With the game about to start, I was shaking the last-minute nerves out alongside my teammates in the tunnel. But for the first time in this arena, it was as a member of the visiting team. I wasn't wearing navy and silver in Boston; I was wearing white and gold.

"How are you feeling?" asked Ruderman, the captain of the Royals, as he sidled up next to me. "Nervous to be back?"

I chuckled. "That obvious?"

"Just a hunch," he mused, nudging my side. "But try not to think about it too much. Most players in the league have to go through this at some point in their career, it's just the nature of the game, so use it as an opportunity. Don't view it as returning to a place that you failed, but rather an organization that failed you. Your old teammates will still be your friends after tonight, so take this moment and show the Knights' management that they made a mistake letting you go. Step out onto the ice and make them regret their decision. Show them who you are and help us slap these guys into next Tuesday."

The corners of my mouth pulled upward, because that was exactly what I needed to hear to stoke the flames burning within me. "Were you also voted team motivational speaker when they made you captain?"

He let loose a bark of laughter. "Comes with the role, my friend." As the announcer's voice rang loud, hyping up the crowd, and when the rest of the guys began heading out to the rink, Ruderman nudged me forward. "Go on. Show everyone what you can do."

Shaking out the last of my nerves, I started down the tunnel amongst my new teammates. The music blasting through the arena's speakers was loud—successfully pumping up the crowd—though it didn't completely drown out the chorus of boos several Knights fans let loose as we skated around our end of the ice.

Which was to be expected. After all, they didn't want us coming in here and handing their team a loss. But that was the plan, so I let the noise fade away, focusing in on the game that was about to start.

Skating twice around our half of the rink, I then joined most of the guys on our bench, leaving the starters out on the ice as we waited for the national anthem to start.

But before it did, my line mate, Quinn, nudged me in the side.

I turned to him and lifted a brow. "What?"

He lifted his stick and pointed to the jumbotron, and when I lifted my gaze in that direction, I was floored by what I saw.

An image of me.

And then another.

And another.

Letting the surrounding noise begin to sink back in, I realized that not only was the announcer mentioning my return to Boston, but the crowd was beginning to cheer for me. And not just with their words. I caught a glimpse of a handful of signs in the stands wishing me well and stating how much they missed me.

"And to welcome him back in style—" I heard the announcer say, bringing my gaze back to the jumbotron. "—let's take a look back at Wellsley's journey with the Knights over the past five years."

The images transitioned into clips from past seasons; from my first game to my first goal as a Knight, from overtime winners to playoff games, and even clips from practices and charity nights where it was clear the bond between me and the guys had been genuine.

It was something that easily could have gotten me choked up in a different setting, but keeping my game face on, the only reaction I gave was a smile, my lips curving upward as the crowd began chanting my name.

Something truly surreal and unexpected, and it meant so much.

As the montage came to an end, fading to black after a clip from the game against Tampa just weeks ago, the announcer said, "And I think I speak for every Knights fan in Boston right now when I say welcome home Wellsley."

The chanting turned to cheering, into hoots and hollers, and even my new teammates joined in, succeeding in cracking my façade even further as they banged their sticks against the boards and clapped me on the shoulder in recognition.

"No easing up on these guys just because they made you a tribute, you hear me?" Quinn said teasingly as the noise began to wind down.

I chuckled, standing as the anthem singer made her way out onto the ice. "You won't see anything less than one hundred percent from me, man."

"Good, because this game is ours."

It was. However, it was also ours to lose.

Once the anthem finished and the guys out on the ice lined up, my walls came back up. Nobody in the stands mattered at this moment. All that mattered was the action out on the rink.

When the puck dropped and the Knights got first possession, we were immediately put on the defensive, but that didn't stop the guys from making moves. The puck went back and forth between teams before finally the Knights took a shot and our goalie covered it clean, prompting the lines to change and giving me my first taste of how it felt to play in this arena on the visitor's side.

"Your team ready to get your ass whooped, Wellsley?" Brookes taunted lightly as the two of us came together for the puck drop. With me gone, he'd stepped up his game and had shown himself to be a power center.

But tonight, he was going down.

"Not a chance."

***

The Royals won.

Going into the last five minutes of play tied two goals a piece, both teams had zeroed in and were fighting tooth and nail for the game winner. It was scrappy, yet strategic, and being familiar with the Knights' style of play paid off for me. Big time.

With less than a minute left, the Knights were in our zone, passing the puck between them, trying to spot an opening but unable to find one. And all it took was one jump out of position from me, tipping the puck off course with my stick when Orlov shot the puck over to Brookes to start a 2-on-2 race back to the other end of the ice.

My stick handling had been second nature, and having done so in practice for years, I easily deked out the defense and wound up to shoot on Nyberg. Only I didn't, because that was what he was expecting. Instead, I chipped it over to Quinn, who shot a beauty of a one-timer at the top left corner of the net, dinging off the crossbar and down into the net.

And the Knights didn't have time to answer.

When the clock finally hit zero and the buzzer sounded, I stood up from the bench and hopped over the boards with the rest of my teammates as the Knights quickly vacated the ice. However, as I made a move towards our goalie, my teammates chose instead to surround me in a large group hug.

"We did it, boys!"

"Congrats, Wellsley!"

"This one was for you."

It was heartwarming, knowing that these men whom I still didn't know all that well had played today for me. Because most of them knew what it felt like to be in the same situation, and they wanted to give me something to lift my mood. Something to hold on to and something to prove I hadn't been a weak link, but a core part of the Knights' line-up.

Something to carry forward as a Royal—to know that I was the type of player who could make a difference.

The celebration of our win continued into the locker room; the energy of the room high as Coach Lennox walked into the room with a grin on his face.

"Way to fight for the win tonight," he said, clapping to further the enthusiasm. "You guys capitalized on the opportunities you were given and defended well when we had a man in the box. All things that will help us lock down a spot in the playoffs sooner rather than later."

"You know it, Coach!"

He chuckled at Ruderman. "Get yourself dressed, because you're out in front of the press tonight." Which made sense, since he'd picked up a goal and an assist tonight. "And Quinn, you're up too."

"You got it."

Coach nodded. "Now, I know you're all tired, but the last one on the bus is getting an extra round of suicides at tomorrow night's practice."

A round of grumbles and laughs filled the room as Coach turned to leave, and while most of the guys continued stripping off their equipment, I followed him. Not caring that all I'd taken off so far were my helmet and gloves.

"Hey, Coach, wait up," I said, hopping not-so-gracefully over the discarded equipment of the guys around me. "I—"

"Wellsley," he cut me off, sighing as he stopped and turned to face me, "I know you were probably looking to go out there and talk to the press to let them know you'd found your feet with this organization, but I thought it was best to keep the focus on our win. I didn't want everything to suddenly fall on your shoulders, but you did play well tonight. That's not up for debate."

Unexpected, especially since it was actually a relief that I didn't have to go out in front of the reporters. I still hadn't fully recovered from the last shit show, but the encouragement was certainly nice to hear.

"That... actually wasn't what I wanted to talk about."

"Oh." He straightened, a small crease forming on his forehead. "Then what is it?"

"Well, I know you're not exactly policing our rooms tonight or anything—"

"No, sir. Y'all don't need babysitters."

My lips twitched. "Yeah, but I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to be meeting up with some of the Knights for a drink later, and then I'll likely head over to my—" The next word, foreign to me, got stuck on my tongue for a moment. "—girlfriend's for the night."

His brows rose. "Nobody mentioned you left a girlfriend out here, Wellsley."

"Yeah," I chuckled, bringing my hand up to rub the back of my neck. "That's because I technically didn't. We agreed we wouldn't do long distance, but, you know, things changed."

And they changed quickly, apparently. I'd come back to Boston excited to see my friends, play some hockey, and catch up with Lia, and now I was leaving tomorrow with not only a win for the Royals, but a girlfriend.

"Well, I'm not standing in the way of anything," he replied. "I know you've got a life here, and you're off the clock until tomorrow morning. Have fun, just be in the lobby and ready to leave for the airport tomorrow at eight."

"I will be," I agreed before turning to head back to the locker room.

Now that the game was behind me, I was itching to get out of this gear and catch up with the guys, knowing it would be my last time in Boston for a while. And because of that, it felt like time was simultaneously running too fast and too slow as the team packed up and headed out—Lopez, a second-string defenseman, being the unlucky soul who was gifted an extra round of suicides. When we finally got back to the hotel, it was already after nine, and after a quick shower and a change of clothes, I called an Uber to meet up with everyone at Apollo's.

I was expecting a few guys to be there—Nyberg, Brookes, Orlov, maybe Schmidt—but when I walked in closer to ten, after two texts from Nyberg making sure I was still showing up, I was surprised to see almost the entire team had made it out.

"Wellsley," Orlov exclaimed when he saw me, grinning as he raised his beer in greeting. "You came!"

I smiled back, realizing most conversations had died down amongst the group and all eyes were on me. "Of course I came," I said, sidling up to Brookes and nudging his side. "Did you guys think I was going to bail after absolutely annihilating you guys on the ice?"

"Oh, the guy has jokes," Nyberg drawled.

"That he does." I smirked, nodding down to his nearly empty beer. "Did you want another drink? It could be a consolation for that last-minute goal tonight."

The guys let out a collective "ooh" at the burn while Nyberg shook his head with amusement and downed the rest of his drink

"You know what? I'm gonna take you up on that," he said, throwing an arm around my shoulder and directing me toward the bar.

When the bartender looked over at us, I held up two fingers. "Can we get two Heineken?"

Passing over a ten as the bottles were slid toward us, I waved at him to keep the change and knocked the neck of my bottle against Nyberg's in cheers before taking a swig.

"You know," Nyberg started, "you played great out there tonight. Even though the whole team knew your style of play, the guys still had trouble keeping a read on you, and I'll admit, I was expecting you to take that last shot instead of passing it off."

"And that's exactly why I didn't."

He nodded in understanding. "But yeah, it's like you somehow honed your skills and changed your game while still being the strong center you've always been. It shows, and I think the move out west spurred it."

In the chaos of switching teams, moving, and getting my footing with the Royals, I hadn't realized that my game had changed or evolved. There hadn't been any time to even consider it. But he was right. I'd gone to Los Angeles with something to prove—with a fire burning inside me to show not just the Knights, but the country, that I was a valuable player. That I could help bring home a cup. And I'd done just that. I'd put my head down, studied, integrated into the system of play the Royals used, and had absorbed all the advice I could from my new coaches.

"Thanks, man."

"In other news though," he said, quirking a brow, "how did lunch go with Lia?"

"Good actually." I chuckled lightheartedly. "Really good."

There was a gleam in his eyes as he asked, "Afternoon delight good?"

"No." I shook my head. "But I took your advice and put everything out there. Told her about Chelsea, how I felt about relationships in the past, and how, even though our situation sucked, that I liked her." I shrugged, playing it cool, though I could feel the corner of my mouth pulling upwards involuntarily. "And it worked."

"Which means...?"

"We're figuring it out," I admitted, "but I guess you can say we're together."

"Well I'll be damned," he said before leading me back to the rest of the guys. "Yo, Wellsley went and got himself a girlfriend!"

Mixed in with the guys whistling and making fake whipping noises, it felt like a dozen responses were thrown my way at once.

"Damn."

"Seriously?"

"That was fast."

Brookes cocked a brow in disbelief. "You're telling me you—the guy who is more or less allergic to relationships—met a girl in the weeks since you've left and already jumped head first into commitment?"

"I didn't meet her out west," I replied before backtracking. "Well, I guess I technically did, but not within the last couple weeks."

Understanding flooded his features. "It's the girl; the redhead. Lia." I nodded and he clapped me on the shoulder. "Well congrats then. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, man."

"So, are you going to be dipping out of here early then?" Nyberg asked, nudging my side with his elbow.

"Why?" I mused. "You keeping tabs on me?"

"Unlikely," he said with a scoff, before gesturing around to the guys with his beer. "But we missed you."

There was a feeling of contentment as I watched my former teammates nod in agreement, and I did my best to ignore the prick of emotion that sprouted at the realization I wouldn't be seeing them again for at least a couple months.

"I've missed you guys, too," I said genuinely. "And don't worry, you've got me for a while tonight."  

a/n: thank you so much for 25k reads on this story! so glad you're all enjoying it <3  And because it was slyly brought up in the comments last chapter, I thought I'd let you all know that while he won't be seen again in this story, you can expect more Nyberg coming your way eventually ;)

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