25. Noelle
TWENTY-FIVE
NOELLE
The Icehouse is buzzing, louder than usual, the kind of energy that only follows a win by one. The place is packed wall-to-wall with jerseys, fans still high off the game, and every table crammed with people talking too loudly over the music. I have always loved this energy.
Our crew claimed the “bunny tables”—the prime real estate right in front of the section the players always take over after home games.
Not tonight. Sofie’s sharp elbows and Nalani’s death stare made sure of that.
So, here we are, all of us shoulder-to-shoulder: me, Sof, Nalani, Claudia, my family and Dash’s, which still blows my mind.
My phone buzzes on the table, another text from Briar and Celeste, who keep sending photos they took from Sofie’s box at the arena, proof that our families blended tonight like we’ve been doing this for years.
I can’t stop staring at the picture; I just can’t stop smiling.
They’re all here. They’re all mine and his.
No past trauma can take that away a future that seems like it was written in the stars.
Stars so bright even bunny glares can’t dim them …
The roar goes up when the guys walk in, loud enough to rattle glasses on the bar. All of them in suits, all still wearing that game-day swagger, hair damp from quick showers, faces flushed from the high of the win.
Dash spots me first, eyes locking with mine. He pulls off his suit jacket, revealing a jersey, number one embroidered on the front. He winks as he walks by and …
“Oh my God,” Celeste gasps, smacking Briar’s arm. “Pembrooke!”
Briar’s already snapping photos, her grin so wide it has to hurt. “He wore your name! That’s not just hockey hottie material; that’s husband energy.”
Across the table, Nalani fans herself with the drink menu. “Okay, I take it back. Sterling might be my favorite after all.”
Sofie lets out a low whistle, leaning closer to me with a wicked smile. “Girl, if you don’t marry that man, I will. He’s the definition of book-boyfriend material, and he just turned it real.”
My mom’s cheeks are pink, her hand pressed to her mouth, but her eyes are shining. “He’s … he’s really something, Noelle.”
“Something?” Celeste laughs. “He’s everything. That’s a declaration, right there.”
I try to keep my cool, but my face is hot, my chest full, and my heart’s hammering. The bunnies at the next table can glare all they want. Let them. Because Dash Sterling just put my name on his back like a badge, like a vow.
I watch him send me a text.
Dash
That was all you. The rest, no less a declaration, but make no mistakes about it, it started with Noelle fucking Pembrooke.
I smile, although a bit confused.
Dash
Sweets, wait for it.
The rest of the guys walk in. Leo Stone strides by first, tugging his blazer free to reveal“ RHODES ”stitched across his back. Riley beams from our table, cheeks flushed, while the rest of us clap and holler.
Evan Smith is next, his jersey proud with“ KOSTA ”across it. His wife elbows him when he smirks, but she can’t hide how glassy her eyes go.
Then 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 gives his Coach D two thumbs up in V’s, yelling, “Go lady lions!” His wife was the number one women’s hockey player the year they graduated. Even Coach D can’t hold back a grin.
Not to be outdone, Rivera raises his and …
“What the hell is he wearing?” Sofie laughs.
“That would be my leotard from my Lincoln gymnastics days,” she says calmly, then yells, “You better not have cut the crotch out of that!”
Laughing as he slows to kiss Nalani, Koa’s up next, shrugging off his jacket like it’s nothing, “ KāNE ” arcs across his back, and Nalani actually covers her face with both hands before laughing through the tears. “I take it back. KOK will always be my favorite!”
By now, the Icehouse is in full eruption mode—stomping, clapping, whistling. The whole place is buzzing with a rhythm I can feel in my chest.
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 like a curtain dropped. 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. And one my man, Dash Sterling.
Dash gets shoved up first, because of course he does. He lifts his pint, eyes glinting as they find mine across the room. “To women who make our sticks magic,” he says, grin spreading slowly.
The place erupts—howls, whistles, even a boo from … my mom.
Dash scans the crowd and sees her. “I’m so sorry, Maryanne. I didn’t even see you all came. Thanks?”
The guys laugh harder. My face burns, but I can’t stop smiling.
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 my mom. “Sorry, Maryanne.” He winks at his wife and points to her. “As you.”
The room goes feral, beer spraying out of someone’s nose two tables over.
Mom covers her face and starts laughing.
Leo Stone rises, ever the straight man, until the smirk cracks through. He says, low and deadly, “May every goal leave a mark they don’t forget.”
The bar roars like he scored again right there. They love their captain.
He nods to Deacon. “Your 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, steady enough. “On the ice”—his eyes shift, finding Claudia—“and off.”
Oh. My. God.
The noise dips, everyone waiting for the punchline. But it doesn’t come.
Instead, he shrugs off his jacket, and the bar gasps as one. Across his back, stitched boldly is, HOLLOWAY.”
She shakes her head, smiling, playing the role, but when her eyes fill with tears, I know this is so much more to her.
Moretti steps forward, sets his glass aside, and drops to one knee right in front of her.
“Claudia Holloway,” he says, voice thick but sure, “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 a princess. ”
The roar that follows shakes the walls, stomping, clapping, shouts of yes , drowning out everything else.
Claudia’s crying, laughing, and nodding. “Yes!”
Moretti slides the ring on her finger, stands, and pulls her in for a hug.
The Icehouse is bedlam—cheers shaking the walls, people stomping, Claudia crying into Moretti’s chest while everyone around us raises glasses and yells to the rafters. It’s one of those moments you want to bottle up forever.
And then it shatters.
A shriek rips through the crowd—Briar’s voice, unmistakable and already pitched to nuclear. I whip my head just in time to see her launching herself into a knot of women at the edge of the bar. Hair flying, chairs scraping, drinks toppling.
“Oh no,” Celeste groans. “Here we go.”
Rick—bless him—is already in the fray, trying to peel Briar back, but she’s flailing like an untamed animal, heels kicking, hands clawing, mouth going .
“Late-term abortions!” she bellows as Rick hauls her half sideways. “Old bitches with cave-size crotches?—”
The crowd gasps, half-horror, half-entertainment, and I lose it. I’m doubled over, laughter tearing out of me in gasps I can’t stop.
Briar’s still at it, her hair wild, her fists windmilling as she keeps yelling, even while Rick’s got her practically thrown over his shoulder.
“Bitches pulling out my hair ’cause they can’t afford extensions!
’Cause their broke asses are blowing all their cash on a rotation of morning after pills and STD meds! ”
A slap cracks in the mess, and someone shoves her back, but she doesn’t stop. “That’s right, honey; better hit me while you still got a free hand between doses!”
People are shouting, some trying to break it up, others egging it on, and I’m crying with laughter when I get railed from behind. That doesn’t stop me from laughing. Hell, it makes it even more hilarious, and tears are rolling down my cheeks when I right myself and turn to see who shoved me.
“Oh, honey, you overdid the glitter.”
A drink splashes in my face as she screams, “Sterling seemed to like it!”
Why does that make me laugh harder? I don’t know, but it does.
“Bless your heart.”
Dash is suddenly at my side, placing me in front of him and steering us toward the door. “All right, trouble,” he mutters, arm firm around my waist. “You’re not going down in a pile of hair extensions and herpes jokes.”
I’m still laughing, still craning around him to watch Rick wrestle Briar toward the door as she keeps hurling insults like grenades.
“You can’t silence me! Cave crotch! You’re a busted, old, bitter-ass bunny! Own it!”
Dash just shakes his head, half-smiling despite himself, as he drags me out of the mess. “You’re loving this way too much.”
I wheeze out a laugh, clutching his arm. “Because she’s not wrong!”
Within minutes, Dash’s SUV is loaded to capacity with our combined families.
Rick and Dash both stand guard by Sofie’s vehicle as her camera crew wraps up, dealing with the bunnies and the wide-eyed “witnesses” who got more show than they bargained for.
Inside the Icehouse, our team is undoubtedly smoothing things over with the owner.
In here, though? It’s almost silent.
Almost.