Across the table, Nalani fans herself. “Okay, I take it back. Sterling might be my favorite after all.”
Sofie lets out a low whistle, “Girl, if you don’t marry that man, I will. He’s the definition of book-boyfriend material, and he just turned it real.”
Noelle’s mom’s cheeks are pink, her hand pressed to her mouth, but her eyes are shining. “He’s … he’s really something, Noelle.”
“Something?” His other sister, Celeste, laughs. “He’s everything. That’s a declaration, right there.”
She looks so happy, and I am delighted for her.
The rest of the guys walk in. Leo Stone tugs his blazer free to reveal“RHODES”stitched across his back. Riley beams from our table. Evan Smith is next, his jersey proudly emblazoned with“KOSTA.” His wife elbows him when he smirks. Theo Rivera, calm as ever, sheds his jacket.“PARK”stretches bold across his shoulders. A cheer goes up from his corner of the room. Bass Giulietti grins like he’s been waiting all night for this. His jersey flashes“DANIELS,” and then he lifts it, exposing a Lincoln University women’s ice hockey tee-shirt, and givesCoach D two thumbs up and yells, “Go lady lions!” His wife was the number one women’s hockey player the year they graduated. She grins. And all I can think about is how Ratburn would disapprove.
Koa walks in and kisses Nalani, then shrugs off his jacket like it’s nothing, “KANE” arcs across his back. She looks at Noelle, “I take it back. KOK will always be my favorite!”
The rest of the guys filter in, and Deacon Moretti is the last.
When they’re all in their usual section, the place goes silent. It’s tradition—every home game, every goal scorer stands and makes a toast before the night kicks off.
Three goals tonight. One Smith. One Stone. One Sterling.
Dash lifts his pint in our direction. “To women who make our sticks magic.”
The place erupts—howls, whistles, and then a very loud boo from her mother, and I laugh so damn hard.
Dash sees her. “I’m so sorry, Maryanne. I didn’t even see that you all came. Thanks?”
The guys all bust up.
Evan Smith stands next, adjusting his tie like he’s about to give a wedding toast. “To the Vancouver Vortex,” he says, then smirks, “may they always suck … just not as hard.” He stops and looks at Noelle’s mom. “Sorry, Maryanne.” He winks at his wife and points to her. “As you.”
The room hits an all-time decibel.
Leo Stone rises, and a smirk cracks through. “May every goal leave a mark they don’t forget.”
The bar roars; they love their captain.
He nods to Deacon. “You’re first line now, brother; let’s hear what you have to say.”
Bass hands him a pint.
The guys pound the tables, chanting his name until he’s standing, glass in hand.
“To goals,” he says. “On the ice”—his eyes shift, to me—“and off.”
The noise dips, and everyone is waiting for the joke in this. It doesn’t come.
Instead, he turns as he shrugs off his jacket, and across his back, stitched boldly is HOLLOWAY.”
What? What is he doing? Here? Now? Already. I knew we’d be public soon, but like this? My eyes start to burn as he moves to me, because I see it.
He sets his glass beside me and drops to one knee. “Claudia Holloway, I missed my chance once. I let fear make me a coward. But that mistake gave us Savannah—our miracle, our proof. She deserves to grow up knowing her mom is a queen, and I’ll spend every day like I have since the first time I held her, making sure she knows that she’s my princess.”
I am fully crying and then laughing as I say, “Yes!”
He slides a stunning ring on my finger, and stands, pulling me into a hug, and he whispers. “I love you, Doc. I always will.”
Now I’m crying against his chest, and I look up, “Love you too.”
He winks, “I know.”
