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The two of them reach across the table and squeeze each other's hands, and something unknots between them. Closure. A long time coming.

James chooses that moment to raise his glass like a conductor with a champagne flute. "Alright, alright. Before we start throwing breadsticks at each other, I have a toast."

We all lift our glasses, bracing.

James clears his throat dramatically. "To the Acers! To sweat, blood, blocked shots, broken sticks, delayed flights, sketchy hotel pillows, and to Parker’s eyebrows, which somehow survive every game without moving."

Laughter erupts.

Parker deadpans, "They're insured."

Connor stands next, lifting his glass. "To the people in this room. To the ones who show up, even when they don’t have to. To the women who keep us grounded and make life off the ice worth something more."

Haley pretends to wipe a tear. "That was almost poetic. Who helped you write it?"

He kisses her cheek in reply.

Alex is next. He stands with his glass, tossing a wink Nina’s way. “To the Acers, for being the most stubborn, ridiculous, lovable group of guys I’ve ever played with. To Coach, for yelling at us just enough to scare us straight. And to Nina, who somehow manages to fix our heads without smashing them in. I don’t know what kind of wizardry that is, but I’m pretty sure it involves caffeine, patience, and blackmail.”

Laughter ripples through the table, and Nina rolls her eyes with a fond smirk. Alex continues, a little softer now, "Seriously though, thank you for keeping me sane this year. This team wouldn’t be where we are without you."

He raises his glass higher. “To good people doing hard things, and who make it look easy.”

Coach Stephens gets up next, glass in hand. The tables quiet.

"This team has fought through hell this season. I’m proud of every damn one of you. Enjoy tonight. You earned it."

A round of heartfelt applause, clinks and murmured cheers follow.

Then it’s my turn. I push back from the table and lift my glass.

"To unexpected turns... and the people who make them worth it."

My gaze lands on Mandy. She smiles, eyes shining.

"Cheers," the table echoes.

Connor tips his glass toward me and says, "That was solid, Jones. Maybe you’ve got a future as a motivational speaker."

"Doubtful," I reply with a smirk, settling into my seat.

Grace is already halfway through a story about Parker getting stuck in a too-small jersey before the game. "He swore it shrunk in the wash, but I swear he just grabbed the wrong size. His biceps were trying to break free like the Hulk."

Haley nearly spits out her drink. "Please tell me someone got a picture."

"I did," Nina says calmly, holding up her phone.

Connor groans. "Group chat. Now."

Laughter swells again as phones buzz with incoming photos. Parker throws up his hands. "It was compression fit!"

"It was circulation cut-off fit," James quips. "I'm surprised you're still upright."

The server arrives with another round of drinks and a massive appetizer platter of wings, sliders, and some fancy-looking flatbread no one touches. The table leans in, arms overlapping, stealing bites and swapping stories.

Mandy leans close and murmurs, "This is wild. I’ve never seen anything like this."

"Team dinners after big wins? It's part roast, part therapy, and part feeding frenzy."