coliseum in Savannah feels like stepping into the old South, all brick and wrought iron. Fifteen thousand Serpents fans create a wall of green and gold that should feel intimidating, but tonight there’s something different in the air.

I’m relieved to hear the fans chanting my name, but in a good way. The mantra starts in the upper deck and spreads like wildfire through the arena. Not boos. Not the hostile reception I’ve been bracing for since Freddy Morrison’s lies exploded across social media weeks ago. Thesefans are actually cheering for me, same as the game against Nashville.

I glance over at Gabe during warm-ups, and he’s smiling, that small, private smile that’s just for me. I missed it. Missed everything about being on the ice with him when we’re in sync.

“Sounds like you’ve got some fans here tonight,” he says, skating past me, smirking. “Don’t let it go to your head, Caldwell.”

“Which head?” I say, trying not to laugh.

When we line up for the opening faceoff, Coach Donnelly barks, “Set the pace, Seadragons don’t follow. Own the ice from the drop. Make ‘em play our game.”

“That’s the plan,” Kincaid says, meeting my gaze. I know the whole team is relieved that Gabe and I have worked our shit out.

The puck drops, and immediately I can feel the difference. Not just in how Gabe and I are playing together, but in how the whole team is moving. Confident. Connected. Like we finally remember why we’re supposed to be Cup contenders.

Petrov wins the draw clean and slides it back to Marlowe at the point. I’m already breaking toward the neutral zone, reading the play development, and when Marlowe’s pass comes, it finds me in perfect stride.

“Wheels!” someone shouts from our bench, possibly Foster. He’s not a guy who keeps his emotions under wraps.

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