I roll my eyes. "Ember's not just some chick, Jayce. We're here to meet her family. To show them we're worthy of her."
"Yeah, I know," Jayce mutters, a mischievous glint coming into his eyes as he adds, "But if anyone's going to send Ember running for the hills, it's going to be that monstrosity you're wearing."
I follow his gaze to the garish Christmas sweater Mason is sporting. It's a riot of colors, with a 3D reindeer nose that actually lights up. It's hideous enough that I'm starting to think he needs to wear it to our next game. It would certainly distract the other team.
"Hey," Mason protests, "this is festive. Unlike some people's attire." He shoots a pointed look at Jayce.
Jayce grins, unrepentant. "For your information, this leather comes from a factory right next to a Christmas tree farm. It's practically holiday-scented."
"Alright, boys," Carter says, his deep voice cutting through our bickering. "Let's try to act like adults, shall we? We're about to meet our omega's family. Let's leave the fighting for the rink."
His words sober us all.
He's right, of course.
We're all on edge, nervous about this dinner in a way we've never been about anything before. Not even high-stakes playoff games have my stomach in knots like this.
Before I can say anything else, the door swings open, revealing a woman who can only be Ember's mother. She has the same warm brown eyes, the same gentle curve to her lips when she smiles. The resemblance is striking.
"Hello!" she says brightly, her gaze sweeping over us. "You must be Ember's friends from the rink. Come in, come in! It's freezing out there."
Friends.
Okay. She definitely doesn't know what's going on.
We file in, stamping snow from our boots and murmuring thanks. The house is warm and inviting, filled with the scents of cinnamon and pine.
It smells like Christmas.
It smells like home.
I introduce myself, then the rest of the pack, somehow not stumbling over my words. I've never been the type to be nervous about meeting a girl's family, but then, I've never met a girl like Ember, either.
And this time, we're playing for keeps.
"Ember will be down in just a moment," her mother says, ushering us further inside. "She had to take a quick work call. You know how it is with these big competitions coming up."
I nod, even though I don't really know.
None of us do.
We're used to the pressures of professional sports, sure, but figure skating is a whole different world. One that Ember inhabits with a grace and determination.
As we move into the living room, I'm struck by how normal it all feels to be here. There's a Christmas tree in the corner with presents piled beneath it. Family photos line the walls and every available surface.
And everywhere I look, there's Ember.
Ember as a toddler, all chubby cheeks and wild curls. Ember in a neon pink pair of ice skates, wobbling but determined. Ember at what must be her first competition, beaming with pride as she holds up a ribbon.
"That was her first time on the ice," a deep voice says, and I turn to see Ember's father approaching. He's gesturing to the photo I was just admiring. "She was obsessed from that moment on. Couldn't keep her off the rink if we tried."
I smile, warmth blooming in my chest. "Sounds like Ember," I say softly.
Mr. Westbrook nods, a fond smile on his face. "She's always been driven. Knew what she wanted and went after it with everything she had."
The pride in his voice is unmistakable, and I find myself liking him immediately.
This is a man who supports his daughter's dreams. Who celebrates her ambitions instead of trying to stifle them.