His eyes soften, tracing my face like he's memorizing every inch.
"And I'm so damn proud of you. I love you."
My heart squeezes.
"I love you so much," I murmur, letting the words settle between us like warmth.
He wraps me in a hug then — arms fully around me, holding me tight in that way that makes the world tilt back into place. I soak in his scent, his warmth—how he has this uncanny ability to pull all the chaos out of my chest with just a hug.
When we pull away just enough to see each other's faces, his mouth curves into a boyish grin.
"Oh," he adds, "and I brought backup."
I blink. "Backup?"
"The team," he says, nodding like it's obvious. "They're all here."
My jaw drops. "You brought the whole team?"
"Yep."
I narrow my eyes playfully. "Did you threaten them to come?"
Zach huffs a laugh. "Please. You think I need to? They've been preparing for this day for weeks."
I snort. "Right."
"I'm serious," he says, grin stretching. "Cody said it's the least they could do after all the times you fed them—especially on those nights we were losing game after game and acting like the world was ending. And Liam told me—direct quote—'Tell Care she kept the team alive and emotionally stable during our flop era.'"
I choke on a laugh. "Stop."
"Oh, and don't freak out," Zach adds, amused, "but theremightbe a giant banner involved. The boys spent an entire afternoon working on it. Paint everywhere. Zero artistic talent. It looks like a preschool art project gone feral."
He checks something on his phone, swipes through his album, then turns the screen toward me.
"Here," he says. "Prepare yourself."
The photo nearly knocks the air out of my lungs.
The banner is sprawled across the floor—wrinkled, crooked, and obviously made with zero adult supervision. Half the team is kneeling around it, Sharpies and paint markers in their hands.
Someone drew a hockey stick the size of a tree trunk.
Someone else attempted a puck, except it looks more like a lopsided potato.
There's glitter glue. God help me, there isglitter.
Glitter on the floor. Glitter on the banner. Glitter onthem.
I cannot believe these giant athletes voluntarily opened a bottle of glitter. It looks like a craft store sneezed.
And right in the center, they plastered a massive cutout of my face on top of a cartoon body wearing a princess dress and combat boots, like they couldn't decide between fairy tale and fight club.
Across the top, in aggressively uneven letters, it says:
GO CARE!! BREAK A LEG!
And on the bottom, in violently bright neon paint:
