I drop to one knee—my good one, because irony would really have a field day otherwise. Gasps ripple down the bench. The guys lean forward, wide-eyed, grins spreading. Thatcher mutters something that sounds like, “Oh, hell no,” but even he can’t hide the way his eyes soften.

I pull the box from my pocket, pop it open, and look up at her.

“Stevie, you turned my whole damn life upside down. You made me believe I’m more than the game, more than the injury. You made me believe I’m worth love—even when I didn’t believe it myself. And I don’t want another day without you. So… will you marry me?”

Her hands fly to her mouth. Her eyes shine. Tears slip free before she even nods. “Yes,” she whispers, then louder, laughing, “Yes!”

The boys explode, banging sticks against the boards like we just scored in overtime. Thatcher groans, buries his face in his glove, but even he can’t smother the smile breaking through.

I slide the ring onto her finger, stand, and kiss her right there in front of the whole damn team. She kisses me back, not caring who’s watching.

When she pulls back, nearly breathless, she grins. “You’re still taking me to my gig, right?”

I rest my forehead against hers.

“I’ll always be front and center, Rockstar. Always.”