Mason Davenport was losing his goddamn mind.

He’d known from the start that sneaking around with the coach’s daughter—the coach of his biggest rival—was a disaster waiting to happen. But he hadn’t expected it to feel like this. Like a knife twisting in his gut as he watched her celebrate on the other side of the ice, wrapped up in her dad’s arms while his team cheered around her.

Meanwhile, he was here. On the losing end of the most important game of the season. Injured. Pissed. And all he wanted was her.

To have her in his arms, whispering that it would be okay. To hear her tell him this wasn’t the end of the world. To feel like he hadn’t just gotten crushed—on the scoreboard and everywhere else that mattered.

Instead, she was standing with the enemy, hand to her heart, smiling like she wasn’t breaking his in the process. But then, there it was. The crack in her perfect, congratulatory smile. The hesitation in her stance. The part of her that wasn’t celebrating them—that was aching for him.

For a second, it was just them. No screaming fans, no rival teams, no crushing loss hanging over his head. Just her, standing across the rink, looking at him like she wanted to be anywhere but there, like she wanted to be with him.