She just grinned.
“Everything.”
EPILOGUE
Second Chance Skate
Nate arrived just after dawn, when the rink still belonged to breath and blade marks instead of noise. The sun filtered through the high windows in pale streaks, catching on scuffed plexiglass and the faded Hammerheads logo at center ice. The same arena that had once felt like a proving ground.
The league had reinstated him three weeks after the finale. The call had come in clean and official, apology folded into policy language. The Hammerheads had offered him a contract the same afternoon. Respectable money, a clean term. A chance to step back into the grind like none of it had ever fractured.
He’d thanked them. And then he’d said no.
He’d made his money and invested it well. Endorsements still ticked quietly in the background. There was family money too, if it ever came to that, though he doubted it would. He wasn’t walking away from hockey. He was walking away from the version of it that required him to be gone more than he was present. The rink needed someone different now.
So did he.
He tugged one of his hoodies from his first season in New Haven over his flannel shirt and laced up his skates with hands that no longer felt like weapons. The ice was smooth and waiting.Beyond the boards, a group of kids in bright helmets and mismatched gloves clung to the rail like uncertain explorers preparing to conquer a frozen sea.
“Alright,” Nate called, pushing off with easy strength. “Who’s brave today?”
They scattered with delighted shrieks.
He skated backward, arms out as one wobbly kid launched himself forward with more enthusiasm than balance. When the inevitable fall came, Nate was already there, catching him mid-sprawl and lifting him back upright like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You good?”
The kid nodded, eyes wide.
“Good. Try again.”
A commotion near the boards caught his attention as two boys had dropped their gloves and squared off in miniature imitation of something they’d probably seen on television. One small and furious. One bigger and smug.
Nate coasted over, a brow raised.
“What’s going on?”
The taller one shrugged, backing off immediately. The smaller kid didn’t. His jaw was set too tight. His fists balled too hard.
“He said I don’t belong here,” the kid muttered.
Nate crouched until they were eye level, blades angled carefully beneath him.
“You like being out here?” he asked.
The kid shrugged. “Yeah.”
Nate tilted his head. “No. That’s not what I asked. Do you feel like the ice makes sense in a way other things don’t?”
A hesitation. Then a nod.
Nate nodded. “Then you belong. That’s the rule.”
The kid swallowed. “Buthe?—”
“There’s always gonna be someone who'll tell you you’re not good enough,” Nate said, voice calm. “You just have to stay.”
The boy blinked up at him. “Stay?” he echoed.
