Chapter 162 What is he doing?
Chapter 162 What is he doing?
Emma's POV
I've been to enough hockey games to know exactly what to expect.
The roar of the crowd. The smell of popcorn mixed with the sharp chill that rolls off the ice. Fans arguing over predictions before the puck has even dropped, music blasting through the speakers while cameras search the stands for people willing to embarrass themselves on the jumbotron.
None of that surprises me anymore.
What feels different today is who I'm experiencing it with.
Dawn sits comfortably on my lap in the tiniest Montreal jersey imaginable, her little head turning from side to side as she tries to take in everything happening around us. Every few seconds her eyes grow wider, as if she's wondering why thousands of grown adults have suddenly decided shouting indoors is perfectly acceptable.
I can't help smiling.
"This," I whisper, kissing the top of her head, "is your daddy's office."
She blinks up at me with complete seriousness before reaching over and grabbing a fistful of my hair.
"Ow."
I wince dramatically.
"Okay. I guess you're not impressed."
The woman sitting beside me laughs, and I gently untangle my hair from Dawn's determined little fingers.
The lights suddenly dim, sending a ripple of excitement through the arena. One by one, conversations die away until they're replaced by something even louder. Anticipation.
Music pounds through the speakers as spotlights begin sweeping across the ice.
Player introductions.
The home crowd erupts every time another Montreal player skates onto the rink, each cheer somehow louder than the last.
Then…
"Dylan Sterling!"
The entire arena explodes.
My heart does too.
He skates onto the ice with effortless confidence, the captain's C stitched proudly across his chest as he raises his stick to acknowledge the crowd. He glides around the rink like he belongs here, completely at ease beneath thousands of screaming voices.
God.
I'll never get used to how good he looks out there.
Then, somewhere in the middle of his lap around the ice, he looks toward our section.
His eyes find mine almost instantly.
Even from this far away, I know the exact moment it happens.
His smile changes.
It softens.
He gives me the smallest nod, so subtle most people would never notice it.
But I do.
I've always noticed the little things about him.
"Dada!"
Dawn suddenly squeals, bouncing excitedly against me as she points toward the ice.
I laugh despite myself.
"Traitor."
She learned to say Dada before Mama.
I carried her for nine months. I went through labour. I fed her, changed her, rocked her to sleep through countless nights, and somehow the very first word she decided was worth learning...
...was Dada.
Sometimes I still pretend to be offended. Today, though… I'll let it slide.
The game starts at a pace that almost makes my head spin.
The puck flies across the ice so quickly I lose track of it more than once. Bodies slam into the boards hard enough to make the glass shake, sticks clash, skates carve sharp white lines into the ice, and every time someone gets knocked down, the entire crowd reacts before I even realize what's happened.
I still don't understand every rule.
But I understand Dylan.
The way he reads the ice before anyone else. The calm decisions he makes under pressure. The way his teammates instinctively look for him whenever the game starts slipping out of their control.
Watching him play never gets old.
Every time the puck finds his stick, my heartbeat seems to pause with it.
More than once, I catch him glancing toward our section between plays.
He's checking on us.
Checking on Dawn.
Checking that we're still here.
I smile and give him a tiny wave whenever he looks over. He obviously can't wave back in the middle of a championship game. But somehow, I know he sees me.
When the final buzzer sounds, the arena erupts.
Montreal wins.
The sound is almost deafening.
Fans leap to their feet, strangers hug each other like lifelong friends, blue-and-white towels spin wildly through the air, and the entire building seems to shake beneath the weight of everyone's celebration.
Before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm on my feet too. "That's my boyfriend!"
The words leave my mouth so loudly that the woman beside me bursts into laughter.
“Sterling is your boyfriend?” she snorts. “Yeah, dream on.”
I shake my head, knowing she wouldn't understand. Not her fault anyway.
Out on the ice, complete chaos breaks loose. Gloves are thrown into the air, sticks scatter across the rink, and players pile onto each other in celebration.
Then someone places the championship trophy into Dylan's hands.
My chest tightens.
He lifts it high above his head, and the roar that follows is unlike anything I've ever heard.
I clap until my palms sting, tears blurring my vision before I even realize they're there.
"You did it," I whisper, my voice catching. "You actually did it."
This is it.
The emotional climax of tonight. The moment we'll talk about years from now whenever someone asks us where we were when Dylan won his first championship as captain.
Or at least...
I think it is.
Because as the celebration continues, the players slowly begin skating away to join their families and teammates.
Everyone except Dylan.
He doesn't move.
I frown.
What is he doing?
One of the presenters skates over and hands him a microphone. Almost instantly, every camera in the arena swings toward him, and the giant screen hanging above the rink fills with his face. The crowd, still buzzing from the victory, gradually begins to quiet.
Dylan rubs the back of his neck.
"Okay..." His voice echoes through the entire arena. "So..."
He lets out a nervous laugh, looking almost painfully out of place despite having just lifted a championship trophy.
"I'm about to do something really crazy."
The crowd cheers immediately.
He smiles, shaking his head.
"...Wish me luck."
A strange feeling settles low in my stomach. When he starts skating toward our section, my smile slowly disappears.
Hell no. Surely he isn't…
The cameras follow him the entire way. Then the giant screen changes.
To me.
"Oh my God."
I sit up so fast I nearly jostle Dawn.
"Dylan," I mutter through a smile that suddenly feels frozen in place. "What are you doing?"
He reaches the boards directly below us and looks up.
"What are you doing?" I hiss under my breath. "Everyone can see us."
He brings the mic down and smiles. "That's the point."
"What point?"
"I want everyone to witness this."
My heart stops.
Before I can even process what he means, arena staff hurry over and unlock the gate beside our section.
Dylan doesn't take his eyes off me. "I need you to come down here."
Around us, the cheering grows louder, people already realizing something is happening. My legs feel strangely unsteady as I carefully make my way toward the ice with Dawn in my arms. The lights are blinding. Thousands of faces are staring straight at me.
I want the ice to crack open and swallow me whole.
The moment I reach him, Dylan gently lifts Dawn from my arms, kisses her forehead, then carefully passes her to a member of staff waiting nearby. Only after she's safely settled does he turn back to me.
His fingers find mine and he lifts the microphone again.
"Ladies and gentlemen..." His voice is steadier now. "Most of you know me because of hockey."
A cheer ripples through the arena.
"But the best moments of my life never happened on the ice." He looks in my direction and everything inside me goes still. "They happened because of her.”