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We’re headed to the playoffs. The entire arena feels like it’s shaking as the crowd roars and jumps in the stands, celebrating along with us. This trip to the postseason is so unlikely that in a lot of ways, it’s more satisfying and more exciting than even our last run to the Cup.
We’ve been through a rough season and have come out stronger because of it. We’ve been forged and tempered in fire, and we’re ready for the trials of the postseason. Sixteen wins stand between us and a Cup. I’ve never been part of a team this close, and I think that bond we share is going to make us a tough team to beat. But before we take the celebration to the locker room and start setting our focus on the postseason, there is something I need to do.
I give Anders a nod, and he gets the team settled down. They’re in on my plan so they’re already patting me on the back as we skate to center ice. The PA announcer asks the crowd for quiet, and though it takes a few minutes, everybody in the arena settles down as well. The gate in the half-wall opens and the ice crew quickly rolls out a red carpet. I stand at the end of it with my team in a half-circle around me, and I’m handed a microphone by one of the ice crew.
“Thanks,” I say.
Randy and Hugo walk down the carpet and step to the side, standing with the rest of the team. Jerry escorts Devon, decked out in black leggings, Ugg boots, and one of my team sweaters, to the end of the red carpet and smiles at her, quietly murmuring in her ear. She looks at me, her face red, confusion etched into her features. The arena is nearly silent as the crowd watches intently, no doubt as confused as Devon is at this point.
The house lights are extinguished, plunging the crowd into darkness and leaving the ice aglow. A spotlight in the rafters turns on and is trained on Devon. Even from where I’m standing, I can see just how red her face is and laugh to myself. I raise the mic with one hand and beckon her forward with the other. “Devon Kirkpatrick, please come out to center ice.”
She remains at the other end of the carpet, shaking her head and laughing, her face practically neon red at this point. The crowd, growing restless, starts to cheer and clap, urging Devon forward. Jerry is laughing and puts his hand on the small of her back and leads her forward, walking with her to where I'm standing. Once he gets her out there, I smile at him as he walks over and stands beside Randy and Hugo.
Devon is trembling, her face uncertain.
I look around the arena and even in the darkness, can see the packed arena writhing like a living being. Raising my hand, I give them all a wave then raise the microphone again.
“Okay, settle down,” I call out and the crowd does. “The first thing I want to say is, on behalf of the team and the organization, thank you all for supporting us this year. We weathered some storms, but you all had our backs and we appreciate that. This run we’re about to embark upon isn’t possible without you all, so thank you!”
As the team starts banging their sticks on the ice, showing their appreciation, the crowd erupts. The energy inside crackles around us like electricity, making the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. It’s almost tangible. As the crowd settles down again, I take Devon’s hand and give her a wink. Her face is still red, and she looks almost petrified. She’s not a girl who enjoys the spotlight.
“Secondly, I know a lot of people out there have wondered what sparked my rejuvenation this season,” I say. “It wasn’t PEDs like some choose to believe. It was this woman right here. She is my fountain of youth. Her love and support have made me feel like a rookie all over again. She’s wonderful, guys. Amazing. She’s unlike anybody I’ve ever met before in my life.”
Holding Devon’s hand, I raise her arm as the crowd erupts in cheers and applause. Devon covers her face with her hand, laughing to herself, her face so red, I’m starting to worry that it will never fade back into that creamy, milky complexion I’ve come to know and love.
“What are you doing, Dawson?” she whispers.
I raise the mic again, and though I’m addressing the crowd, my gaze is locked onto hers. “Devon made me think about my life. She made me realize there is more to life than just hockey,” I say, my comment met with some good-natured boos. “She’s refueled my passion for life and the game. So, if there is anybody to credit with me playing like a kid again this season, you should credit Devon. She’s truly made me feel young again.”
Devon looks at me with a smile on her face and rests her hand over her heart, touched by my comments. I lean forward and give her a peck on the cheek, touching off another roar of the crowd, which makes her laugh awkwardly. I hold my hand up, quieting the crowd again. Once they’re silent, I raise the mic.
“And that’s why, I’ve come to realize that I don’t want to walk through the rest of this life without having her by my side.”
Devon’s eyes widen as she quickly figures out what this is all about. Our team’s mascot, a giant lion in a team sweater, skates up to us holding a red satin pillow with a small, dark box. Anders skates over and grabs the mic from me but holds it close to my mouth. Devon clamps her hands over her mouth, her eyes so wide I fear they’re going to just pop out right there and fall onto the ice. Laughing to myself, I take the box, get down on my knee, and open it.
“Devon Kirkpatrick, will you make me feel like the luckiest man on this planet for the rest of the years I have left?” I ask. “Will you marry me?”
The arena is so quiet you could hear the proverbial pin drop, and everybody seems to be holding their breath. The color drains from Devon’s face and her green eyes sparkle as she looks at me, her lips trembling. She looks like she might cry. But she reaches out and plucks the ring from the box and slips it on her finger, her cheeks flushing and a smile as bright as the spotlight on her face. She raises her eyes to me and nods. “Yes. Nothing would make me happier.”
The arena explodes with applause and wild cheering. And as Devon throws herself into my arms, I pick her up and swing her around, my heart swelling until it feels too big for my body. My teammates file by us, patting me on the back and offering their congratulations to us. Anders is last in the line, and he smiles at Devon.
“You know what you’re getting into, right?” he asks.
“I do,” she says.
“And you still want to marry this clown?”
Devon smiles. “I do.”
“Good. Then keep working that magic that's making him feel young because once we win the Cup this year, we're going to need him for another run next season.”
Devon smiles at him and then turns to me. “Oh, I can promise you that I’m going to keep this old man feeling like a rookie. You may even get a few more years out of him.”
“That is good to hear.” Anders smiles. “Now, let’s go pop some champagne to celebrate your nuptials and getting into the playoffs.”
“That sounds good to me,” I say.
As I walk down the carpet with Devon by my side, I wave to the crowd again. The applause and cheering is thunderous. I can feel it down in my bones. It’s only then I realize it’s been a long time since I've felt the energy from a crowd like this. It’s been a long time since I felt this energized and excited for a playoff run. I guess I’d become jaded to it all. And this renewal, I know, is the effect Devon has on me. She really is making me appreciate this game, this crowd, and this life more than I have in a long time.
