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It would be like showing up at a wedding uninvited, but a million times worse. Because I’d be crashing the Stanley Cup celebration on live television with an audience of millions of viewers.

“Yes, you can. My brother’s the GM, and Bryn would want you to be there for Frasier. You can film it for her. Better yet, call her on FaceTime if she’s up to it.”

“Good idea,” I said, though I had reservations.

As much as I wanted to be there for Frasier, as badly as I wanted to celebrate with Carson, I didn’t want to intrude on his moment. He’d earned this; they all had.

“Are you sure about this?” I hedged as we neared the edge of the tunnel that led to the ice. Two men in suits were carrying the Cup across the carpeted path, white gloves on to protect the trophy. “What will Carson think? This seems like a moment for family.”

“Lo,” Georgia chided. “Do you see any of Carson’s family here?” She made a point of glancing around.

“I…” I scanned the area, but no one was paying us any attention.

Even if no one else knew I was there to support Carson, he would. And I’d be making a significant statement about what he meant to me, about our relationship.

I wanted to be there for him, but it also felt like stepping onto the ice would be crossing over an invisible boundary. I’d already obliterated the “only one night” rule. And now it felt as if I was going to ignore the “no strings” rule as well.

Am I ready for that?

“Be there for him.” She placed her hand on my arm. “Like he was there for you. It’s what he would want.”

She was right. I knew she was right.

We watched as the NHL Commissioner took to the ice to make a speech. All the guys were lined up, wearing matching Stanley Cup championship hats. Their arms were around each other, and I could see the pride shining through their smiles. Several wiped tears from their cheeks, and I felt just as emotional watching them bask in the moment.

“Gabriel Ortega, come on up,” the commissioner said, grinning.

Gabe skated over, joining the commissioner in front of the trophy before shaking his hand. As they lifted the Cup together, spark plumes fizzled behind them. Reporters and camera operators hovered in the background, some on skates.

The Walter Cup presentation had been similar, but the audience here was definitely bigger. The scale of everything was larger, and I could only hope that one day, women’s hockey would draw a crowd like this.

That said, we were on our way. My social media accounts had been blowing up since last summer, and I knew that Carson’s tips were partially to thank. But it was more than that. There’d been a cultural shift—more people were acknowledging the talent of women athletes and seeking out our games.

Gabe skated back to the team, hoisting the Cup over his head with a huge smile. The crowd went wild as he skated around with the Cup before handing it off to Frasier. I took a few photos, quickly sending them to Bryn.

Bryn: Thank you! I wish we could be there for Frasier and the guys.

Me: Me too. And I know it’s not the same, but I’m happy to call you on video, if you’re up to it.

Bryn: Yes. That would be amazing! Thank you so much!

Me: I’ll call once we’re allowed on the ice.

The trophy was passed from one teammate to the next. Some of them kissed the Cup, others were crying, and some bellowed, letting out a loud roar.

The passing of the Cup continued until the players were surrounding Coach Cross, who had tears in his eyes. I took a picture and sent it to Emerson since she couldn’t make it to the game. We’d texted a lot over the last few months, speaking on the phone several times. She was just as warm and authentic as she seemed online, and it was nice to meet someone who remained grounded despite their fame. We were hoping to meet up this summer while I was in town, and she’d invited me to join her and some friends for yoga.

Georgia’s brother, Daniel, hoisted the Cup next. At thirty-three, he was one of the youngest general managers in the league. He’d played a huge role in building this team and getting them to this moment. Georgia squeezed my hand, joy radiating through her touch. I imagined what it would be like to watch my own brother hoist the Cup and the pride I’d feel.

And then Atlas Rawlins, the team owner, lifted the Cup, practically tossing it into the air. Damn. He was more built than I’d expected, and I laughed at his exuberance. But Georgia didn’t seem amused. She turned away just as the team was being ushered into position for photos. Security had stepped aside now that the official presentation was over.

As we emerged onto the ice, a shiver went through me. This. This moment was everything I could’ve dreamed of as a little girl, except I would’ve been the one playing on the winning team instead of watching from the sidelines. But somehow, I felt as if I was part of it. As if their victory was also mine.

I snapped some pictures and sent them to my mom, knowing this moment would mean the most to her.

As promised, I called Bryn, and her face popped up on the screen, tired but happy. Morgan rested on her chest, her head nestled against Bryn’s skin.

“How are you?” I asked.