The weight in Nate’s chest shifted, something tight loosening in a place he hadn’t realized was still braced. Sully had been the one to tell him to come back better or not at all. That nod meant he’d noticed a difference.
And that counted for more than cheers and chirps ever could.
He turned to watch the last of the crew bottleneck into the tunnel. Mason lingered at the back of the pack, helmet tucked under his arm, still grinning like a kid who couldn’t believe he’d been allowed into the big leagues for real. Nate pushed off and coasted after him.
“Moore.”
Mason turned, surprise flickering across his face before it rearranged into something cocky and bright. Something he thought heneeded to be.“Yeah?”
Nate slowed to a stop in front of him, resting both hands on the top of his stick. For a second, he just looked at the kid properly. “I was a dick to you before I left,” Nate admitted. “I’m sorry.”
Mason blinked, clearly not expecting an apology. “You were proving a point.”
“Yeah.” Nate gave a short exhale that wasn’t quite a laugh. “The wrong one.”
Mason shifted his weight, uncertainty replacing swagger. “You made me better.”
“I could’ve done that without trying to break you,” Nate said. “This league’s hard enough. You don’t need your own team treating you like the enemy.”
There was no big emotional swell. No handshake ceremony. Just a recalibration.
Mason nodded slowly. “You’re different,” he said, like he wasn’t sure if that was a compliment.
Nate shrugged. “Trying to be.”
He clapped the kid once on the shoulder firmly, like he meant it to be supportive, and let him head for the tunnel.
“You done with your victory lap, or you wanna run some drills?”
Jaime hadn’t moved from where he was leaning back against the boards, one gloved hand braced on either side of him like he was physically holding the arena upright through sheerspite. His helmet hung loose in his grip, dark blonde hair damp at his temples and jaw set in that familiar line that read as bored to anyone who didn’t know him better.
But Natedidknow him better.
He saw the way Jaime’s gaze had tracked the team forming up around him. Saw the tightness at the corner of his mouth when Cash clapped him on the back. Saw the way the captain stood apart, as if getting any closer to the moment would reveal something he wasn’t ready to shine a light on.
There was a time Nate would’ve grinned and made a show of it. Fired back something sharp and turned it into a pissing contest. Now he just shifted his weight and pushed off, skating over to Jaime like it was the most natural thing in the world. No swagger, just clean strides cutting across the ice.
“Lead the way, Cap.”
For a fraction of a second something in Jaime’s expression flickered, showing he’d expected a fight and didn’t know what to do with the absence of one. He pushed himself off the boards, snatching up his stick from its resting place beside him.
They didn’t face each other directly. They rarely did. Instead, they settled into lazy arcs around the faceoff circle, sticks tapping the puck back and forth between them in an unspoken rhythm. The arena was quieter now, the hum of the lights louder without the chatter.
“Heard you went to see the kid,” Jaime said eventually, sending the puck clean across the ice.
Nate didn’t flinch, catching it on his blade with a sharp clack. “Yeah.”
Jaime skated backward, eyes narrowed. “Heard you covered his hospital bills, too.”
Nate shrugged, sending the puck back clean and flat. “He shouldn’t be paying for my fuck up.”
Jaime transferred the puck to his backhand, studying Nate for a long beat before snorting softly. “Didn’t think you had that in you.” When Nate didn’t reply, he jutted his chin in his bro’s direction. “Got a plan for if they don’t renew?”
Nate considered the puck at his feet before nudging it back across the ice. A month ago, that question would have scraped him raw.
“I’ll figure it out,” he shrugged.
Jaime’s teal gaze narrowed, sharp and assessing. “That’s not a plan. You should be pissed.”
