9. Noelle #2
I sit up and scoot closer to the end of the bed as he and his line settle into position, and he does it with zero Dash flare.
My phone buzzes, and Nalani’s name lights the screen.
I answer, and her face fills the camera, wide grin and all.
Behind her, Sofie, Claudia, and Paul, who is holding a sleeping Savannah, are on Koa and Nalani’s couch, snacks spread across the coffee table, the massive TV screen on the same game I’ve been pretending not to care about.
“You’re with us now,” Nalani says, like it’s law. “A typical Brooklyn night while the boys are away.”
Sofie angles the phone toward the coffee table. “See? We even got your kettle chips and that weird fizzy tea you like.”
“What the hell is going on with Prince Charming tonight?” Paul grunts. “Kid’s not there.”
“Right?” I ask, and Sofie props her phone up on the coffee table in a perfect position for me to see all of them.
Paul Bronski, hockey legend, pulls a shit-eating grin that he only uses on the guys and Sofie, who busts his ass every chance she gets due to the circumstances in which they met.
Nalani moved to the city just a couple of months ago and into one of his apartments, which had chickens, and no one even knew he was still in the City, or even alive. Apparently, he has basically been a recluse since his wife passed.
“Wonder if he’s still pissed at the Russian and German for eating his food.”
“I’d be pissed,” Sofie huffs.
He chuckles. “Kid meal preps, and since I’m crashing at their place, I heated up food for them before they left for practice. My fault, but for some reason, that kid thinks I do no wrong, so he’s taking it out on them.”
“You’re his hero, Paul,” Nalani says.
“Ours, too,” Claudia says.
“Speak for yourself,” Sofie huffs.
“The little shit’s the only one making sense.” He nods to Sofie. “I’m no hero. I played hockey; I didn’t save lives.”
“Okay, shh …” Nalani says then whispers, “Puck drop.”
And the puck doth drop.
Theo snaps it back like lightning, Koa scoops it up, and Dash is already flying down the wing. I lean closer to the hotel TV.
Paul grumbles, “Kid’s fine. He’s back to his normal play—fast and careless.”
Theo is weaving through traffic, Koa is muscling past the line, and then the puck slides to Dash’s stick. My breath catches before I even realize it.
He doesn’t think. He just fires. The crack of his shot cuts through the arena noise and the hotel silence all at once.
The puck hits the goalie’s glove. Shit. But then the goalie fumbles. The puck drops. The horn blasts.
“Brooklyn, one; Utah, zero!” Nalani screams, the whole room behind her erupting in cheers.
Paul grunts, but I see the twitch of a smile.
Brooklyn wins, four to two.
Lying in bed instead of letting myself get sick over tomorrow, I think of tonight and how my real friends all told me not to go to this wedding, but I assured them this is something I need to do by myself. And tonight, they made sure I was still with them.
My throat tightens in the best way. They bookmarked me, saved my place, and I love them so much for that.
The ringtone rattles across the nightstand, pulling me out of the kind of half-sleep where I’m standing surrounded by books, but not a library or the shop, but giant books the size of buildings. I blink at the screen. Briar.
I swiped to answer, my voice scratchy. “Everything okay? Are you?—”
“You should be proud of me,” Briar barrels right over me, her words bubbling with energy.
I rub my eyes. “Okay?”
She laughs. “For setting up a double date. I finally have a friend in my class who’s actually normal and nice, and we’re going out tonight. Her and me, plus the guys. It’s going to be so much fun.”
Her enthusiasm is so pure I can’t help smiling, even through the grogginess. “Look at you, social butterfly. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Not telling yet,” she teases. “But he’s solid. You’ll meet him eventually.”
I’ll meet him eventually?
I let her chatter fill the room in a way I know is all Briar—spinning excitement like it’s contagious.
We talk for a bit—well, she speaks and I laugh—and when my alarm goes off, she says a quick, “Wish me luck?”
“You don’t need luck when you’ve made a solid plan.” I smile.
I push back the covers and stretch before standing and heading toward the shower, happy that I came with a plan A and a plan B.
I hoped that maybe when I saw Lauren for the first time, she would be the girl I adored back in freshman year. Plan A was to rekindle our friendship with boundaries, and no, that’s not what I knew would happen, yet it was still my secret hope.
Plan B was to come, to be here and celebrate a love that, in a way, I was a part of from its beginning, and wish them a happy ever after, because everyone deserves love.
By the time I finish my shower, blow-dry my hair, slip into the robe the girls insisted I pack, and am halfway through laying out jewelry options, the knock comes.
I open the door to find a girl barely older than twenty, arms full of bags and cases that look like they belong backstage at Fashion Week. She grins, breathless but confident, with the kind of energy only a college student can bring to a side hustle.
“KET?” she asks immediately, tapping the little charm on her bracelet as she nudges past me and into the room.
I can’t help but smile. “Noelle. Hayward KET.”
“Anna. Fairfield KET.” She smiles, already unloading curling irons, palettes, and brushes across the desk like a soldier setting up camp. “The girls said soft waves, clean skin, natural glow. Trust me; I’ve got you.”
It’s strange—comforting even—to have another KET in the room.
Like, no matter how far I’ve wandered since college, that little thread still ties us together.
Andi sent her reels, Sofie worked her mysterious sister discount magic, but seeing Anna here, focused and so sure of her craft, makes it feel real.
I sit down, tug the robe tighter, and let her fuss with partings and sprays. For once, I don’t have to stress that I’ll mess it up and it’ll just end up in a clip on top of my head. All I have to do is sit still, breathe, and let someone else work her magic.