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She sighs. “I swear, if this ends with me climbing anything taller than a step stool, I’m blaming love and poor judgment.”

The song ends in a finale that includes some very questionable choreography and a jazz hands flourish. Maybe a high kick. Either that or Shep just needed to adjust his junk. Brogan groans, but he’s smiling. And it hits me like a truck on ice: he needs this.

He needs all of it—people who believe in him. A community that won’t let him fall. And maybe...someone who’ll paint the damn town to remind him he still matters.

The crowd’s still laughing and cheering when the guys come off stage, slapping high fives. Brogan shakes his head, but he’s grinning, all pink in the cheeks and slightly stunned, like someone who got roasted by the people who love him most.

He catches my eye from across the bar. And yeah, my stomach flips like it’s trying out for the Olympics.

I duck back behind the counter to grab a new rag, hoping he didn’t see that heat flash across my face.

Lynsie doesn’t miss a thing. “You good?”

“Define good,” I say, aggressively wiping down a table that’s already clean.

“You’re scrubbing that tabletop like it insulted your mother.”

“It might have. Can’t trust furniture.”

She leans on the edge of the bar, her eyes softening. “You saw it, didn’t you? The way he looked at you?”

I hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. And I felt it. Every damn molecule of it.”

And it’s a lot. It’s not just a crush anymore, not just teenage longing stuck on repeat. This is deeper. Wilder. Terrifying.

Because I can see it so clearly now—he’s scared. About hockey. About what comes next. He talks about the future like it’s this distant thing that might never come. Like he’s bracing for the moment when the lights go out and the cheering stops.

“He’s not quitting,” I say, more to myself than to her. “Not on my watch.”

“Oh boy,” Lynsie mutters, “I know that voice. You’re about to go full rom-com grand gesture, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I glance at the karaoke sign-up sheet. “Is it possible to dedicate a song and also make someone cry in a good way?”

“Not if it’s ‘I Touch Myself.’”

I laugh. “No, something better. Something that says I believe in you. I always have.”

She blinks. “Okay, you’re serious.”

“I need him to know this dream still matters. Thathestill matters. Even if the stats don’t say it. Even if Britt’s nervous and Franklin’s annoyed and Bennett’s being... Bennett.”

“God help us.”

“Look, he needs someone who won’t bail when things get hard. Who sees the version of him that he forgot to remember.”

Lynsie sighs. “You’re going to do something reckless, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

She drains the last of her drink. “Fine. But if this ends in more property damage, I swear I’m getting my own lawyer.”

“Deal.”

I glance at Brogan again. His teammates are chirping him, but his eyes are still on me.

And my heart? It’s not just racing—it’s all in.

I wipe my palms on my jeans for the third time and glance back at Lynsie like I might change my mind. She arches a brow likedon’t even think about it,then points at the karaoke machine like she’s about to launch me off an aircraft carrier.