I LOVE YOU. I MISS YOU.
PLEASE GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE.
- ETHAN
The arena goes silent as thousands of people read my heart on a sixty-foot screen. Then someone shouts, “Say yes!” and others take up the chant until the whole arena is vibrating with it.
I search for Natalie through the glass.
She's frozen in place, her hand pressed against her mouth and tears streaming down her face. The camera finds her, and her shocked expression fills the Jumbotron, visible to everyone in the building.
The chanting grows louder. SAY YES. SAY YES. SAY YES.
I press my gloved hand against the glass and wait.
This is the worst part. The not knowing. The vulnerability of standing here, heart exposed, while she decides whether to forgive me or walk away. I've never been this scared in my life. Not during any game, any playoff series, any championship. This is terrifying.
Natalie lowers her hand from her mouth. She takes one step forward. Then another. The crowd noise swells with every inch she moves toward me.
She reaches the glass and stops.
We're separated by a barrier I can't cross. I'm on the ice in my gear, and she's on the bench in her polo. But she's here. She came to me instead of walking away.
She raises her hand and presses it against the glass, aligning her palm with mine.
The arena explodes.
I can't hear anything over the roar of the crowd. I can't think about anything except the woman on the other side of this glass, her tear-streaked face more beautiful than anything I've ever seen.
“I'm sorry,” I mouth. “I was wrong.”
She nods, tears still falling, and mouths something back.
“I know.” And then she smiles.
It's the smile I've been dreaming about for weeks.
The referee blows his whistle somewhere behind me. The game is still happening, but right now, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is Natalie.
She willing to give me another chance.
27
Natalie
I'm vaguely aware of returning to my position by the bench, of Lane squeezing my shoulder and whispering, Congratulations, and of the other medical staff trying not to stare at me while grinning like idiots.
The crowd keeps chanting and cheering, and every time the Jumbotron shows a replay of the moment, another wave of noise rolls through the arena.
My hand is still tingling where I pressed it against the glass.
Ethan is back on the ice, playing hockey like he didn't just declare his love in front of fifteen thousand people. But every time he skates past the bench, his eyes find mine. And every time they do, my heart clenches with joy and disbelief.
He loves me. He wants me back.He put his pride aside and apologized in the most public way possible.
The Renegades win 4-2. Ethan doesn't score again, but he plays solidly, his knee holding up through the physical demands of competition. When the final buzzer sounds, the team gathers at center ice for the traditional post-game handshakes, then files off toward the locker room.
I don't know what to do with myself. Do I wait for him? Do I go to the locker room? Do I act like everything is normal when nothing about this night has been normal?
