Page 214 of Pucking Wild

Your hair is blond, your eyes are green, your face is like a dream.

And only you know what to do to make your lover scream.

The question’s short but life is long; you know just what to dooooooo.

Just say ‘yes’ and Tess will make an honest man of yooooou.

The song ends and the locker room erupts. I’m buffeted on all sides as the team rallies around me, cheering and hollering as the quartet tries to make their exit.

“Ohhh, no, you don’t,” Jake cries, grabbing Mustache by the arm.

And that’s how I end up standing half-dressed in the middle of the locker room, a barbershop quartet flanking me on both sides, as the guys and Claribel snap a thousand pictures that will inevitably end up all over social media.

Oh, yeah, I am marrying Tess tonight…if I don’t kill her first.

By the timeI get out onto the ice for warm-ups, I’m coiled tighter than a fucking spring. I can’t even focus on my usual routines. Who cares about stretching hip flexors or practicing my puck handling. If Tess isn’t here, I’m burning this barn to the ground.

As I skate around, peering through the plexiglass, I feel a charged energy in the air. The fans are standing. Some are clapping. As I pass along the wall, I notice a lot of yellow. People all up and down the sections are wearing neon yellow T-shirts. A pair of guys sitting right on the ice are both wearing one. They pound the glass as I pass, beers in hand.

I circle back, glaring at them. “What are those shirts?”

They laugh and point. They both have a picture of a smiling Tess silk-screened to their chests.

“Where is she?” I shout.

They both just laugh, making kissing faces at me through the glass. I pass by two more people. One is wearing a neon shirt with my face. The other is a big diamond ring with a question mark. All down the rink, fans are wearing shirts with our faces and diamond rings.

The music changes over the speakers and someone cranks it up louder. My entire body zings alert as the chorus of “Marry You” by Bruno Mars echoes around the frenzied stadium.

Oh god, this is it. It’s fucking happening.

I’m like a figure skater out here, breezing around, searching the crowd for her. The jumbotron is locked on me, following me down the ice. The other guys aren’t even pretending to warm up as the crowd starts chanting “Marry her.”

“Tess!” I shout, knowing she can’t hear me.

“Mar-ry her.”

“Mar-ry her.”

They pound the glass. They do the wave. They blow their stupid plastic horns.

“Tess, I swear to God—”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” comes the booming voice of the announcer. “A very special lady has a veeeeery special question to ask one of our Rays.”

I slide to a stop, spraying ice, as I glare up at the jumbotron screen. The camera is on me, zooming in on that hopeful, sappy look on my face. The crowd goes wild, so do my teammates. Then the camera changes, and suddenly she’s there.

Tess.

She’s standing against the glass. Her red hair is half up, half down, curls framing her face. My jersey is on her back and she’s holding up a hot pink glitter sign. The sign is the same as the shirts, with pictures of our faces and an engagement ring. It’s like an emoji math question. It’sherquestion.

Tess + Ryan = Married

The crowd chants “Mar-ry Her! Mar-ry Her!” and I’m turning in circles looking for her in real time.

“Tess!” I shout, willing her to hear me, to call out and guide me home with the sound of her voice.

I finally spot her three sections down from our bench. The cheers of the crowd crescendo as I race towards her. I slide to a stop at the boards, my stick rattling down. Then I’m throwing my gloved hands up against the glass, just wishing I could make it disappear.

---