Page 185 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 3

“Yeah.” I couldn’t look away from him. “Me too.”

We settled on the sofa like we had that first night, bodies gravitating toward each other without thought. Seth pulled a deck of cards from his coat pocket and held them up with a triumphant smile.

“Please tell me we’re playing strip Go Fish,” I said.

“We’re fully clothed adults now, Pierce. We can handle a normal card game.”

“Speak for yourself.” But I was already grinning as he shuffled. Three years of playing this ridiculous game had made him annoyingly good at it.

As he dealt the cards, my mind wandered through the last two years. The draft had been surreal, standing on that stage with cameras flashing and commentators analyzing every second of footage they could find. The NHL was everything I’d worked for and nothing I’d expected. Brutal schedules, constant travel, press conferences where I had to pretend I gave a damn about anything other than getting home.

Home. That was the real shift. Not Northwood campus, not the team house, but the apartment Seth and I shared just off campus. I rented it the week after I signed my contract, texted him a photo of the keys, and asked if he wanted to move in. His response had been immediate: “Only if you promise to stop leaving your underwear on the bathroom floor.”

I’d promised. I still failed regularly. In fact, I left them on the floor as a little surprise from time to time.

Seth had graduated with honors, which surprised exactly no one. His master’s scholarship came with lab access that made him light up in ways I couldn’t compete with. He’d tried explaining his research to me once, something about neural pathways in marine invertebrates, and I’d kissed him to shut him up. “I love that you’re brilliant,” I’d said. “But I also have no idea what you just said.”

“Philistine,” he’d muttered, but he’d been smiling.

The best parts were the small ones. Coming home after a brutal away game to find him asleep on the couch with a textbook on his chest. Making breakfast at three in the afternoon because neither of us had anywhere to be. Learning that love wasn’t just the big gestures but the way he always remembered to buy my favorite granola, or how I’d started reading marine biology articles just to understand what made his eyes spark.

Even Nick had come around, eventually. It had taken a year of awkward silences and one very public fight after a Titans versus Breakers game, but we’d found our way to something resembling friendship. He was still my fiercest rival on the ice, still the guy who’d slam me into the boards without hesitation, but off the ice, we could share a beer without wanting to kill each other. Progress.

“You’re cheating,” Seth said, pulling me back to the present.

“I haven’t even looked at my cards yet.”

“You’re thinking about cheating. I can see it on your face.”

“That’s just my face, Kane.”

He snorted and snagged a pair of aces, looking far too pleased with himself. “Got any sevens?”

“Go fish.”

The game continued, easy and familiar, and I kept stealing glances at him. The firelight caught the angles of his face, made his eyes gleam when he laughed at something stupid I said. Three years, and he still looked at me like I was worth the trouble.

“I’m making cocktails,” Seth announced after he won the third round. “Since you’re clearly distracted and useless.”

“Harsh.”

“Accurate.” He got up and headed to the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the bag we’d brought.

I followed him, leaning against the counter to watch. He moved with confidence, measuring rum and crushing herbs with the focus he brought to everything. It was one of the countless things I loved about him, that intensity, the way he committed fully to whatever he was doing.

“You know what I love about you?” I said.

Seth glanced up, one eyebrow raised. “My winning personality?”

“That you never make it easy. You could have just said yes when I asked you to come here the first time, but instead, you made me sweat for days.”

“Builds character.” He poured the mixture into glasses and added crushed ice. “What else?”

“That you read scientific papers for fun and then try to explain them to me, even though we both know I’m going to zone out halfway through.”

“You’re terrible.”

“That you still keep that broken compass on your desk, even though it’s completely useless.”