Summary:

Before Shane could even turn, movement surged behind him.

“Three, two, one—”

Then it hit.

A burst of confetti rained down over his head, sudden and bright, like a miniature snowstorm exploding out of nowhere. Shane instinctively ducked, shoulders hunching as the pieces caught in his hair, his helmet, his shoulders.

Laughter broke out.

And then they were there.

All of them.

Voyageurs players closed in from every direction, forming a loose, uneven circle that tightened fast, until Shane was right in the middle of it. Gloves thudded against pads. Someone’s arm hooked around his neck. Someone else smacked the back of his helmet.

“Capitaine.”

JJ’s voice again, somewhere inside the pile. Lower than usual, but clear.

“If we had to choose again,” he said, “we’d still pick you.”