New York Type of Love: Matt Rempe

Two weeks later.

The second round was over. Just like that, half the league's remaining dreams were crushed—and for some, those dreams had felt like destiny.

Nova stood on the ice at Madison Square Garden, the buzz of the crowd still echoing in her ears even though the game had ended nearly an hour ago. Her cheeks hurt from smiling. Her phone buzzed endlessly in the pocket of her jacket, congratulatory texts pouring in faster than she could read them. The New York Rangers had done it. They were heading to the Eastern Conference Finals.

The weight of the moment should've felt lighter.

She looked around the rink, at the sea of blue and red, the fans still lingering in their seats, reluctant to leave. Reporters gathered near the tunnel, waiting for quotes and soundbites. Brady was one of the last guys off the ice, skating around with that boyish grin he always got when things went right. This was the dream—her dream—coming true right in front of her.

But her heart felt heavier than it should.

Because while her team was moving forward, her brother wasn't.

Quinn's season with the Canucks had ended the night before in Edmonton, a bitter Game 6 loss that sent the Oilers through to the Western Conference Final and left Vancouver stunned. Nova had stayed up late, watching from her hotel room, heart in her throat as the minutes ticked down. She saw the way Quinn pressed his lips together during the final faceoff, the way he hunched over as the horn sounded, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of it all.

She knew how badly he'd wanted it—how much of himself he poured into every shift, every game, every quiet, unseen moment of the grind.

Now it was over. Just like that.

She'd sent him a message after the final buzzer. Simple.

Proud of you. Always.

He hadn't replied yet.

"Nova!" a voice called. She turned as Braden jogged over, cheeks flushed, hair damp with sweat. He grinned as he reached her, arms opening wide. "Conference Finals, baby!"

She managed a smile and wrapped her arms around him, holding on just a second longer than usual.

He pulled back, still buzzing. "You were unreal tonight. That block in the third? I swear I stopped breathing."

She laughed quietly. "Gotta keep the dream alive."

"You are the dream right now," Braden said, nudging her shoulder. But then his voice dropped, gentle. "How's Quinn?"

Nova's throat tightened. She gave a small shrug. "Haven't heard yet. I think he just needs some space."

Braden nodded, his hand brushing her back in quiet comfort. "He'll come around. He knows how proud you are of him."

Nova looked up at the scoreboard one last time before turning toward the tunnel. The win was real. The dream was alive. But family always had a way of grounding her—reminding her what truly mattered.

The Rangers were four wins away from the Stanley Cup Final. And she was going to give everything she had to help them get there.

But tonight, when she got back to her apartment, the first thing she was going to do was call her brother.

Even if he didn't want to talk.

Later that night

Nova unlocked the door to Matt and her apartment, dropped her gear bag by the entryway with a groan. Her legs ached, and adrenaline still hummed faintly in her veins. She could smell the faint scent of takeout and candles, something warm and comforting that made the whole place feel safe.