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B rady, Quinn, and Troye for some reason, have joined in on Claire and Kelly’s jubilance and are now dancing around Noah, slapping his back and shoulders like he’s a candy-stuffed pinata. With all my heart I’m trying to smile through my tears. To pretend they are those of joy and not complete devastation.

To be happy for him.

And part of me is. I’m just so numb, I haven’t figured out where that elation is hiding.

It’s not in my heart for sure, for sure. How could it be when that worn, brittle shell of an organ has shattered into a thousand pieces.

Till he’s blue in the face Noah will tell me we can stay together. That there’s vacations and video calls and sexy texting. But I’m no fool. I know with all that is coming his way that can only last so long. I know what’s around the corner.

Another bunny season for him.

Another birthday alone for me.

Reality burrows under my skin, slithering its way to my lungs and forcing a husky gasp to escape. It’s hollow, heavy with sadness and so loud five bodies halt their dance moves and part to reveal Noah looking as haunted as I feel, a lifeless figure betwixt the spirited.

“Tell me to stay, Lotte,” he says, bursting free of the pack, and lunging to take my hands in his. “Tell me to stay and I will. Leaving you doesn’t feel right.”

“No, it doesn’t.” I sob, gripping tighter. “But keeping you here wouldn’t either. You have to go.”

“Of course he does.” Claire inserts herself into the conversation with a - what the hell are you talking about - implied snort removed of its once passive-aggressive edge and pulls me into the fray.

Of course he does. I think to myself as the circle dance resumes, this time with Noah and I clinging to each other in its center. My tics are out of control, but I have neither the want nor energy to suppress them. Besides, Noah, who can somehow see or feel, squeezes me tighter and whispers sweetly into my ear and I never want him to stop.

Along with his warm breath and fresh soap scent, grief skitters over me. But trailing it is an odd sense of calm as I watch Noah fuss over him.

Over us.

“You two are going to be the next hockey power couple,” Brady laughs.

“You’re going to run Tampa.”

“Noah and Lotte, King and Queen of the ice.” Adds Claire, her maniacal smile oddly endearing. “I’m so proud of you both.”

And that’s when it hits me.

She’s proud of us.

Us.

They may have been looped into my life because of him but they are here. Just as I refuse to have a relationship with the man genetically coded as my father, I can choose and fight to maintain a relationship with them.

Yes, he will be gone.

Yes, I will be without him.

But I won’t be alone, because yes, they are Noah’s people, but they are my people, too.

In the dark cavern of dread, a tiny flame of hope ignites.

The smile I wear may initially have been forced, but as Noah, Brady and Troye take on the Not-So-Oldies, Cole, White and Harris in the Player vs Oldie race, it comes naturally. Coach Cole has already quit, waving off the young ones with a huffed laugh, as he glides behind them hands on knees so he can suck air into his exhausted lungs.

Coach White seems like he’s not too far off joining him, but Quinn’s dad, who regularly competes in drills alongside his team, is doing an admiral job of keeping up. He passes Brady then closes in on Troye and Noah. The latter glances over his shoulder, sees him gaining, and laughs so hard I can see him shake from here. Over my dead body, I imagine him thinking. The thought has barely passed when bam! The thick thighs I love to have wrapped around me set to work. Exploding in a phenomenal burst of speed, Noah has the already pumped crowd practically levitating.

Caught up in the moment I rise to my feet, eyes stinging with the tears of pride, joy and sorrow descending my cheeks. “Go Noah!”

Calling out for him is pointless, I know he can’t hear me, but that doesn’t stop me. I holler till my voice is hoarse then fall back in to my seat and weep the very moment he hits the lead. It’s the last time I’ll see him on the ice here at home but I just can’t stand to watch a minute longer. Commentating as I bury my head in my hands, Claire does her best to rub comforting circles into my back while absolutely losing her shit. It’s succinctly one of the best, most fun and horrible moments of my life.

“They’re on the last bend now, Lotte, almost done and Noah is still in the —” Things go from loud to deafening when the goal horn begins to blast. In the reflection of my half empty soda at my feet I see maroon and gold pulsations of the scoreboard and look up to see giant white News Flash, News Flash, scrolling across the screen.

“What’s going on?” I ask Claire, my voice barely audible over the arena noise.

She shakes her head and scans the crowd. “No idea.”

Well versed in tuning out the world around them, the skaters pay little to attention to the changing atmosphere, but the crowd? Oh, the crowd definitely are. I’m looking down at the bench, searching for Marty amongst the players and officials when one by one their mouths fall open and a blood curdling scream exits.

That’s when the chant begins.

“Noah is a B. Noah is a B. Noah is a B.”

“Noah is a what?” I get no reply from Claire who is hysterically jumping all over her equally enthused wife, and when I return my gaze to the Ice, Noah, who’s won the race that no one gives a hoot about, seems just as clueless. Realizing this, his adoring fans alter the chant, “Noah, read the screen. Read the screen.”

In unison, Noah and I turn to the scoreboard, finding the photo that’s plastered on billboards all over campus and Chestnut Hill. There’s one major difference, though. His beloved Bears jersey is gone, replaced by the familiar black, gold and white of Boston and beneath it, a tagline, Tampa trades untested rookie winger, Noah Petterson, to the Boston B’s.

“Oh my God!” My body reacts before my logic does and I’m off. Quinn is beside me, acting as bodyguard, laying waste to any simpleton in my way. “NOAH!” I cry, heart pounding, I clear the last row of seats like an Olympic hurdler and plastering myself against the Plexiglas.

“NOAH!” Of course, the race finished on the far side of the rink, but he spots me straight away and takes off, tossing his gloves and helmet as he skates towards the bench. The sea of faces I see him leap the boards, speak and embrace Coach Cole, then Marty before he’s on the move again, face straining as he climbs the railing that separates fans from players. Not an easy task at the best of times, but especially not while wearing skates.

It’s there, surrounded by strangers that seem to know my name, that our bodies collide. Slick with sweat, cheeks a glow, his hair hangs in his crinkling eyes as his lip forms that delicious grin that melts me. Laughing, he sweeps me off my feet and into his arms, kissing me so hard I forget my name.

“Boston?” I pant when the annoying need for oxygen forces us apart, “You’re staying in Boston?”

“Yeah. I mean, I have no idea how or why but, yeah, little D. Looks like I’m staying in Boston.”