Liam opens the gate on the end of the bench and lifts his chin in Riley’s direction. “C’mon Mitchy,” he says, and my heart almost cracks in two when he holds out his hand. Riley eyes his offered palm for a beat before his fingers curl around the goalie’s. Moving carefully on his blades for the first time since last June, he steps onto the ice, legs shaking under his weight. “I’ve got left,” Maverick says, looping an arm around his waist. “Right,” Hudson adds, his arm resting on top of Maverick’s. “I’ve always been a fan of behind,” Liam grumbles, and Riley’s laugh is rough as the trio arranges
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