Page 76 of Cross Ice

By the third period, San Jose was up 3–1, and when they added an empty net goal in the final minute, the arena exploded in celebration.

Final score: 4–2, San Jose.

“You coming to Cap’s?” Naomi asked as we filed out of our section.

“Yeah. Nico invited me.”

I followed Naomi and Chloe through the post-game crowd to the family lounge, showed my pass at the checkpoint, and found a spot near the wall to wait. The room filled quickly with other partners and guests, the same celebratory energy as last time, everyone riding the high of a convincing win.

Nico came through the door twenty minutes later, freshly showered, still bright-eyed from the game. His gaze found me immediately, and his face did the thing it always did—opened up like something he’d been holding had come loose. He crossed the room and pulled me into a brief, warm hug.

“Good game,” I said.

“Good crowd,” he said back, and I knew he meant me specifically.

Captain’s Sports Bar was a five-minute drive from the arena, a brick building with neon signs and a packed main floor that roared with conversation and music. Nico led us through the crowd and up a back staircase to a private room on the second floor.

The space was bigger than I expected, with leather booths lining the walls, a long bar along the side, and flat screen TVs showing sports highlights. Music pulsed from hidden speakers, and the room was already filling with players and their guests.

“The team owns a stake in the place, so we get this room whenever we want it,” Nico said.

“Smart investment.”

Nico got pulled away to talk to some teammates about the game. “I’m so sorry. I’ll find you later.”

Naomi took me under her wing. We grabbed drinks—I got a beer I didn’t really want, just needed something to hold on to—and found seats in a booth.

Within minutes, platters of wings, nachos, sliders, and mozzarella sticks appeared on the tables, and the energy in the room kicked up another notch.

André slid into the booth next to Naomi. He leaned over and kissed her, then turned to me with a huge grin.

“Evan! Good to see you again. Glad you came tonight.”

“Thanks for having me.”

“Of course. Anyone who makes Nico smile like that is welcome anytime.” He scooped up a nacho chip. “You settling into the hockey life okay?”

“I think so. Still learning.”

“You’ll be an expert by playoffs. Trust me.”

Nico joined us a few minutes later, slipping into the booth next to me. His thigh pressed against mine under the table, and he rested his hand on my knee—casual, comfortable, claiming.

Over the next hour, Nico made a point of introducing me to teammates as they came by, easily and with no hedging about who I was or why I was there. Just, “This is Evan.” The way he said it, with his hand on my knee and no further explanation offered, seemed to be more than enough.

Jonah and Chloe arrived at our table, both of them laughing about something. Chloe slid in across from me with a warm smile. Jonah clapped Nico on the shoulder.

“You’ve been in a great mood lately, man. I’m guessing that’s this guy’s doing?”

“Might be,” Nico said.

Thompson, a defenseman I recognized from watching games, came over with a beer and a friendly nod. “You’re the guy Nico’s been texting, right? Thanks for coming tonight.”

“I had a fantastic time. You guys played great.”

“Helps when the forwards actually do their jobs,” Thompson said, grinning at Nico.

“Don’t start,” Nico warned, but he was smiling.