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“Whoa,” Garrett cries. “What about analysts? They’re cool as well, right?”

“Oh yeah, they’re cool too,” Huxley states before winking at me. “Not a multi-time Stanley Cup–winning player or coach, though, am I right?”

I breathe in through my teeth and look at Garrett. “Sorry, baby. He’s got a point.”

“Unbelievable,” Garrett mutters as he pretends to march off in a huff, our laughter following him.

Garrett did exactly as he promised. After turning down that actuarial position not long after the boys moved in with us, he put his time and effort into our family. He was there for Huxley and Ryker every step of the way, taking them to and from school, showing up for every hockey practice and game, and sitting in the waiting room during their therapy sessions.

It killed me not to be there for all those things, but giving up hockey wasn’t an option, and not just because the three of them would never have let me. For the first time in a lot of years, I started to enjoy the thrill of the game again. I wasn’t just playing a game that had consumed my life; I was getting out there with friends by my side. It really was like old times.

But with a little help from some friends, Garrett finally got his chance at his dream job, and now he spends his days doing exactly what he was born to do. While I might have hung up my skates, Garrett is still at the arena every day, finally doing a job he loves. Watching his eyes light up as he talks hockey stats tells me every day that I made the right decision. I had my time to shine. Now it’s his, and I fucking love watching him do so.

Huxley disappears the second he spots Brooks and some of their other friends on the other side of the room, but Ryker doesn’t follow.

“You can go if you want to hang out with them,” I say, not that he needs my permission. The kids are far more mature than I ever was at his age.

He shakes his head. “It’s their day,” he says before following us toward the bar, where the parents are congregating. At the last minute, he ducks off, slipping into a booth where Indigo Ferguson is looking after a whole gaggle of hockey brats.

I swear, the Vipers’ family gets larger every freaking week. We’ve almost got ourselves a whole new roster in a few years.

“Here, you deserve this,” Fletch says, handing us a beer each as we join the group. He holds his glass in the air and says, “To successfully getting our kids to graduate,” before we all tap our glasses together.

The last few years haven’t been easy on any of us. Parenting, in all the various ways we’ve been doing it, has been incredible, but it hasn’t come without its challenges.

As we chat, others come to join us, making our group almost as large as the number of kids celebrating the end of high school.

In only a few short minutes, I’m surrounded by all the guys who helped make LA my home, along with all the girls who’ve stood by their sides through the team’s ups and downs.

And then of course, right in the middle is the man who made it all happen.

James Watson, the best damn coach the NHL has ever seen.

I mean, I might be a little biased, but I'll stand by that statement until my dying day. He’s not just a coach; he is so much more than that. The father figure that so many young—and not-so-young—players need when they’re so far away from home. None of what we’ve achieved could have been done without him. And he’s still got a lot of years in him yet. I like to think that one day, he might just get the chance to coach some of the kids over there, pretending they haven’t spiked the punch already. They’ll be damn lucky if they get the chance to be coached by him. It'll make them better players, and better people.

“I know I’m not one for words,” Coach says when there’s a lull in conversation, “but I just want you all to know that I’m damn proud of every single one of you. You might have turned my hair gray, but I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. And those kids over there,” he says, gesturing to both the graduating class and the younger group a little closer to us. “They’re the future, and I can’t wait to see where they take us. Now, let’s celebrate, but not too hard. Some of us have a game to win tomorrow night.”

As the evening progresses, we all break away, finding a little moment to ourselves to think the day over—hell, the last few years, watching our kids grow into young adults.

Taking Garrett’s hand, I pull him out of the room and down a darkened hallway. “What are you doing? We can’t just leave,” he states behind me.

“We’re not leaving. Just ducking out for a few minutes.”

“Why? What are you—” His words trail off the second I reach for a door handle. “Cooper,” he laughs when he notices the sign on the door.

Storage.

Before he has a chance to say more, I drag him into the small space.

“Oh my god,” he coughs. The scent of cleaning products is a little overwhelming, but I’m not going to let that stop me.

“It’s been a while since we did this, huh?” I tease as the door clicks closed behind him, cutting off the light and plunging us into darkness.

“Some might say that life isn’t as fun once you don’t have to sneak around.”

“Some would be wrong. Every single day is fun if you’re doing it with the right person,” I say, moving closer until he’s pinned against the door.

“I can’t believe Hux is going to college soon. I’m not sure I’m ready,” Garrett confesses.