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“The dancing you all do in your seats is spontaneous and however the music moves you, and I know that the dancing we do doesn’t necessarily always look much more practiced than that.”

He looks at all of us lined up behind him, and we laugh.

“But the truth is, it’s not just practiced a lot, it’s very well instructed. By someone who is very important to our teams.” I can’t see Beckett's face since I’m behind him, but I can see Sutton, and I know the moment it hits her that her brother is about to single her out.

Her eyes go wide, and I know that she is instinctively panicking and trying to figure out how to avoid the spotlight.

I am gratified that her gaze finds mine in that moment.

I give her a little nod.

You can do this, I communicate silently. You need to do this. You deserve this.

Beckett goes on. “The truth is, we’re all just a bunch of hockey players. And we love that. We would all come out here and play hockey for you once a week and be happy. But you all would not be having nearly as much fun if that was the way it went.”

The crowd cheers again, and none of us have our feelings hurt. Long ago, we all accepted the fact that people show up for the shenanigans more than the hockey.

The guys laugh, a couple wave, and Zeke and Teddy even take a bow.

“And sure, a lot of the stuff we do are ideas that are cooked up by Nora, and Astrid, and all of you,” Beckett says.

Again, the crowd cheers.

“But getting those things from idea to something that is fun and hilarious and actually interesting to watch takes a little bit more than just talking. Especially with a bunch of guys who are just kind of decent hockey players, mostly big goofballs, and who barely know any words to boy band hit songs.”

There’s actually a collective gasp at that, and we all chuckle.

“Everything that you find truly entertaining and bonkers about what we do down here is because of my sister, Sutton.” Beckett points at her, and the spotlight finds her.

It’s clear she still wants to duck, but I hold her gaze, and Andi and Nora make her stand there as the crowd cheers.

“The thing is,” Beckett says. “Sutton has been helping me shine my whole life. I am who I am because of her. She mastered figuring out somebody’s strength and helping them play to it when we were probably one.”

Again, the crowd laughs, and there’s some cheering and whooping. That mostly comes from the group of men sitting about six rows behind the bench. Brewser, Harley, Wilson, and Leo never miss a game, and they are, of course, huge Sutton fans.

“Sutton is the heart and soul of what we do out here,” Beckett says, his voice sounding a little wobbly now. “And you all are super lucky because she has decided that she wants to teach some people who are a lot better students than us to dance. Starting on Monday, Sutton’s dance studio opens. You can sign up for classes, look out for the fun dance events she’s going to be hosting, or just stop by every once in a while with your friends or your sweetheart and dance the night away.”

He turns to all of us with a huge grin. “And to give you all a little taste of what you can learn, and what you can enjoy tomorrow night at her kickoff event, the big barn party out at her studio, we prepared a little number.”

Sutton’s eyes are wide now, but not because the spotlight is shining on her. It’s because her hockey teams have gone rogue. She knows nothing about the routine we’re about to do.

I can’t see her up close, but I know her eyes are shiny with tears from everything Beckett said. But now, as the beginning strains of “Achy Breaky Heart” start to play over the intercom system, her smile is bright and beautiful. We all put on our cowboy hats and our western vests with the sequined hearts embroidered on them, and start the line dance Beckett and I choreographed.

It takes only a minute before Sutton is laughing even as she wipes tears from her cheeks.

Beckett and I high-five as we pass one another.

But then Zeke goes left when Wes goes right and their skates tangle. I manage to get out of the way, but Beckett isn’t as lucky. Beckett, Zeke, Wes, and Quinn end up in a heap on the ice as the final lyrics fade.

The arena is quiet for a second, clearly trying to figure out if the pile-up was part of the routine.

And then Brewser calls out, “So maybe it wasn’t the Parkinson’s!”

We all laugh, and when Sutton and I make eye contact across the ice, we mouth ‘I love you’ at the same time.

CHAPTER 24

SUTTON