18. Dash
EIGHTEEN
DASH
Fresh out of the shower, hair damp, jersey swapped for a suit jacket, I walk the gauntlet.
Teammates slap my back, knuckles thudding against my arm as I thread my way through the locker room.
“Sterling! Hatty!”
“Hell yeah, Dash!”
“About damn time!”
Feels good. Feels better than good. It feels like flying, like I could’ve skated circles around Diesel all night. But the real high? Not the hats raining down, not the final buzzer. It’s knowing I told her to feel me out there, and she did. My girl fucking did, from a thousand miles away.
Then my four closest boys—Killer, Faulker, Koa, and Deacon—start trash-talking.
“Better nail it down, Sterling,” Faulker says, wagging a finger. “Word gets out that Pembrooke’s like a hockey genie in a bottle, everyone’s gonna be rubbing one off, thinking about her?—”
“And trying to rub her,” Killer finishes, smirking.
Koa shakes his head like he’s disappointed in me. “You luck into a girl like that, you don’t hesitate. You lock it up.”
Deacon just grins, tossing his towel over his shoulder. “We’re saying: relationship material, wife maybe. And not the kind that waits around forever.”
Before I can snap back, my phone buzzes in my suit pocket. Briar. Video call.
Shit.
I swipe to answer, and her face fills the screen, eyes narrowed like she’s ready to carve me in half.
“You absolute asshole ,” she spits. “You didn’t tell me you’re in love with Noelle.”
I open my mouth to deflect, to joke, to push it off. Except, I don’t. I don’t deny it. And her jaw drops like she’s been waiting for that silence.
“Oh my God. I knew it. I knew it! ”
I rub my forehead, muttering, “Briar, I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait!” she yelps, leaning closer to the camera. “Don’t you dare. You need to know—she’s at Harbor Point Festival. Right now.”
“What?” I ask.
The call doesn’t last much longer, but the tightening in my chest over it gets heavier and heavier.
I call Joel. “Where is she?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Harbor Point. Told me to head back to the city. I didn’t.”
“Good man. Keep it quiet.”
“Boss,” Joel says, “you’re insane.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, “I’m aware.”
I pocket my phone and stride straight to Coach D’s. She’s still in her blazer and heels, arms folded like she’s been expecting me.
“I may have thought I was full of shit when I told you it was a family issue,” I say, “but it turns out it was actually a vision.”
She rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “Sterling, one more line of that poetic garbage, and I’ll bench you, even after that seriously epic game.”
Hours later, Harbor Point is quiet under the November dark. I stand in the yard, phone pressed to my ear, staring up at the row of windows.
She answers on the third ring, groggy. “Dash?”
“Turn on your bedroom light, sweets,” I say, exhausted and looking up at the second story, “so I don’t Spiderman my way into the wrong room.”
A pause. Then muffled laughter, like she’s trying not to wake the house. “You’re like seriously deranged.”
“Insanely determined,” I counter. My eyes never leave the row of windows, waiting. “So? Light, please. Give me a sign.”
Another pause, longer this time, like she’s weighing whether to hang up on me or play along. My stomach knots—ridiculous for a guy who just scored a hat trick—but then, finally, the soft glow of a lamp flickers on.
Second window from the left, curtains shift. And there she is, framed in pale yellow light, hair mussed, face bare, wrapped in something that looks too much like my shirt for me to think straight.
My chest tightens. She’s perfect like this—unguarded, real.
“See?” I murmur into the phone, gaze locked on hers across the dark yard. “Found you.”
She presses her lips together, shaking her head at me, but I catch the small smile she can’t quite swallow.
“I have not stayed here in this house more than a handful of times. The last was the night of my father’s funeral.”
“Yeah.” I run my hand through my hair. “Sorry, gorgeous. I wanna hear all about it. I need to talk to you about something, too.”
She walks away, not saying anything, but I hear her breathing. Then I see a door open, and she leans out and waves me in.
“You just fucked up my grand gesture.”
“I just saved you from your season ending early,” she says, then hangs up the phone.
The front door creaks just enough to make me hesitate before I slip through the hallway like I belong here. The house smells like cedar and something faintly floral.
I follow her through the house, looking for anything that hints at what my gut is telling me as I follow her up the stairs, her bare legs peeking from beneath my shirt. The sight damn-near buckles me.
The first door on the landing opens to her room. She backs in, cautious, and I follow, pulling the door shut behind me with a quiet click and locking it.
“You,” she starts, eyes bright, “played amazingly tonight, Dash. A hat trick?—”
I don’t let her finish.
I cup her face, tilt it up, and crash my mouth to hers. It’s deep, scorching, a kiss that’s all hunger, need, and pent-up hours of pretending I could wait. She gasps against me, her fingers fisting in the lapels of my jacket, and I press closer, devouring the sound.
When we finally break, both of us breathing hard, I don’t let go. I rest my forehead against hers, eyes shut, heart pounding like I’m still on the ice.
“God, Noelle,” I murmur, voice rough. “You undo me.”
“And you terrify me,” she says, barely a whisper, and I pull her into a hug.
“Let’s make a deal, sweets.”
She looks up dazed and blinks. “A deal?”
“Yeah. A game. I tell you something deep, you tell me something deep. No edits. No bullshit. We’ll call it”—I pause, smirking faintly—“ the vault. Once it’s in, it’s locked. Just you and me know about it.”
She searches my face like she’s waiting for me to crack a grin, to let her off the hook. But I don’t. I need to do this.
She toys with the hem of my shirt, nervous. “And what if I don’t want to play?”
“Then I’ll just keep feeding you my secrets until you do.”
Her laugh is soft, incredulous, but she nods. “All right, Sterling. You go first.”
I inhale, steadying myself, because this isn’t locker room banter. It’s the shit I don’t say out loud. “You saw the festival tonight, right? Harbor lights, the boats, the cider stands?”
Her eyes widen, but she nods. “Briar?”
I nod, drawing in a breath. “My parents met there. Dad was the golden boy from an old-money family—Harrington royalty. Mom was the girl serving cider at one of the stalls, trying to make tuition money. He saw her, walked away from all the girls lined up in sequins and pearls, and picked her. Just like that.”
Noelle’s lips part, but I keep going, because once I start, I can’t stop.
“They hated it—his parents. Called her beneath him, a mistake. They cut him off. He didn’t care.
They got married, anyway, had me, and for a while, it was good.
Better than good.” My throat tightens, but I force it down.
“But Mom made him visit sometimes. Said he’d regret it if he didn’t.
He took me a few times, just me. I’d sit in that big cold house while they looked at me like I was dirt, not relation.
When I caught on to why Mom wouldn’t go, I stopped going. I think I was like five or six.”
I rake my hand through my hair, pushing harder now.
“He stopped seeing them, too. However, he and his brothers occasionally met up and went on ski trips. When he died, the old bat didn’t know about the trips and was pissed.
Said they betrayed her. But she didn’t go after them; she went after Mom.
Accused her of trapping him, stealing him, destroying the family legacy.
I told her it was her fault. Flipped out. ”
Her hand cups my cheek, “Brave even then.”
I push into her touch. “She fucked with me hard after that. I didn’t make leagues around here, got treated like shit at school.
Mom moved us, never asked for a cent. Mom got married, and she backed off.
Didn’t take long to realize he was a dick and uh, divorced.
Worked her ass off raising me and my sisters.
” I shake my head. “I didn’t like the idea of you being here, one of these fat-wallet fucks finding out we have a connection and trying to ruin us, or you, or?—”
“I’m fine. I survived my first family function without knowing I had Dad to go home to, unscathed.”
“Tell me more.”
She tells me how an ex cheated on her, that her stepfather and his father were best friends, and her stepfather was her ex’s godfather.
That she broke up with him, and then, a day later, he OD’d, and that everyone blamed her for his mental state.
She moved in with her father until college started, and he sold his place in Michigan and moved to NYC because she was always fascinated with it.
Her mom, stepdad, and their sons, her brothers, stayed in Michigan until they finally moved here.
She wants a family again, but isn’t sure it can ever be the same or if she can ever truly forgive everything that transpired.
She does it through tears, and I won’t lie and say I don’t get misty-eyed, too.
“Hand to God, Noelle, I’m not going anywhere.”
Tears rolling down her cheeks, she fists my shirt and pulls me toward her, burying her face in my chest, silently sobbing as I hold her closer.
“I’m strong. I am good. It’s just being here and?—”
“Let’s leave.” I thumb away tears from her pretty face. “Let’s you and I just head?—”
“I promised my brothers I would do that stupid turkey trot thing tomorrow. I haven’t promised them anything since back then. I won’t break it.”
“I’m staying until you fall asleep then.”
She smiles up at me. “You need sleep, super star.”
“That was all you.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Convince me otherwise.”
I move us to her bed and pull back the covers. She climbs in and moves over to one side.
“You inviting me into your bed?” I ask.
She yawns and nods. Shit’s contagious, so I yawn as I shrug off my jacket and slide in.
“I know you don’t remember this from last night.”
She literally pinches my freaking lips together, which makes me laugh, but doesn’t shut me up.
“Your head goes here, unless you wanna try a new position, and I can big spoon you from behind.”
She yawns as she smiles, fucking eyes shining in the moonlight, smile on her face, as she releases my lips and does the sweetest thing—kisses me, real damn soft. “I’m sorry you came here and had to face that hurt again.”
I pull her head to my chest. “I fucking adore you, Pembrooke.”
She melts into me. “I kind of adore you, too, Sterling.”
After a few moments of silence, she asks, “Question?”
“That open book thing?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ask me anything. I wanna be your favorite book, remember?”
“Why are you calling me Pembrooke now?”
“We’re a team now.”
“Yay us.”
“Tell me you were a cheerleader.”
“Head cheerleader.”
“Your ex?”
She stiffens a bit.
“Shit, I’m sorry. Tell me he didn’t play hockey.”
“Football. Was supposed to go to Notre Dame.”
“This is a rare case where I don’t know what to say.”
She does the lip thing again. “Night.”
I hold her hand over my mouth and kiss her palm. “Only sweet dreams for you from now on, Noelle Pembrooke.”
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” I hear right before a door closes.
I crack open an eye, see the sun is coming up, and spring up. “Morning, sweets. I am so sorry. I’m good with a window exit.”
She holds up my shoes. “These were outside my door. Did you really take off your shoes before I snuck you in?”
“Habit. Shit.”
“Fifteen-minute warning,” someone sing-songs from outside the door.
Noelle shakes her head then starts shaking her hands.
Spirit fingers?
I get up and erase the space between us.
“Morning, Pembrooke.” I kiss her quickly. “All righty, got a few questions that need answers to determine how to come up with a play.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Whole family going to trot with turkeys?”
She narrows those brown eyes at me and nods.
“Easy then. I’ll just hang in here until you all leave. Shoot me a text when it’s all clear.”
She holds up my shoes.
I scrub a hand over my face, trying not to crack a smile I know would not be appreciated.
She arches a brow.
I pop a kiss on her forehead. “Tell them they’re your lucky running shoes?”
She shoves them against my chest and stomps—rather silently, might I add—toward what I assume is her bathroom, reminding me that I really have to piss.
I scope out her room in the daylight and wonder if she picked out any of this. It just doesn’t feel like Noelle at all. Not one worn book in the space. No pile of clothes in a basket. No cat. Nothing Noelle.
I freeze when I hear movement behind me, then a whispered, “What the hell, Ethan? I said to leave it alone.”
The door closes behind me, and I still don’t move.
I’m not delusional; I know there is no way they didn’t see me. I mean, not only am I in the middle of the room, but I’m six-foot-three and two hundred and thirty-seven pounds.
“What’s the big deal, anyway? You sneak girls in all the time, Caleb. I never tell.”
I hear a smack then a scuffle and turn around as I see them pushing each other.
“Yo,” I say in a low voice, hoping no one outside of this room—or in the bathroom—hears.
Both stop and look at me. The older one shakes his head, and the younger one elbows him.
“Told you, fuckstick.”
“Look, I fell asleep while we were talking.”
Caleb nods, Ethan eyes me. Or is it the other way around? Not that it matters. The older one’s not buying it; the younger one is.
“I was supposed to leave when she fell asleep.”
“She still having nightmares?” the older one asks, lowered voice— Caleb .
“Would they be bad enough to wake me up?” I ask, and he confirms with a nod. “No, or I wouldn’t still be here, right?”
“You’d leave her if she had a nightmare?” Ethan crosses his arms.
I shake my head. “Fair point.”
He smiles.
“My issue is she’s kind of upset that I left my shoes at the door and fell asleep.”
“Mom wouldn’t have been.” Ethan shrugs. “Not about the shoe thing. She’d be more upset if you wore them inside.”
“Yeah, about that.” I shake my head. “I’m not sure we’re at the stage in our relationship where I wanna chance a meet the fam catastrophe, and again, I’m in the dog house, so can you maybe not say anything to her or your folks?”
“How are they gonna not see you walk down the stairs and out the door?” Caleb shakes his head.
“Thinking I’d leave after you all did. Lock up behind me. No one will know and, most importantly, she won’t feel awkward.”
“You come for Thanksgiving and bring her, and we got a deal.”
“Right, about that …” I grip the back of my neck. “I already have plans with my mom and sisters. Anything else I can barter with?”