Page 75 of The Sweetest Risk

“Okay, are you ready?”

I don’t know. Am I ready? This is the time to do what the guys and I talked about. My heart is pounding so hard, I am convinced Amy can tell how nervous I am. I am more nervous about what I’m about to say than I am about the upcoming final game of the series. I nod and flash Amy a smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

A white ring light turns on above Amy’s phone and she gives me a thumbs up. “Tristan, congratulations on the win tonight.”

“Thank you.” I force a smile through my clenched jaw.

“How does it feel to be one game away from attaining the Stanley Cup?”

“It’s an incredible feeling. You know, I had the unique opportunity to win the cup a few years ago and I am ready to bring the cup home again to Dallas. This city needs a win and I am going to do everything I can in my power to get it.”

“I think the fans can agree to that. What are some things you think the team needs to do in order to win in Game Seven?”

I shake my head and shrug a little. “Colorado is a great team so we have to stay focused, play our game and not let up on the fight. I know Oakley has been amazing attending goal, so we need to help him offensively by not letting scoring opportunities pass us by.”

“Do you think heading back home to Dallas is going to increase y’all’s chances of winning on Monday?”

I sigh. “That’s always the hope. I mean, we still need to show up and play our best game. Hopefully the fans fill those seats and encourage us throughout the game. It’s always a great crowd, but there is something about playoff crowds that help with momentum, you know?”

“Yes, well you heard it from Tristan Lawson himself. Go get those tickets and show up on Monday night! The game starts at 8 p.m at Southwest Arena.”

I need to say what I need to say before Amy heads off to interview someone else.

“Tristan, thank you so much for talking with –”

“Wait, Amy. Uh.” I stand up, rub my face and take a deep breath. “There’s, uh, something I need to say.”

Amy’s eyes widen with surprise, but she nods and refocuses the camera onto me.

I take a deep breath. “You know, for a long time, winning the Stanley Cup was my only dream. I’ve had the Stanley Cup before and I know what that is like. It’s one of the best feelings in the world. I have grown up a lot since winning my last cup. But I have other dreams now and there is one person who has become my dream and I don’t know if I could ever get that dream back. Um, so I would like to say something to her, if I can.”

Amy nods behind the camera with complete intrigue in her eyes.

“Brooke, if you’re listening to this, I’m so sorry. I put my career before you and that’s not what a man does. A man chooses his life outside of his career. A career is just a thing you do. It’s not the life that I want to live if it’s without you. It won’t mean anything, even winning the Stanley Cup, which that’s the ultimate goal in hockey, right? To win the elusive trophy. The hardest trophy you can ever win. But I’m afraid that in the process, I lost the girl I want the most in this world. The girl I have loved since I was nineteen years old.” I look down at my feet, trying to hold back the tears.

Amy leans in a little closer to catch the request that is going to possibly change my life forever.

“Brooke, if you forgive me, I’ll be waiting for you at center ice in Southwest Arena at 7:55 p.m. before our last game of the season. A game we are going to win.” I look back at Amy. “We are going to get this cup, Amy, but I want to get my girl back first.”

When I’m preppingfor the final game a couple days later, I learn from Amy that the video went viral. The amount of shares and tags on our Instagram account with a trending hashtag of #Bristan surpassed anything the social media team ever shared before.

“This is huge, Tristan! We’ve never had three million views on any reel or live or literally anything we’ve ever done before! She has to have seen it, right? And trust me, that helped sell out this game tonight. Anyway, I am rooting for you!”

Has Brooke seen the video of me laying my heart out on the line?That has been the question percolating in my brain since I poured my heart and soul out for everyone to witness. I am trying my best to focus on winning this game, but Brooke’s beautiful face keeps interrupting my focus. Oh and the intrusive thought that she won’t even show and she will hate me and avoid me forever. I can’t have that. I just can’t.

“Good luck,” Amy says. “I hope she shows up.”

God I hope she shows up tonight, too.

We make our way onto the ice for warm-ups and I’ve never been so nervous. The moment I step onto the ice, the crowd erupts to a noise level that I haven’t heard in all the years I have played in this arena. Fans are holding up signs that say things likeBrooke and Tristan 4 everandBrooke + Tristan = Endgame.

I center my attention on the puck and go through our usual drills of contesting our goalie and circling around the rink. My teammates tap my shoulder when I pass them as a means of encouragement. I force a smile back at them, partly trying to convince myself that I’m not completely insane to request thisfrom Brooke. Is there any hope that she even saw my message? I guess it’s a risk. But I know that I didn’t get this far in my career without taking a risk on myself, and I needed to take this risk to try and save the once-in-a-lifetime love that I have with Brooke.

The announcer tells everyone to rise and remove their hats for the national anthem and I make my way to my spot next to Bradley. I lower my head to ground myself. The words of the anthem fade as I focus on my breathing. The only thing preventing me from falling over is my breathing.

Earlier today, I asked the people running the scorekeeper’s box to start the timer for five minutes right after the anthem. Cheering from the crowd resumes, and that’s when I snap out of my own head and realize the national anthem is over. I look up at the center scoreboard, suspended over the rink, and see that a countdown for five minutes has replaced the normal twenty minutes displayed for the start of the first period.

The crowd continues to get louder and louder on their own. No prompt from the announcer. No graphic on the scoreboard telling them to do so.

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