Walking back into the arena on Monday morning after a summer away was surreal.

The last time I'd been here, I'd gotten the worst news of my life and had been one of the main reasons the Boston Knights had missed out on a trip to the Stanley Cup finals. But things were different today. There were no fans in the stands and I was starting fresh—putting last season's woes behind me.

First though, I made my way towards Coach Davidson's office, as I'd been asked to come in for an early meeting before training camp officially started at noon.

After rapping my fist a few times on his door, I heard his gruff voice call me in, and was greeted as I stepped into the room and he looked up from his computer.

"Morning, Coach."

"Nyberg." He nodded in acknowledgement. "How was your summer?"

"Good, you know, all things considered," I replied, digging my hands into my shorts pockets while giving him a wry smile. "Spent most of it wrapping my head around the fact I'm now my nephew's legal guardian."

"I heard. Your agent's been good about keeping me and the front office up to date." He paused, his eyes watching me as though he thought I was putting up a mask. "Are you doing okay? I know two months isn't exactly a long time to come to terms with everything that's come your way since the last time I saw you."

"It definitely hasn't been easy," I spoke, releasing a deep breath as I took a seat in the chair across from him, "but I would say I'm on the upswing. Being back in my hometown with my family really helped, and Bowen's a great kid, so I'm lucky there. Wellsley and his girl even came out to visit for a few days." I combed my fingers through my hair, disheveling it slightly. "I'm not saying it's easy by any means. After all, I still miss my brother and his wife every day, and sometimes wonder how I'm supposed to raise my nephew out here in the city, but I'm managing."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said warmly. "And I hope this goes without saying, but your nephew is welcome at the rink should you ever come up against childcare issues. Nobody here wants to see you setback or struggling because of that."

My chest warmed at the offer, knowing that, while I had indeed found someone great to step in for regular childcare, I would surely be taking him up on that sooner or later. "Thanks, Coach. That means a lot."

"No thanks needed. The Knights organization is a team—on and off the ice. And speaking of that—" He folded his hands together on his desks and lifted a brow. "—I'm assuming you're ready for another hard-fought season on the ice?"

I nodded. "You know it."

The corners of his lips turned upward. "Then, Nyberg, I've got two things to talk to you about before you're free to head over and meet with the equipment manager."

"Sure. What are they?"

"Well, first off, the front office forwarded down a recommendation that we set you up with one of the therapists we have connections with in the city," he explained. "And before you say anything, I do want to stress that I agree with them on this. Hockey is just as much a mental game as it is a physical one, especially in between the pipes, and you've had a lot thrust upon your shoulders this off-season. This is something that, from my lens, can only benefit you."

It was like he expected me to vehemently oppose the suggestion, which I understood. The league, while vocal about caring for the players' best interests, had only really started to put a focus on mental health over the last couple years. Many guys, especially veterans, didn't completely see the need for it because they'd been in the same routines for so long. Year after year of goals, injuries, and everything in between. But that wasn't me. I was open to anything that would help with my game play, and after the therapy sessions I'd gone to with Bowen, I was all for continuing that work in Boston.

"Sure thing, Coach," I replied. "I was actually seeing a therapist the last couple of weeks with Bowen out in Maine to talk about his parents while being in the presence of someone who was an expert on handling grief. Do you think any of the therapists the team is recommending would be able to accommodate family sessions?"

I was convinced I saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes at my response. "I'm sure they do, but if none of these options do—" He slid a sheet of paper with seven contacts on it across his desk. "—just let me know. I can get the people upstairs to dig a little more to get you someone who fits your needs."

"Great. I'll make some calls later this week."

"Sounds good," he said. "And now for the second thing." He paused, trying to figure out the best way to approach whatever he wanted to say. "How much do you know about the players the team selected in the draft?"

My brows furrowed slightly at the shift of topic. "Not a whole lot," I admitted. "I go cold turkey with social media during the off-season, and with everything that was going on, I stuck to that. Some of the guys messaged me a bit, saying some of the prospects looked good, but I didn't go digging into any of them. Why?"

"Well, I'm assuming none of them mentioned this to you," he said, trailing off momentarily and adding to the anticipation, "but we drafted a goalie."

A mild alarm bell went off in the back of my mind. "Oh."

"He was a pickup early in the third round, so not top-priority to the front office, but certainly someone who showed a lot of potential and could fit into our roster, especially with the things that were up in the air during the draft in July," he said matter-of-factly, referencing the fact that, at the time, I was still unsure of if I'd be returning for another season, and the team had known it.

I found myself fiddling my thumbs nervously. "What's his name?"

"Dominic Tremblay," Coach responded, "and before you start to worry, I have to say, don't. While he impressed the scouts while playing hard up in the Quebec league and put up some good stats the past two years, he'll still need a lot of work to get to be the caliber of player you are."

The tensions in my body immediately dissipated at his words. "Okay, then what does him joining the team have to do with me?"

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you how up and down our back-up goalie situation was the last couple of years," he stated, and I shook my head with a slight cringe. While most teams tried to keep a constant back-up goalie on the bench, the Knights had been having issues finding the right guy. The ones we'd recruited had rotated back down into the development league too often, so when they were called up, they weren't as prepared for The Show as they needed to be. We couldn't find somebody to stick. To be able to step in when I had to rest during back-to-back game days, or in the rare case when I got injured. "With Tremblay, we think he could be a solid next guy up. He has the skills down pact, and being on the ice with you these next couple of years, we think when the time comes, he'll be someone the team can rely on moving forward."

"So, what you're saying is you want me to coach the new guy?"

Coach nodded. "Coach him, show him the ropes, let him learn from you—whatever you want to call it. You're one of the best in the net, Nyberg, but you won't be around forever, and we'd like for the next guy up to be able to learn from you."

Coming from Coach, that was a massive compliment, and I couldn't help the grin that appeared on my lips. "Well then," I said, "this guy better know what he's in for."

A chuckle escaped. "He's been talked to already about his role and knows what to expect. He'll also be here later today to play opposite of you during drills, so play nice."

"I'm always nice," I mused.

"Sure you are, Nyberg," he commented. "Now, get out of here. You're expected on ice at noon, so head off to get your equipment sorted before meeting up with the guys."

"Will do, Coach," I said, hopping up out of the chair. "I've gotta say, it's good to be back."

"And it's good to have you back."

***

My meeting with the equipment manager took about twenty minutes as I tried on all the new gear, making sure everything felt good and was to my specifications. Which it was. The surprise though, was the new additions to my helmet design.

On top of the same graphics as last year—which consisted of swords clashing and a puck breaking through glass—the team had printed two names onto the left side. A few scripted letters etched just above the swords.

Liam and Thea.

A small change that meant the world.

I felt a bubble of emotion rise in my throat as I ran my fingers over them and looked up to meet the eyes of the equipment manager, whose gaze was knowing. "It's perfect," I said, slightly choked up

"Glad to hear it," he replied, giving me a nod of acknowledgement before clapping my shoulder and finishing up my fitting.

After which, I found myself with nearly an hour and a half to go before training camp officially started, so I made my way to the locker room, where I'd dropped my duffle bag when I'd arrived, with a plan to hit the gym for a little bit. Though I wasn't the only one with that plan. Walking into the locker room, I saw Simmons, Mackay, and Brookes chatting, all of them decked out in training clothes and ready for a workout.

Their conversation tapered off when they noticed me, however, and suddenly I was the center of attention.

Brookes was the first to speak. "Hey man," he said, shaking my hand quickly before giving me a quick one-armed hug. The other two guys quickly followed suit with similar greetings. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you guys, too," I replied, a light chuckle leaving my lips. And it was true. While I really needed to disconnect from hockey this off-season and focus on my family, I did miss the easy camaraderie I had with my teammates. "How were your guys' summers?"

"Well, this one got engaged," Simmons said, hooking a thumb towards Brookes.

"Aye, really?" I grinned and nudged him with my elbow. "Congrats."

He laughed. "Thanks."

"Then I tried to get my daughter a bit more interested in hockey," Simmons continued, "but it definitely looks like her interests are leaning more towards dance and gymnastics."

"Dance dad Simmons?" I mused, and the guys all laughed. "It has a nice ring to it."

"It sure does," Mackay agreed, clapping Simmons on the shoulder. "And as the guy without kids or a woman, I made the most of the time off by traveling. Hit up Greece, Spain, and Italy during July, then spent the last couple weeks at my folks place."

"Nice," I said. "That must've been a relaxing break."

"Definitely, and the European women were certainly easy on the eyes," he replied, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

The rest of us rolled our eyes at him while we laughed, but in the next moment, the air shifted, and Brookes cleared his throat before looking at me and asking, "What about you? We know your time off must not have been easy, but did it at least help being back in your hometown?"

I ran my fingers through my hair and exhaled. "Yeah, it did. I mean, it was hard, living in Liam's house and taking care of my nephew. And for a bit there, I didn't know if coming back to hockey would be an option."

"But since you're here...?"

The corners of my mouth lifted. "I'll be in between the pipes this season, don't worry."

And then the rest of my summer story unraveled from there, as I told them about Bowen and our adventures the last couple of months. How my parents had stepped up to help me, and how being in the small seaside town, even without Liam and Thea, did help with the grief surrounding their passing.

"It's great to know you're doing better, man," Simmons said. "And it'll be nice to have another little one running around the arena this season."

"Yeah, I'm just hoping Bowen adjusts to the move okay."

"Did he come with you for training camp?"

I shook my head. "No, he's staying with his grandparents until Labor Day weekend when I head back up to Maine to officially make the move official. So, I've got two weeks to get everything ready."

"Well, if you need help at any point, let us know."

"Will do."

"Speaking of people back in Maine though... Wellsley messaged me after he went to see you," Brookes said before lifting a brow. "He mentioned you were seeing someone. Sloane?"

I couldn't help how I flinched at the mention of the relationship I'd somehow let crumble during my last days in Neptune Bay. "That's, uh, over," I responded, rubbing the back of my neck. "It didn't work out."

"Oh. Bummer, dude."

I shrugged. "Eh, it's for the best, I guess. The timing just wasn't right, with everything I'll have on my plate with hockey and Bowen this year."

The words were a lie though. A way to appear unfazed in front of my teammates.

I had wanted to make our relationship work. I was willing to put in the work. And I'd known her moving to Boston wasn't realistic—even if it would've been my top choice. I wanted her to make those choices and do what allowed her to be happy, whether it was here, back in Neptune Bay, or somewhere else entirely.

But when she'd walked away, not wanting to give things a shot, it'd hurt. Much more than I thought it would, and it was then that I knew I'd been in love with her. Was in love with her. Something I'd been too scared to admit before that moment, knowing the future between us remained uncertain. Now though, that the future was pretty much dead and buried, I could admit it.

I loved Sloane Montgomery.

And she'd pushed me away.

I'd tried calling a few times, not wanting to force a conversation she might not have wanted by showing up at Wilma's or her place, but when Saturday came and I had yet to hear from her, I had no choice but to leave Neptune Bay. Our relationship in the rear-view as I set course for Boston.

And now that I was here, I needed to focus on hockey. I had to try my best to block out thoughts of Sloane, no matter how hard, and get my head back in the game.

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