You’ve barely stepped off the ice when you hear someone behind you.

“Hey,” Shane calls out, a little breathless from the game. “Can we… talk for a second?”

He runs a hand through his damp hair, cheeks still flushed from adrenaline. He looks composed, but you can tell he’s fighting it - that mix of competitiveness and something else he never lets himself name.

“You played well tonight,” he says, eyes flicking to yours before he can stop himself. “I mean… you always do. It’s annoying.” A small, reluctant smile pulls at his mouth.