Ludo winced. “Don’t use my full name, man. Gives me flashbacks to my mom beating me with her shoe every time she caught me climbing back in my bedroom window in the mornings.” He grinned. “I dunno, man. I love women. And I love a good love story almost as much as I love fucking. Almost.” His grin was one I was more than familiar with. Ludo headed for the door, still shaking his head. “Tell the big guy he owes me one. These Chi-Town girls are fucking wild, and I was well on my way to a threesome when we had to pull his ass out of the bar.”

He swaggered out, and just before he disappeared, I called out for him. “Ludo?”

He leaned back in the room. “What?”

“You’re a fucking good friend. I love you, man, even if you are a manwhore.”

My teammate laughed and flipped me the finger. “You’re saying ‘I love you’ to the wrong person, fuckhead. Get some damn sleep.”

With that, he was gone.

I pulled off River’s shoes and sank down onto my bed. Ludo was right—not something I ever thought I’d say. Nova was what I wanted. Now. In ten years. In fifty years. She was it for me.

I climbed into bed and started to come up with a plan to win her back.

We won our final away game, but the mood in the car as we drove back to the house was still somber. River was hungover as hell, so I was driving again.

“Ludo’s worried about you,” I told him over the sound of the country song on the radio. That’s how you knew shit had gotten bad; River had resorted to listening to music about how sad a man’s life could be without a good dog and a good woman. In that order.

River just grunted, staring out the window. “Ludo can mind his own business.”

I huffed. “Fine, I’m worried about you too. You’re hitting the bottle too hard, and it’s affecting your game.”

“Fuck off, Rigby.”

Fuck off? Was this asshole serious? I pulled over onto the shoulder of the freeway, ignoring the blast of a car horn behind me. “Listen to me, River fucking Cooper. I love you. I love you more than the idea of winning the Stanley Cup. I love you more than hockey, full stop. You’re my brother. My best friend. And when I see you spiraling into an addiction like you’re trying to recreate history, you better fucking believe I’m going to call you out on it.”

“You don’t know—”