CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

F inn

This is not going well. If this were going well, Noah would have said yes, and we would be kissing and planning our happily ever after.

But instead, Noah is staring at me as if he's not sure if I'm insane or he's insane.

"I love everything about you," I say desperately, because I'm not going to give up without giving this my best effort. "I love your laugh." I bite my lip. "You're not laughing now of course, but um, I like it when it happens. Which is normally often."

I glance at the arena, conscious of everyone listening to me. People point phones at us, and thousands of rectangles are directed at me. God, how many of them have given better proposals? A lot of them, I bet. Lots of married men here. Lots of married women too.

I suck in a deep breath of air, but the air is cold in my chest. The microphone is cold too, but when I shift position, it screeches. I quickly right it. "I, um, love that we have things in common and enjoy the same things."

This is not Shakespeare, and my mind searches for all the words I want to say, everything that Noah means to me.

"I don't want to spend another day without you," I say finally.

He stares at me, I hope with bewilderment. Or is he trying to figure out how to say no? Should I leave? Give up ?

I think about Coach's recollection about that guy in the restaurant who proposed to his girlfriend, and she said no.

Sometimes people say no.

Was this all in my head? Is Noah puzzled because this was never ever supposed to be forever? My mouth dries further, and I resist the urge to throw the mic on the ice and sprint to the exit and use all my savings to retire to somewhere that doesn't show hockey on TV.

I square my shoulders and jut out my chin. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Noah blinks, and pink floods his cheeks.

"You do?" Noah breathes, and his eyes are so hopeful they make my chest ache with pain.

Relief surges against me, washing away all my doubt, all my fears, and I'm no longer on the verge of tottering. He wants this. I'm certain.

"Yes, baby. I do." My voice no longer trembles, and I smile when I say my next words. "I love you. I want us to remain married. I want us to live happily ever after."

He narrows the distance between us, and the sound of his skates brushing closer and closer to me is the sweetest sound in the world.

"I thought you didn't want anything to do with me," Noah says. "I thought you'd moved on."

"No way. Never."

"But you wanted—" His lower lip trembles.

"I love you so much, baby. I couldn't bear the thought that you were forced to be with me. I wanted a clean slate with you."

"Oh," he exhales, and I wonder if we can kiss now. He's so adorable. And I want him to be mine for the rest of our lives.

"That's sweet," he says finally. "If I'd known..."

"I know." Guilt still rages through me. "I thought you were upset I risked our reputations. I get it now. I'm sorry."

He keeps his large, trusting, green eyes on me.

"Propose!" Someone yells, and the crowd laughs.

I scramble for my ring. I should have given him that to begin with.

Then I fall to my knees, and tears glaze Noah's eyes. He blinks his beautiful long lashes rapidly, and I kiss his fingers.

"Will you stay married to me, Noah Fitzpatrick, and make me the happiest man in the world?"

A slow smile spreads over his face, even more brilliant than I remembered.

"Yes," he breathes. "Yes, Finn. I will stay married to you."

I beam at him, then shout to the audience, "He said yes!"

My voice booms, no longer trembling, carried by all the force of the mic.

Cheers and clapping erupt on every side of me. The arena vibrates with happiness.

Then music plays, and balloons float from the ceiling like planned.

Noah pulls me up from the ice and back into his arms. We spin in a circle, and the world whooshes around us, a flurry of blue and pale blue and white.

I am in my favorite location with my favorite person.

Then something emerges from the crowd. They' re chanting something. No, they're bellowing it.

"Kiss. Kiss. Kiss."

Noah grins, his eyes dancing. "What do you say?"

"Guess we better do it."

I dip Noah down, and my lips find his again, but my heart was always his. His tongue grazes against mine, and I suddenly understand why most people propose in private and not in front of tens of thousands of people, with hundreds of thousands of people able to watch it later.

And God, this video might hit a million views. We are, after all, the only married teammates in professional sports.

I never considered falling for a man, but back then, I'd never met Noah. He is the love of my life. He is my everything.

My teammates swarm the ice, and suddenly we are being encircled by twenty brawny men in skates.

I catch my parents' gazes in the audience. Their eyes dance.

Perhaps Noah and I have been married since Vegas, but we were always aware that our marriage was an accident. We were never certain how much we were pretending to be in love. And now we know.

I'll choose him over and over again.

I wrap my arms around Noah and lean in for another kiss as joy surges through me, moving faster than any puck over the ice.

NOA H

Finn's gaze glitters, and he smiles at me with such fondness, I think my heart might break all over again.

Finn loves me. Finn wants me in his life. Finn wants me forever.

"I'm sorry about the letter," he says.

"I'm sorry I left."

"I missed you so much."

"Same."

We stare at each other, vaguely aware of our teammates slapping our backs and uttering congratulatory words. Luke and Troy, Axel and Dmitri, Evan and Vinnie grin at us.

Music blares through the stadium.

Finn extends a hand to me. "Will you dance with me?"

"Here?"

"I think everyone knows about us."

I laugh, all the tension, the worry, the fear dissipating, and Finn's eyes soften. I take his hand and we skate away from the crowd of hockey players thronging about us.

"Dance!" Troy shouts.

Finn's look goes nervous.

"They didn't teach dancing in etiquette classes for how to be a Boston gentleman?" I ask.

"Um, this isn't the old days."

"Put your left hand on my shoulder." I slide my right hand on his waist. "Then put your right hand in my left hand."

He smiles.

"New Hampshire boys know how to dance."

"That's hot."

"Course it is. I'm super hot. "

He laughs, delighted, and we sway on skates, scraping the ice in slow, curved movements. The audience whirls around us as we spin.

It's—well—it's not the most elegant thing in the world. I wish I'd taken ice dancing and not simply figure skating as a child. No one is getting thrown into the air tonight.

But we hold each other as we skate, and I think my mouth might fall off from smiling.

Then Evan and Vinnie murmur to each other, and next thing I know, Evan is wrapping his arms around Vinnie's neck. And they're swaying.

"Evan and Vinnie are dancing," I say.

"Wow."

They stare adoringly into each other's eyes. They are officially out.

"I guess this isn't just a big day for us," I say.

But then all our teammates start to dance together. They move awkwardly, wrestling with how to hold each other. They shuffle back and forth, frowning in a concentration they probably haven't shown the ice since they were two.

Nothing has ever made me smile so much.

Luke and Troy shuffle together, and Axel and Dmitri. Soon everyone is paired off, and they bumble in their pads and skates over the ice.

Cameras click, and yellow explodes through the arena. Couples gaze fondly at each other, and a few guests start dancing in the aisles.

Tanaka has a bemused, befuddled expression on his face, then he grins and gives me a thumbs up. Coach snorts and shakes his head.

The ice is filled with dancing men. Some people stare, others smile, and soon the whole crowd claps along to the beat of the love song.