The rink used to be the one place Roscoe could go to forget all of his problems. The swish of his blades against the ice, the snap of cold air on his face, the raw power coursing through his muscles as he chased that puck into the net—all of it made the rest of the world disappear.

But in the eighteen days since Ally had ended their relationship—yeah, he was counting every damn one—not even the familiar comforts of the ice could soothe the endless ache in his chest.

Not even tonight, mere hours before the youth cup tournament. The kids would be here soon, pumped and buzzing with energy, ready to run out here and give it their all. And Roscoe would give them the locker room pep talks, cheer for them from the box, call for the line changes to make sure every last one got some time on the ice. He’d tell them to get out there and kick some ass, and have all the fun in the world doing it.

But inside, he’d be waging the same old war, one side demanding that he march over to Ally’s house, prove to her just how much he loved her, and refuse to let her go without a fight. The other side just wanted her to get through this okay, and if she needed him out of her life in order to be okay, who the fuck was he to refuse?

He squeezed his eyes shut now, shaking his head to dislodge the familiar loop. There was no war—not really. Ally had already beat him, and he’d walked away with his heart in his hands.

He hadn’t seen her since.

“Roscoe! You ready for this, brother?”

Roscoe looked up to see Henny skating right for him, his grin both dopey and annoying. Dunn was right behind him, of course. After the breakup, they’d appointed themselves his personal fucking cheer squad, shouldering the bulk of the work at the youth practices, dragging him out for dinner and drinks every other damn night, and generally being giant pains in the ass, all in hopes it would take his mind off his woman.

Part of him appreciated them for trying.

The other part of him, well…

“I’m ready to punch you in the mouth, brother. Does that count?” He slapped the puck hard over to Henny, who caught it against his skate and let out a low whistle.

“I see you’re just as sunny as ever.”

“Sort it out, Roscoe.” Dunn skated up behind him, clamped a hand over his shoulder. “We need you sharp tonight.”

“You don’t need me at all,” he said, feeling immensely sorry for himself. “No one does.”

“Aw, don’t say that.” Henny came at him from the other side, pulling him into a rough side hug. “Clarissa will always need you. Or at least your nuts. In a vice. And she’ll be here in an hour, so that’s all sorted.”

“With the camera crews,” Dunn added. As if Roscoe needed the reminder.

Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, he shook them both off. “I said I’m good.”

“You sure?” Henny asked.

“Sure as shit.” He gripped his stick and jerked his head toward center ice. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah.” Roscoe grinned. “Nothing like beating both your asses to get me in the zone.”

He zoomed over to the face-off circle, waiting for his men to follow. They got in a solid hour of ice time, pushing one another hard as they took turns passing, shooting, and defending. Roscoe didn’t know if it was the anticipation of tonight’s big game, or the fact that his friends had finally gotten through to him, but it wasn’t long before he started to loosen up, to actually enjoy himself out there. With every crack of his big, hard stick against the puck, Roscoe whacked another chunk off his pent-up frustration, and by the time the media cavalry showed up, his head was clear, his mind completely in the zone.

For the first time in weeks, he was excited for the kids tonight. Pumped for the tournament, for watching them play in their first real game. Hell, he didn’t even mind the fact that they’d likely be stuck signing autographs and giving media interviews half the damn night.

Roscoe was even smiling.

“There’s the Mr. Sunshine we all know and love.” Henny wrapped a meaty hand around the back of his neck, and for once he didn’t bother shaking it off. “Welcome back.”

Roscoe nodded. He felt good. Not great, but good, which was a vast fucking improvement from even an hour ago. No promises what would happen later, when he crawled into his cold bed alone, but for the moment there were no more thoughts of broken hearts and endings. For the moment, there was only the cup, and the kids, and the game he was absolutely born to play.

Until he caught sight of two familiar blondes at the edge of the rink, one blue-eyed and smiling, the other doing just about everything she could to avoid his gaze.

“Shit,” he grumbled. He’d forgotten they’d made arrangements for Reggie to show up early. It wasn’t just a matter of her enthusiasm, which was permanently off the charts, but of practicality—since the visiting team would be taking over her usual private locker room, Reggie needed time to dress and gear up before the boys rolled in.

Ally finally turned to look at him, but if he was expecting some big, emotional, movie-style reunion scene, Ally throwing herself into his arms and weeping about how wrong she’d been, well… He’d better ask for his money back. She kept her features neutral, offering a cool smile and a brief nod in greeting.

They might as well have been strangers.

How was that even possible? Had it really been that long since he’d made love to this woman, since he’d told her with words and kisses and hot, desperate breaths that he’d fallen in love with her?

A deep, fathomless ache bloomed in his chest, but he forced himself to shore up his heart, barricade it from this pointless pain. He had a job to do tonight, and he needed to stay focused. If not for himself, if not for the cameras, if not for Clarissa and the suits who’d no doubt be watching his every move, than for the kids.

Starting with Reggie, his badass super star.

“Forty-four,” he said, waving her over. “Bring it in, kiddo.”

Other than figuring out the locker room logistics last week, he and Reggie hadn’t spoken much during the last couple of practices—Dunn and Henny had taken over most of the offensive coaching, and he didn’t exactly go out of his way to make himself available. Part of him didn’t want to overstep, figuring Ally would tell her whatever she wanted her to know. But another part of him—the bigger part of him—was simply prolonging the inevitable goodbye.

Roscoe sucked in a breath of icy air, clearing his head as Reggie scooted out onto the rink in her sneakers.

“You doing okay tonight?” he asked.

“Mostly. I might be a little nervous, though.” She flashed him a big grin, shifting her weight from foot to foot, practically humming with unspent energy. “But otherwise good. I mean, I’m not worried or anything. I’ve got everything down, and our team is totally solid. But it’s a big deal, right? A tournament, with kids from another town? And Aunt Clarissa told me all the local stations would be here, and more photographers and other media people… It’s kind of a lot to take in. But I’m not nervous. Definitely not. Well, maybe just a little bit.” She blew out a sharp breath, her cheeks puffing out.

“That’s okay,” he said, his brain still catching up with her mile-a-minute chatter. “I get nervous before games too.”

“Yeah?”

“Totally.”

She smiled at him again, so happy and excited it made his chest hurt. Fifteen fucking years old… Roscoe still couldn’t believe she’d been through so much in her life. Imagining what it must’ve been like for her when her dad died… It nearly gutted him.

“Reg,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders. Without her gear, she felt small beneath his touch, and he resisted the urge to wrap her up in a hug, to promise her that everything would be okay, that he’d always be part of her life.

But that wasn’t his promise to make. Yeah, he’d been her coach—but that gig ended after the tournament. And as much as he cared for her, as much as he’d once seen a future with Ally and Reggie both, that’s not how things turned out. He had no more claim on Reggie than he did on her mother, no right to stay involved with her hockey dreams, to teach her how to make eggplant parmesan, to hang out on a Saturday eating chips and playing NHL 17.

Tonight was it, he realized, swallowing the lump that had suddenly jammed his throat.

Tonight was goodbye.

Roscoe released her and stretched, looking around the arena in an effort to reign in his emotions. Somewhere in the distance, Clarissa shouted orders, her voice echoing throughout the arena as camera crews scurried into place. Soon the teams would be arriving, parents and spectators filling the seats, everyone eager to watch the rivaling teams battle for the cup.

Whatever happened, Roscoe knew his crew would give them a good show.

“Listen,” he said now, forcing his tone to remain neutral. “Things might get a little crazy with the media after the game tonight, so in case I don’t get a chance to see you later, I just wanted to say that it’s been a real pleasure coaching you, Reggie. You are truly one of the most talented players I’ve ever seen. If you love the game as much as I think you do, I really hope you’ll continue to—”

“Seriously?” Reggie put her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing with sudden fire. “You’re giving me the farewell speech? Is this really happening right now?”

Roscoe blinked. “I… Well, I’m not sure how much your mom has told you about what happened between us, but things aren’t—”

“I know all about that.” True to form, Reggie rolled those big blue eyes. “But Mom said I can keep playing hockey this year, as long as I get good grades in school. And I know you have to go back to the real NHL soon, but she also said I could go to some of your home games with Aunt Clarissa, and Clarissa said she gets the best seats. So just because you and my mom are totally screwed up and don’t even know a good thing when it punches you right in the mouth, that doesn’t mean you have to get all weird on me.” Tears leaked onto her cheeks, and she paused only long enough to smear her gloved palms across her face. “And you can tell me it’s none of my business, or I’m too young to understand, or whatever other excuse you’ve got handy, but for the record? I think you and mom breaking up totally sucks ass.”

Roscoe blew out a breath, slowly shaking his head. He’d finally done it—gotten on her bad side.

“For the record?” he said softly, offering a gentle smile. “Me too.”

Reggie wiped her eyes again. “She won’t admit it, but I know she wishes things turned out differently.”

Roscoe’s heart kicked up a notch, but he ignored it. Didn’t matter what Reggie said. If Ally really wanted him back, she wouldn’t be standing on the sidelines right now, pretending her own shoes were the most fascinating thing in the world. “I wanted things to be different, too, Reg. But sometimes wanting a thing just isn’t enough.”

Reggie shook her head, her eyes rolling again even as they glazed with fresh tears. “You and my mom are so full of shit, it’s not even funny.”

“Reggie—”

“No. You’re standing here giving me, like, Instagram quotes. Wanting a thing isn’t enough? Give me a break. If you really want something, you freaking fight for it. What else is there? If you’re not willing to fight for it, then maybe you just didn’t want it bad enough in the first place.”

Roscoe pinched the bridge of his nose. Didn’t want it bad enough? He fucking burned for Ally. Even now, even after all the heartache and the loneliness and crawling-the-walls insomnia, one genuine smile from Ally would’ve had him running over there, sweeping her into his arms, and kissing her until they both ran out of air. He wanted her so fucking badly that he could still feel her silky skin beneath his fingers, still hear her soft sighs in his ear, still taste her kiss on his lips. It was all he could do not to drop to his knees and crawl to her, beg her to let him back into her life, right here in front of all the camera crews and her daughter and his teammates and Clarissa fucking Finch.

That’s how badly he wanted her.

But what Roscoe wanted simply didn’t matter. Ally didn’t want him back.

“Reggie,” he said now, his tone darkening. “Your mother made her decision, and we both have to respect that. Even if it totally sucks ass.”

“But—”

“But nothing. End of discussion. Are we clear?”

Reggie clamped her mouth shut, the muscles in her jaw ticking. After a beat, she finally gave him a curt nod, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Good.” Roscoe glanced up at the scoreboard clock. “The teams will be getting here soon. You should probably get dressed.”

Reggie nodded in silence. She started to walk away, but Roscoe reached out a hand, closing it gently on her shoulder. When she turned to look at him, he grinned at her and said, “You’re gonna rock tonight, forty-four.”

Reggie beamed, and Roscoe took a good, long look, memorizing that dazzling smile, tattooing it right over his shattered heart.

You, kiddo, were almost my family.